Chapter Three

            The large wooden door creaked open slowly, squealing in protest on its rusted hinges. The Earl of Little Wenham had ordered the front door to his household to be massive and heavy, so as to discourage thieves from pilfering his belongings. It was a beautiful burgundy; an ornate iron handle, a stained-glass window just big enough to glance through, and an intricate pattern of wildflowers along the trimming. Jane poked her head around the thick slab, squinting in the light.

            The living area was by far the grandest room in the entire house. The walls were adorned with several portraits portraying former Earls of the small town, along with a brilliantly complicated Coat of Arms under each painting. The floor was a rich oak, shining radiantly under the candlelight. High stained-glass windows sent a motley array of colors across the walls and floors, as if the room were held inside a rainbow. Gorgeous handmade rugs of maroon and scarlet red spread across the room, and on the far wall, a tall stone fireplace looked down upon the upholstered mahogany sofas and armchairs.

            “Jane!” a voice cried out to her, coming from the corner of the room. Stepping inside and carefully shutting the immense door behind her, Jane turned to see Geoffrey lighting more candles. He looked up at the sound of the door clicking shut, and flashed a genuinely pleased smile at her.

            Geoffrey was a handsome young man, with his chestnut brown hair cascading down his back, his enchanting green eyes like precious emeralds, and his face flawless and innocent. He had a nice smile, and dimples that showed whenever he laughed too hard. His nose was small, and cute as a button, sprinkled with little freckles that spread down his nose and across his cheeks.

            “It’s become quite dreary out, hasn’t it?” he said, the boyish smile never leaving his face. “The Earl’s asked me to brighten up the quarters a bit. Dampens his mood when ev’rything’s so gray.”

            “Aye.” Jane replied, pulling off her cloak and hanging it on a peg protruding from the wall, the basket of fresh bread still heavy in her arms. “Is Isabella about?” she asked, shaking the rain droplets from her dark tresses.

            “She is assisting the Earl with his bath,” Geoffrey replied, walking over to Jane and running his rough hand over her matted hair. “Looks like you could use one too,” he grinned, kissing her forehead.

            Jane frowned. She was not among the materialistic women of the town, who bathed once a day and brushed their hair so much it was a wonder it didn’t fall out. Jane enjoyed being dirty, and would rather be covered in mud than dressed head to toe in lace and ribbons.

            “Nay,” she replied, swatting Geoffrey’s hand away. “There are better uses for what little water we have. I must put this bread away now.” She turned to face him, and found she had to tilt her head up to see his eyes. When had he gotten so tall? “Will you tell the Earl I must speak with him when he is available?”

            He nodded, resisting the urge to run a finger gently along her dirty cheek, the width of the basket keeping them a safe distance apart. “I will,” he responded with a sad smile. She turned and left the room, her skirts swirling about her feet in a hurried manner.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Entering the small kitchen, Jane set the basket of bread down on the wooden table, removing the protective cloth that covered them and letting the intoxicating aroma fill her nostrils. She stoked the fire and added another log to it. Gazing into the pot swaying inside the small fireplace, she was relieved to see that Muriel had concocted a mutton stew for supper. She dipped a wooden spoon in and raised it to her lips, relishing the delicious flavor. Turning to the washbasin to clean off the spoon, she caught sight of her reflection in the window above it.

            Her chocolate-brown hair was knotted and filthy, the waves falling down her back like a muddy waterfall. Her bright blue eyes appeared harsh under her dark, furrowed eyebrows. Her chin was angular and stern, and she was forlornly reminded of her father. Dirt streaked her face, smudging her tan complexion. Her long black lashes were thin, giving her a boyish appearance.

            Jane’s eyes wandered down her body, from her fairly small chest, exposing her slender middle, to her long, muscular legs, thick through years of balancing lessons with her father. She sighed; if it weren’t for her narrow shoulders and slightly rounded torso, she could very well pass for a gentleman. She did not possess the high, melodious voice of most women; Jane’s pitch was low and rough.

            Geoffrey appeared behind her, resting his strong hands on her small shoulders. “Admiring yourself, ma’am?” he teased, twirling a strand of her thick hair around his index finger.

            Jane flashed him a smirk in the reflection of the mirror. “Geoffrey… do you think I look… well, manly?” she asked hesitantly, turning slowly to face him.

            He took a deep breath to restrain himself from saying what he really thought about how she looked. They were only inches apart, and yet she seemed so distant. “Why would you say such a thing?” he answered instead.

            She shrugged sadly, her eyes to the floor. Geoffrey studied her carefully, contemplating his next words. “You miss him, do you not?”

            Her eyes shot upward and locked into his, so endlessly blue he felt as if he were drowning in them. He waited for the sharp retort that she would surely fire back at him, enraged by his daring comment. Alas, it never came. Instead, two warm little arms wrapped around his upper body, pulling him closer until her head was pressed against his chest, her wild chaos of hair consuming his face and neck. Closing his eyes and relishing in the moment, he bent forward and rested his cheek gently against the top of her head.

            Geoffrey was one of the few people who understood Jane, and the tender memories she kept secret. His seventh birthday had been the day he first laid eyes on Jane. His family had recently moved to the small town of Little Wenham, and until then he’d only admired her from afar, watching the intimate lessons she and her father shared. But she was by herself on this day. Perhaps he had come too close, maybe he hadn’t chosen a thick enough shrub to crouch behind, but whatever the reason, she had seen him.

            “Oi! You there!” she cried, walking stealthily toward his hiding place, brandishing a long stick before her. In an attempt to slink away unnoticed, he’d stumbled on a root and fell forward through the bush, landing face-first in the dirt. She’d extended a hand instead of swatting him with her stick, and they had become fast friends, spending nearly every day with each other, fishing in the pond or chasing chickens around the marketplace. However, he was never allowed to practice sword fighting with her, nor was he permitted to watch Jane and her father’s private lessons.

                      Geoffrey’s parents had died of illness early on, and he had been employed by Walter De Bolbec for quite some time before Jane had entered the picture. He had been there for her when her father had never returned from battle, to hold her hand and wipe away the tears, and had brought her fresh food whilst her mother lay sick in bed. Time and time again, he had pulled through for her, the ever-loyal friend in which she trusted so dearly. He couldn’t help but feel guilty for all the emotions he’d veiled from her, too cowardly to confess his true feelings. He vowed to tell her how he truly felt before it was too late… before she realized she was too talented for this town, that she had the potential to be something great. Before she walked out of his life without a second look back, never knowing what might have been.

Author's Note

I realize I've exposed a new side to Geoffrey rather early in the book, but I think it's needed to really understand his character.

Reviews

[Tania Leigh]

Another excellent chapter. Poor Geoffrey, harboring all those feelings for Jane, and she oblivious to them.
This chapter reveals an insecure side to Jane, which I've a feeling she doesn't display for just anyone...if anyone.

I can't wait for the next! :-)