“Richard! Who?”
“The Count of Toulouse.” Watching her intently, Richard saw her eyes widen, her lips part. But she said not a word and she looked so stunned that he felt a prickle of unease.
Joanna was still struggling with disbelief. “Raimond de St Gilles?”
“Well, he is the only Count of Toulouse I know, lass.” Richard slid his chair closer. “Such an opportunity is rarer than dragon’s teeth. You would be bringing Toulouse back into the family, Joanna, whilst depriving Philippe of a valuable ally. But the marriage is a good one for you, too. You already know Raimond, having spent several months in his company, so there’d be no surprises, and not many brides can say that. From what I’ve heard about the man, he ought to be easy enough to live with, for he likes music and women and wine and seems to find humor in most of life’s predicaments. And you’ll feel at home in Toulouse, for it is much like Sicily. Even the weather will be to your liking, warmer than Normandy or Anjou; you’ve often complained of our winters. . . .”
He paused then, feeling that he was talking too much, spurred on by her strange silence. He glanced toward their mother, seeking some help, and she obliged by leaning over to take Joanna’s hand; she was startled to find it was as cold as ice. “What pleases me greatly,” she said, “is that I will not be losing you again. Few mothers and daughters are so lucky.” It troubled her, though, that Joanna seemed so shaken, and she tightened her grip on her daughter’s hand, saying, “But it is a decision that will change the course of your life, so that decision ought not to be a hasty one. You need not give us your answer now; you can take some time to think on it.”
Richard was not willing to wait for another heartbeat, not with so much at stake. He saw the wisdom, though, in Eleanor’s suggestion, for there was a danger Joanna might make an impulsive refusal and then feel bound by pride to hold to it. “Maman is right,” he said, albeit without much enthusiasm. “You need time to consider this.”
Joanna looked from one to the other, blinking as if she were awakening from a drowsy daydream. “No,” she said and was surprised to find them both staring at her in utter dismay, only belatedly comprehending why. “I meant that I do not need time to consider it.” She paused to draw a deep, steadying breath, and then smiled. “I am quite willing to marry the Count of Toulouse.” After that, she could say no more, for she’d been swept up into her brother’s arms and he was hugging her so tightly that she thought he might crack a rib.
FLOATING DOWN THE STAIRS into the great hall, Joanna saw her sister-in-law hurrying toward her. Understanding now why Berengaria had seemed so preoccupied, she paused long enough to confirm that yes, she would be marrying the Count of Toulouse, and no, she did not believe she’d be wedding a heretic. She saw that Berengaria would need convincing, but she did not have time for that now, and she hastily excused herself.
She finally found Mariam in their bedchamber. The other woman glanced up as the door opened, the book on her lap forgotten as soon as she saw Joanna’s face. “What is it? You look . . . Well, I am not sure, for I’ve never seen you look like this!”
“That is because I’ve never felt like this,” Joanna confided. “I am still not sure it really happened, for it seems so . . . so improbable. I’ve been with Richard and my mother in the solar, listening as they sought to persuade me that I ought to marry Raimond de St Gilles.”
“Joanna!” Mariam sprang to her feet, and once again Joanna found herself enveloped in an exuberant embrace, this one easier on her ribs. As giddy as young girls, they laughed and hugged, and settled then onto the bed, where Mariam demanded to know all.
Joanna was eager to share the events of the past hour, hoping that saying it aloud would make it seem real. Richard and her mother were delighted with the match. By agreeing to wed Raimond, she’d be in high favor with her brother for some time to come, she said, with a mischievous smile. Raimond had agreed to marry her as soon as the suggestion had been broached, not even waiting to learn what marriage portion Richard would provide. This time her smile was downright dazzling. Fortunately, Richard was giving her a very generous dowry: the rich county of the Agen. Richard meant to send word to Raimond that very day, and they would be wed here in Rouen as quickly as the arrangements could be made.
“So,” she concluded, “by this time next month, I will be the Countess of Toulouse.”