Follow Your Heart

by Ruth Kaufman

  Had he waited in the cold the entire time she was ensconced with Lady Anne? Her heart fluttered. What could he want with her? She dared not hope he felt the same unsettling sense of fascination she did. The same desire to learn more.

  “I am Lord Fitzhugh. Might I have a few moments of your time?”

  A noble, as she’d suspected. He certainly had the bearing of one. Too bad noblemen and craftsmen didn’t often mix, except to conduct business. Just as well, she knew, but she couldn’t dispel a sensation of regret.

  “What can I do for you, my lord?” she asked.

  He dismounted gracefully. “To hear that Lady Anne is removing some of Bedford Castle’s windows saddened me. I have oft admired them.” His breath wafted in white clouds. “Did you recommend that they be changed?”

  She’d clung to a shred of hope that something about her had called to him the way something about him connected with her. But why should he find her interesting? She was a struggling, hard-working glass-painter with calluses on her fingers, not one of the fine, pampered ladies he must know. Or perhaps was already married to.

  “No. Removing them was Lady Anne’s idea,” she answered. “I merely recommended that their frames and some of the armature—the framework—be repaired. They could be restored for far less than new windows will cost.”

  “To destroy such beauty seems a waste. Can any be salvaged and reinstalled elsewhere?” He stroked his horse’s neck.

  What would those long fingers feel like on her skin? Her mouth went dry. Never before had she longed for a man to touch her. She shook her head to dispel her strong reaction to this man.

  “Perhaps Lady Anne would give the windows to you, if you asked,” she said, burning to know the nature of his relationship with her.

  Lord Fitzhugh looked at the ground before answering, his hair falling over his face, then lifting in the wind. “I’d rather she not know I want them. I’ll pay for them, of course.”

  What was he hiding? The windows meant enough to him that he asked her join him in keeping a secret from her client. If she agreed, Lord Fitzhugh would be in her debt.

  How could she use this to her advantage?

  “’Tis not an easy task you’ve set me to,” she said. “The windows are large, and almost a hundred years old. Removing them could weaken the leading.”

  “I assume you can repair any damage.”

  His respect for her skills made her smile. “I paint, design and cut the glass. I know of others who could do the repair work. I’ll agree if you’d do me a favor in return.”

  His straight black eyebrows shot up. “What might that be?”

  “I need someone to pose for my next window. You would suit.”

  How dare she be so bold? But as her father always said, what was life for if she didn’t try to attain the things she desired? Joanna held her breath. Please say yes, she prayed silently. She wanted to spend more time studying Lord Fitzhugh.

  And not only for the windows.

  Only recently, and with great reluctance, had she pondered a third use for a man. From what she’d seen of Lord Fitzhugh, he might be a perfect fit for this, too. A noble who exuded power to protect her from her brother William’s schemes to wrest control of her workshop.

  Over the course of several drawing sessions she might be able to persuade him to help her, if he was equally as chivalrous as he looked.

  Joanna believed in destiny. As the sun shone brighter, illuminating him from behind with a mystical glow, she prayed that her destiny was this man.

  Two surprises in one day, Adrian thought. First Lady Anne’s pronouncement, which she knew would infuriate him, about changing windows that had decorated his family home for centuries. Now an unusual woman presented a strange request.

  She reminded him of a Van Eyck painting he’d once seen of a Madonna, pale and pure, yet with an inner core of steel. The wind tugged a curling red tendril from her headdress. It tossed in the gusts and dangled near her mouth. Enticing. His groin tightened.

  He wished he hadn’t had to lie to her by making up a name when he introduced himself. Though certain tales of his family’s history were well known, he’d worked hard to maintain some privacy, especially about his arrangement with Lady Anne. He was fortunate that the glazenwright hadn’t recognized him. Who knew who her other customers were?

  He’d hoped the false title would make her aware of the differences in their stations and prevent her from asking too many questions. How could he take the lie back now? How many more lies would he have to tell her? He pushed aside a wave of remorse.

  Joanna drew her cloak about her against the wind, looking at him with alert expectation. The cold tinged her cheeks crimson. He wanted to take her in his arms and keep her warm.

  But he knew better than to get involved.

  “Will you sit for me?” she asked.

  This was going too far. Adrian had hoped to conclude their business quickly, with any future contact in writing. He’d not intended to see her again after today, despite the fact that her beauty and demeanor had captivated him from the moment she walked into the hall.

  Sitting for a window was no worse than things he’d already done in the name of redemption. But the more people caught up in his life, the more danger he might bring to them and to himself. The more likely that Andrew would learn who Adrian worked for.

  Adrian had to keep these secrets from his proper, religious twin, whose disapproval could lead to Adrian’s downfall. The Lady Anne arrangement alone would bring on a fit of righteousness. If Andrew also learned who employed his twin, he could send the carefully built scaffold of Adrian’s life tumbling to the ground. Bad enough Andrew knew he was like their Grandmother.

  Adrian reminded himself of his goal. Visualizing himself at home in Bedford washed away any lingering doubts. He would sit for Mistress Peyntor. He wanted those windows, even though he’d have to relinquish some of his hard-earned gold and precious time to salvage them.

  Another setback on the long road to recovery.

  “How long will this take?”

  “That depends on your patience, but three sessions should suffice. A small price to pay for such lovely windows,” she said, with a small, knowing smile.

  Aha. He’d seen that look on many women. Maybe she was like the others, always conniving, plotting to acquire men, coin or jewels. Maybe she wasn’t as unique as she seemed or as he hoped.

  Her character shouldn’t matter. Only her ability to preserve his windows.

  “My workshop is on Stonegate,” she said. “I have another commission I must finish this week. Shall we say Monday next?”

  Three afternoons, as she said a small price to pay for such valuable windows. For a part of his heritage. Even so, intuition warned him that spending time with her would not be wise. Her mere presence aroused him. Her beauty, her manner interested him too much already. He could not, ever, care for a woman. It would be his undoing.

  Suddenly his heart skipped a few beats. Dizziness washed over him. Reality faded as the beginnings of a vision swirled before him.

  Not now!

  Adrian squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. Slowly, the signs of an imminent vision faded. He’d managed to stave off an unwanted glimpse of the future.

  His breath came out in a rush. He was safe, for the moment.

  You see, he silently admonished himself, you see how dangerous this could be?

  He opened his eyes and saw Joanna. The eager expression on her face swayed him against his better judgment.

  “Shall we say early afternoon?” he asked.

  And prayed he wasn’t making a mistake.

  Chapter 2

  “Stop making demands of me,” Joanna’s half-sister Margery complained as she tucked her fair hair into a headdress. “I hate when you do that.”

  “I’ll not work while you preen. Besides, how can you snare a husband if all you do is stare in your mirror?” Annoyed by Margery’s reluctance to contribute, Joanna snatched a ribbon Margery
had left on the floor of their bed chamber and tossed it to her.

  Margery, who sat before a small table, dropped the ribbon amidst a heap of jars, pots and combs. “How can I make a suitable match while selling your designs like a common merchant?”

  “You are a merchant.” She made sure her tone hid her frustration. Margery responded better to reason than nagging. “If only you’d accept the truth, we’d both be happier. Some merchants are as wealthy as the nobility.”

  Joanna crossed the short distance to the room that served as kitchen, eating and living area. She wet a cloth in a pitcher of water and wiped crumbs from their morning meal from the narrow wood table.

  “I won’t go to Lady Anne’s today,” Margery said.

  Joanna squeezed the damp crumbs in her fist. How she wanted to throw them at her sister. But she’d only have to clean them up again. Instead she dropped the crumbs into the slop bucket.

  “If I discuss final revisions I won’t have time to finish Henry de Mamesfield’s window, which is behind schedule. And someone is coming to pose for another window this afternoon,” she replied.

  “Why? Designs can be reused. If a single cartoon can become twelve of the saints in York Minster’s choir, you can use yours again.” Margery adjusted her headdress as Joanna rejoined her in the bedroom. “Let William take on some responsibility. He and John Twygge could run the workshop. You’d paint and design, for John’s thick fingers are good for nothing except lead work. And he hasn’t a creative thought in his ugly head.”

  Joanna cringed. She wouldn’t let Margery’s suggestion unsettle her. “You know how hard I’ve worked. How much Father wanted me to be in charge.”

  “Think on it,” Margery suggested. “You’d have far less to worry about and more time to create. You inherited the talent. All I got was father’s lovely golden hair.” Margery turned to study her reflection. “I might add that those dark circles under your eyes won’t help you find a husband.”

  “I’ve had other things on my mind.” Joanna smoothed her skirts, noting their practical but plain wool. Unlike Margery, she wouldn’t waste her coin on things she didn’t need. “Marriage would hinder my work. A husband would want to control me or not want me to work with glass at all.”

  Joanna refused to admit Margery had made a few good points. Did she look tired? She forced herself not to peek in the mirror, but couldn’t seem to stop her fingers from feeling for bags under her eyes.

  “If I go to Lady Anne’s I’ll miss the chance to play merrills with Lady Elizabeth.” Margery sighed as if she’d never recover from such a lost opportunity.

  “Stop being selfish. I may be the best painter, but you’re better at dealing with the customers,” Joanna said. “I lack patience. Sometimes I want to scream when they dawdle over their choices. I thought you enjoyed writing up the commissions.”

  “I’m sure there are worse occupations,” Margery allowed as she pinched her cheeks.

  Joanna had tried to protect Margery from the severity of their financial woes. But she had to reveal the latest reason why giving control to their brother would be a bad idea. Margery might understand at last.

  “Stop your pinching and pay attention,” she said. “I don’t know how much longer I can work with John. He asked me to marry him last week. And William wishes it.”

  Joanna shuddered at the thought. And shuddered again, because her brother’s support of such an unseemly plan showed how little he cared for her.

  Margery tilted her head and frowned. “That can’t be true. You’re making up a tale so I’ll go to Lady Anne’s.”

  Like the scrape of a stick removing paint from glass, her half-sister’s tone abraded Joanna’s nerves. She’d hoped to find solace by confiding in her.

  “Your expression says you aren’t making it up. Oh, Joanna.” Margery took Joanna’s hands in hers. “How could William choose such a husband for you? Our brother used to display better judgment. John’s never in a good mood, nor is he kind. And he’s ugly.”

  “He’d make a horrible husband,” Joanna agreed.

  “Then we must each find a better man to wed. I’m so tired of working, of living on our own.”

  Joanna clenched her fingers to keep from shaking her sister. “For one moment, Margery, just one, try to understand the pressure of wanting to accomplish something. Of being a woman trying to succeed amongst men, in their world.”

  Margery looked at her blankly.

  Joanna sighed. No matter how hard she tried to explain, Margery would never understand her quest to achieve success in her chosen craft.

  As a young girl, she’d sat beside her father’s table, watching him draw and cut glass, admiring his skill and yearning for the day when she’d be of an age to design and create objects of such beauty and meaning. Fortunately Father recognized and appreciated her talent, allowing her to train to be one of the few women glazenwrights. But being a woman alone in a man’s world was a constant challenge.

  She already had enough trouble with mere months left, according to the terms of her father’s will, to turn a sizeable profit.

  Failure lurked outside her door.

  Every moment she’d spent drawing lately had been tainted by anxiety. Anxiety now bordering on desperation.

  She wouldn’t fail. William and John would not win. No matter what.

  Could she advance Margery’s ambition and her own?

  “Mayhap a client will have a son or friend for you to marry,” she said. “Lady Anne had a most handsome visitor last week. He might be there again.”

  Joanna wished she could suck those words back in. Strange, but she thought of Lord Fitzhugh as hers. She didn’t want to share her time with him, especially with her lovely half noble half-sister.

  Though she and Lord Fitzhugh had shared only a brief conversation, something powerful had passed between them. Joanna had sensed the curious connection at Bedford Castle, along with that constant awareness of his presence even when her back was turned.

  Today he’d pose for her. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Margery that an attractive, noble and possibly available man would be in her shop. If he saw her half-sister, for certes he’d prefer her perfect face and golden hair, which would complement his dark looks so well.

  What Lord Fitzhugh thought should make no difference. She’d seen him touch Lady Anne, a memory that made her stomach curdle. Perhaps he was Lady Anne’s lover. Or perhaps some fortunate woman’s husband.

  Joanna had no time for romance, even if a noble deigned to court her. Work consumed all of her energy. As it must, despite Margery’s words of warning, to keep the workshop out of William’s clutches.

  But thoughts of Lord Fitzhugh kept interfering. No man had affected her so. A shared moment, an undercurrent of interest was all it took for this man to wend his way into her mind. Perhaps she’d read more into their talk than she should.

  She had to focus on her windows. Already she’d wasted time reliving her meeting with Lord Fitzhugh and anticipating today’s sitting instead of applying herself to the tasks at hand.

  “I’m going to work.” Joanna descended the steep flight of stairs leading to her studio.

  Satisfaction filled her as she opened the door. She’d come so far, salvaging the remnants of her father’s workshop after his death. He’d been ill for so long, barely able to work near the end. Yet Joanna hadn’t refused his feeble attempts to contribute, for she knew how useless he felt as his abilities dwindled.

  Margery followed her down, went outside to open the shutters, then settled at a table layered with pieces of parchment.

  Joanna analyzed the design she’d drawn on her whitewashed glazing table. The Madonna and Child under an ornamented canopy were carefully detailed with the aid of a compass and ruler, with all of the colors she’d use designated by letters and symbols.

  She’d already cut pieces from glass sheets of various colors by splitting the sheets with a hot iron. After using a grozing iron to trim the edges, she’d placed the pieces
on the appropriate areas of the design. Her favorite glass was flashed-ruby, white glass with a thin coat of red blown onto only one side.

  Now she needed to paint several pieces with arnement, special black paint. For this window, she’d need a quill in addition to a squirrel hair brush, so she could pick out the intricate shading she envisioned for the Madonna’s robes.

  Engrossed in painting a fine line around the Madonna’s eye, Joanna jumped when a knock sounded at the front door. A client, or her handsome noble, arriving early?

  Margery walked to the door as Joanna set her brush aside. Her heart sank. What if Lord Fitzhugh was smitten by Margery at first sight? No matter. Joanna had no room in her life for flirtation.

  John Twygge, a mammoth of a man with stringy hair and a misshapen nose, stormed into her studio. “I want to talk to you, Joanna. Now.” He turned to Margery. “Get out.”

  His pockmarked face flushed red, the veins on his thick neck stood out as he pointed toward the door.

  Though her eyes were round with shock, Margery stood her ground. “No. You can’t make me leave.”

  John stomped toward her, fist raised. “Can’t I? I said, get out!”

  With a fleeting look of sympathy mingled with fear, Margery grabbed her cloak off its peg and ran out. John slammed the heavy portal behind her.

  Joanna managed a pleasant expression though her knees trembled and her heart raced. John clearly wanted her to be afraid. She wouldn’t give him that power. He hadn’t actually hit Margery, she reassured herself. Threats resulted in fear only if you let them.

  “You have no hold over me,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm. “You work for me.”

  “I’m through yielding to you. Starting now.” He stalked toward her.

  Joanna refused to back away. She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I’ll not tolerate your hostile behavior. Cease now, or lose your position.”