Follow Your Heart

by Ruth Kaufman

“You’ve often said your father should’ve left his supplies to you instead of Joanna,” John said. “Why haven’t you contested the will?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My father contested his father’s will. Didn’t think he got a fair share. So he tried to prove the will was a forgery. He went to someone called an escheator,” John related. “And to the ecclesiastical court.”

  He pronounced “ecclesiastical” with great care, as if the word was too big for his paltry brain to contemplate.

  William signaled a passing waitress to bring another round. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I’ve never heard of such a thing. But you seem to know a lot about it.”

  “Lived through it. Was all my father could talk about.”

  “Can contesting be done quickly?” William’s fingers tapped the table in his eagerness to get started on this venture.

  “Don’t know. My father’s took more than two years. Besides, there’s another part. Having the will proved up.”

  “And that means?”

  “You have to convince the court the will they have is the actual will of the person who died. Takes up to a year, I think,” John finished.

  William fumed, hitting his fist on the table. “Joanna. That little sneak, keeping all this from me. She’s got the damned will. I never saw it. I have to get it from her!” he hissed. “Maybe I missed something useful when the will was read to us. Maybe I’ll claim forgery. Or I could take the real will and make another one, with new witnesses. Then it’d be her word against mine.”

  He chortled with glee as ideas filled his brain. He rubbed his hands together. This would work. It had to.

  But he might need help. He looked at John, assessing the hulk of a man who hid a certain level of intelligence behind his coarse features. “Do you still want Joanna?”

  “Aye.” John folded his huge arms across his equally huge chest. “I can make her want me if I have the chance.”

  A scuffle broke out in the corner, raising the noise level. William clenched his teeth.

  “Are you with me?” he asked.

  John thought a moment, then nodded.

  William let out a breath he hadn’t known he held.

  The buxom waitress wove through the crowd to deliver their drinks. She bent low as she set down the foaming cups, displaying her ample wares with a wink. William smiled and patted her ass. She responded with a welcoming smile.

  His mood had much improved.

  Two days later, William crouched behind a low stone wall across the street from the workshop—he wouldn’t think of it as Joanna’s. His knees ached and his nose and toes were freezing.

  Upon his arrival hours ago, he’d checked the door, hoping to take a look at the will while Margery was upstairs in her room. He should’ve known she’d keep the door locked at night. So he waited all day for her to leave. When Margery came out, she turned the key in the lock. His heart sank. Now he’d have to wait for her to return or for Joanna to show up for work.

  There, at last. Joanna. With jealousy burning his icy veins, he watched her open the door. Would his patience be rewarded? Had she left the door unlocked? He hurried closer and peered in. There she stood! If only she’d go upstairs….

  A niggling bit of conscience reminded him that sneaking was wrong. No. The workshop and its contents should have been mine from the start.

  Still he waited. He stomped in place, hopping to revive his numb feet. At last Joanna went up the stairs.

  He had to hurry. Who knew how long she’d stay up there?

  Glancing about to make sure no one was watching, he checked the door. It opened. He hurried inside. Luckily he knew exactly where Joanna kept her important documents, and wasted no time opening the drawer. William pushed aside a few pieces of parchment until he located his father’s will.

  Victory.

  Footsteps sounded above him. He froze, poised to run. After a few tense seconds, he realized he was safe. For the moment.

  The will. His hands shook with excitement as he scanned the document.

  He swore. “Latin,” he hissed. “I can barely read as it is. What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Only one thing to do. He concealed the will inside his cloak, then slipped out the door.

  Three long days later, William held the translation in his hands. He’d had to borrow the money from John to pay the translator. The last thing he needed was more debt, with his creditors due on his doorstep any day. He began to sweat, as he did every time he thought of losing another finger. He had to get his hands on some money.

  At least he’d attained this goal. Alone in his small room, he read aloud, carefully sounding out the words.

  “‘In the name of God, amen. I, whole in mind and of sound memory…make my testament in this form…bequeath my soul to God.’ What? Look how much Father left to the Church for masses to be said in his name. No wonder my portion was so small. ‘Pay the following debts….,’ let me see. He couldn’t avoid paying debts, I suppose. Aha!” He hurried closer to the cloudy window to capture the best light. “‘I give and bequeath my glass-painting workshop and all pertaining supplies and materials appurtenant therein to my daughter Joanna, unless within a calendar year from my death she has earned less income than I earned the calendar year before. Should that be the case, all above-mentioned transfers to my son, William. The residue of goods I give and bequeath to my son, William.’ Damn.” He sighed. “This cursed thing seems clear enough.”

  So much effort for nothing, and more time and money wasted. But he had to be sure of what the will said before he could create a believable new will.

  “Time for the forgery, then.”

  Then he’d have Joanna just where he wanted her. At his mercy.

  “Joanna, Joanna!” William yelled through her studio door. “Let me in. I have news!”

  Joanna set her grozing iron aside and opened the door. William swept in and headed straight for her, not even sparing a glance for her works in progress. Once again he proved how little glass-painting meant to him.

  “Where is he?”

  “Adrian isn’t here.” Perhaps she should’ve lied, or told William to return when he was.

  Her brother plopped onto the stool before her table, haphazardly shoving glass pieces aside.

  She flinched. “William, take care!”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I must,” William said. “Father’s will is a forgery!”

  Joanna wanted to laugh at this new tactic. “You heard the will. You saw it witnessed.”

  “Yes. I saw Father sign a will, but not the will he meant to sign,” William began. “You know how ill he was. He didn’t read the document over before he signed, did he?”

  How could two children from the same parents turn out so different? They had the same curly red hair, the same pale skin. He had more freckles and a longer nose. But his pleasant features concealed a deceitfulness and mendacity she couldn’t comprehend.

  “I don’t know. I do know what you’re trying to do.” She reached over to pick up the pieces of her window before he knocked them to the floor.

  She had to protect everything she had, everything she was from him. “You’re trying, once again, to get the shop.” Then it hit her. “What did you do, create a fake will that says Father left the contents to you?”

  Though his affable expression didn’t change to reveal his guilt, Joanna knew she’d guessed right. “How low will you sink?”

  He answered, “I happen to have in my possession a will that says Father left everything to me. But it’s not a fake. It’s the true will. Somehow you made sure Father signed your version. I’ve met with the escheator and am going to contest this in ecclesiastical court.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to attempt this. His will, the real one, hasn’t even been proved up yet,” Joanna said. “How did you come by this ‘new will?’”

  With a flourish, William dropped the document in the space he’d cleared. “Among t
he ‘residue of the estate’ Father left to me. I knew deep down he’d never leave the workshop to you,” he said as he picked the parchment up and untied the pink ribbon around it. “You trapped him by begging so often that he felt sorry for you. He could never bear to hurt his precious Joanna’s feelings,” William sneered.

  He held it out to her. “Read. As you can see, this will is dated two weeks after the one you have. That means he must’ve changed his mind, and mine is the valid will. Don’t you see? Everything belongs to me.”

  Joanna studied the parchment for a few minutes. “It’s in Latin, so I can’t make out all the words. I have to admire your cleverness, William. But you’ll fail.” She tossed the document back onto the table. “Father filed a copy of his will and a letter of intent with the glazier’s guild, because leaving the contents of a studio to one’s daughter is unusual when there’s a son to inherit. Father wanted to be sure they knew exactly what he wanted. They’ll all serve as witnesses, if need be.”

  William’s face fell. “This isn’t like you, Joanna. You’re being selfish, trying to keep me from pursuing the truth. You see the new will is dated the day before he died. Obviously he didn’t have the time to take this one to the guild. You see father’s seal affixed.”

  William couldn’t resist a smile at that. How clever he was to have thought of adding that most important element of proof. He’d carefully melted one off an old letter he’d found and affixed the wax to his new will.

  So very clever.

  Joanna was stunned. William seemed to have thought of everything. She fingered the seal. Clearly their father’s. William’s surprising thoroughness combined with his ability to twist everything to make her appear in the wrong made her nervous. He meant to pursue this fake will. Was there some grain of reality to his tale?

  “Do you know how long this could take? Where will you get the coin to pursue this in court?” She tried to keep panic from her voice. “You’d best leave before Adrian returns. I’d hate to see his reaction to your latest attempt to wrest the shop from me.”

  William snatched up the will. “This is not the end. Time will tell.”

  “Just remember I have never lied to you,” she called out as he left.

  Joanna slumped against the door as she locked it behind her brother. She lacked the coin, time and energy for a court battle. Though William’s will had to be a forgery, if he could convince a court to take the case she might have to devote so much effort to preserve her rights she might fail under the time limit of the real will. William could prevail even if he’d committed forgery.

  She’d ask Adrian for advice. Perhaps he could recommend a solicitor. For now, work first, worry later, as her father always said.

  Before she could pick up her grozing iron, another knock sounded at the door.

  “Joanna, it’s Margery.”

  Joanna opened the door once again.

  “You just missed William,” she said as Margery walked in, her wool cloak covered with glistening snowflakes. “He tried to get me to believe Father made out another will leaving the contents of the studio to him.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I suppose there’s a slim chance. More likely William had someone write words he dictated. I called his bluff and told him there was a copy of Father’s will at the guild, but he’s determined to bring his claim.”

  Joanna could tell Margery wasn’t giving her full attention to this latest problem. She had her back turned and hadn’t met Joanna’s gaze once.

  “Margery, if something is wrong, your problem had better be more important than the fake will.”

  “Oh, yes, this is worse. Worse and worse. But I’m not sure how to tell you.” Margery walked to the window, then turned. She busied herself with removing her cloak, shaking it and hanging it on a peg. She warmed her hands by the fire, still keeping her back to Joanna.

  “Margery, you’re making me nervous. Tell me.”

  “I brought the final changes to Lady Anne’s for her approval this morning. I was waiting in the small room near the back door when I heard her arguing. With a man. I couldn’t hear what was said. I thought perhaps she was disciplining a servant. Then Adrian came storming past and went out the back door,” Margery said. “What could he have been doing there?”

  Joanna frowned. “The first time I saw him was at Lady Anne’s. She actually kissed his cheek and held his hand. He told me she was going to let him buy Bedford Castle back. But why did he have to go there, then or today?”

  Something felt strange, out of place. Her mind painted vivid yet disgusting pictures of Lady Anne and Adrian together. Could he possibly be involved with her? Was Lady Anne the source of his secrets?

  Her stomach threatened to rebel. The need to know burned. She’d find out what was going on, agreement be damned. For if he was sleeping with Lady Anne, she couldn’t stay married to him.

  Joanna drew in a sharp breath as jealousy stabbed her heart, sharp as a shard of glass. Could that be the reason for the “conversations of a personal nature” clause, so he’d be free to keep a mistress? Joanna grabbed an apple and took a bite to quash the bitter taste in her mouth. The fruit didn’t help. She was still nauseated. First John, then William, now Adrian.

  Would every man she knew betray her?

  She and Adrian had finished eating their evening meal before Joanna felt ready to broach the topic of Lady Anne. He’d seemed angry since she told him about John’s latest ploy. Her hands shook every time she picked up a spoon or bowl. Adrian didn’t seem to notice, immersed in his own thoughts as he ate.

  Her nails bit into her palm, she clenched her spoon so tightly. “Margery was at Lady Anne’s today,” Joanna began.

  Did Adrian’s shoulders stiffen? Did his eating knife pause briefly before he cut his meat?

  Please, Adrian, please tell me you were there. Don’t lie to me.

  What if the truth was worse than a lie? She couldn’t finish her food. The smell of roast capon made her stomach turn.

  “Oh?” He placed his knife in his bowl.

  “She dropped off the final changes for the new window designs.”

  “Joanna—”

  She held her breath.

  “Are there any more peas?”

  Joanna collapsed against the hard back of her chair. She was going to have to drag the tale out of him. He must harbor some secret involving Lady Anne or he’d have told her on his own. She couldn’t glean anything from his bland expression.

  “Margery said she saw you there.” Good, she thought. Much better than accusing him as she wanted to.

  “Oh. I didn’t see her,” Adrian said.

  Joanna went cold inside. He’d admitted to being at Lady Anne’s. Though theirs was a marriage of convenience, his revelation hurt. She’d been a fool to be drawn in by his handsome face, his kindnesses. His amazing caresses and kisses.

  Perhaps she should give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he had a good explanation.

  “Joanna, I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said.

  Apparently not.

  The dull tone of his voice, the somber look on his face, sparked tears. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see how this conversation disturbed her. She swallowed back her tears despite the burning in her soul.

  Her husband had a mistress.

  Disgusting. No wonder he’d had to marry. Lady Anne was too old to be his precious heir or provide children. The food she’d eaten threatened to leave her stomach. She swallowed, wincing at the burn in her throat.

  Marriage of convenience, marriage of convenience, marriage of convenience. If she focused on those words, maybe she could protect herself from the pain.

  Adrian pushed his bowl away. “Before I met you, I…. There’s no way to sweeten this tale. You deserve to know, though I fear you’ll despise me for it.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair, leaving the dark waves messier than they had been. “Until we agreed to marry, I…visited Lady Anne every week.”

  Joanna�
�s throat constricted. She had to swallow several more times before she could speak. “Would I be naïve to assume you helped her with chores? Read to her or some such thing?” Her voice sounded like she’d squeezed out the words.

  “Joanna, I too am disgusted. I could see no other way. That was what she insisted I do to earn back my house.”

  “You had sex with her, to….” Joanna fled to the slop bucket and bent over, sending her curls flying. She pushed them out of the way and vomited.

  Joanna felt Adrian behind her. For the first time since she’d met him, his presence was no comfort.

  “Please,” she whispered, “don’t touch me. I can’t bear it.” She couldn’t look at him. Any pity in his gaze would be her undoing.

  “I haven’t touched her since you and I decided to wed. I swear to you,” he said. “I never wanted to be with her at all. I told you Lady Anne had agreed to let me buy back the house. We struck a deal so I could earn the manor because I didn’t have the coin to purchase it.”

  “What?”

  “She said my visits would earn back my father’s fortune and she’d leave the rest of his gold and the house to me when she dies.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “A morbid plan, I agree. Realistic, nonetheless. She is five-and-fifty, and her son inherited her late husband’s riches. Her husband was my father’s largest creditor, but being wealthy in his own right he never spent my father’s coin.

  “I did what I had to do to get my family’s birthright back. I never thought I’d care what anyone thought of my actions.”

  Adrian stepped so close she could feel his body heat. Unconsciously she flinched and moved away. She couldn’t be near him.

  “Now I do care. Don’t condemn me, Joanna.” Adrian’s voice caught.

  Adrian’s tale seemed so far-fetched it might be true. But her nausea remained. Could she accept his actions and continue living with him, sharing his bed? What recourse did she have? Could she ever look at him and not imagine him with Lady Anne?

  She retched again.