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The week after Geoffrey left Roselynde was a sharp trial to Joanna. Everything seemed to be conspiring to increase Geoffrey's importance to her. The weather, which had been hot and fine, changed, and an alternation of heavy downpour and light drizzle had lasted for days. This had confined Joanna to the keep and to overseeing the spinning and weaving of the maids. The quality and quantity of the output increased somewhat, but the maids at Roselynde were always well trained and reasonably dutiful. The gown Joanna was making for Geoffrey also progressed. Joanna was an exquisite needlewoman and now, past the resentments of childhood, she enjoyed the work, particularly the delicate, elaborate embroidery. She took great pride in the pictures her fine needles and brilliant threads painted and was well pleased by the image she was creating in gold thread on the soft, golden-green silk she had chosen. |
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This was part of her wedding present to her husband, and she had given considerable time and thought to what would become him. She had been pleased that Geoffrey's gold-brown hair and gold-brown eyes would be bleached into insignificance by the brilliant tints Ian wore. Frankly she was tired of sewing crimson and brilliant blues and greens. It was nice to love one's stepfather, but it was nicer to have a man of one's own to sew for, and it was nicer still to have them so different. |
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There was no need to remind oneself that this gown was for Geoffrey. Ian would have looked dreadful in it, his dark skin turned sallow by the soft color. Geoffrey, on the other hand, would glow more golden. At that point, Joanna checked her thoughts and sighed with exasperation. There |
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