The Blacksmith's Wife Read Free Page A

Little wonder Henry Danby had cast doubts on her virtue after he had found them together.
    Horror flooded through Joanna and she stopped abruptly as his laughing face flashed before her eyes. What if he told Sir Roger of their earlier encounter? How would the knight view such behaviour? She could try finding Master Danby again and pleading for him to keep her secret, but she could not face the trial of talking her way past the guards again, or the scathing expression she was sure she would see in Master Danby’s eyes. Whatever happened she would have to deal with it.
    She returned home and pushed the front door open cautiously. Even her short interlude had made her later than she would be expected. With luck Uncle Simon would still be at his foundry or the Guild Hall and she could slip in unnoticed. Two girls aged seven and four hurled themselves towards her, squealing with delight. Their older sister, ten and too dignified to show such affection, nodded from the corner and returned to her sewing.
    Joanna hugged her cousins, answering the questions that tumbled from them. Yes, she had seen the jousting. Yes, Sir Roger won. No, she did not know which knight had triumphed in the mêlée.
    ‘Joanna, come in here!’
    The laughter ceased at the sound of the gruff voice. Joanna walked through to the kitchen, her stomach fluttering.
    ‘You’re late.’ Simon Vernon folded his burly arms across his chest and frowned at his niece. ‘Where have you been? Watching the tournament while I work to feed you all?’
    Joanna forced herself to look contrite.
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I delivered the buckle to Sir Roger in person.’
    Simon’s brows knotted. ‘You visited him unchaperoned! Do you care nothing for your reputation? Or mine?’
    ‘I do care.’ She pushed away the insinuations of the guards and Henry Danby’s similar warning. ‘Sir Roger sends his thanks for your gift.’
    A thin smile cracked Simon’s stern face. ‘So, you pleased him?’
    Joanna blushed, remembering his caresses. ‘I hope he will speak to you tonight.’
    Simon pushed himself from his stool, towering above Joanna. ‘He had better. Even the most charitable uncle is not obliged to keep you forever. For three years I’ve waited for you to catch him as your husband. The hours I’ve spent entertaining him have cost me dearly but he still delays. I’m beginning to doubt his feelings for you are as strong as they first appeared to be.’
    ‘Sir Roger will marry me,’ Joanna insisted. Of course he must love her, to be so direct and forceful with his embraces.
    ‘I hope so,’ Simon growled. ‘You will be twenty-one before the summer is over. You should have been married long before this. I have enough mouths of my own to feed, with all the expense that entails.’
    Joanna glanced around. Richly embroidered tapestries hung from every wall. Heavy oak chests stood either side of the door and half-a-dozen hams hung above the large fireplace. Simon Vernon was not approaching poverty by any means. In the nine years since the Great Pestilence had claimed her family, Joanna had worked hard to ensure Simon had not regretted taking in his sister’s only surviving child, however grudgingly the act of charity had been committed. She closed her eyes to prevent her uncle seeing the grief in them.
    Simon came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘If my family is connected to the nobility imagine the doors that will open for me,’ he said hungrily.
    ‘I had better go prepare for tonight,’ Joanna said frostily.
    ‘Mind your tongue,’ Simon growled. ‘Remember Sir Roger is used to obedient, well-brought-up ladies. You won’t catch a husband of any sort if you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself.’
    Joanna climbed the stairs to the attic room she shared with the serving girl. She removed her grey dress and sponged herself down with cold water from the jug by the window. Clad in her shift, she shivered as the cold February air