I know all about the horse thing— “and I know your family to be perfectly respectable and worthy of someone as . . . special as my cousin Jane, I feel that I don’t know you.”
Then he stopped talking for a minute because Pet, with her tail wagging, had plopped herself down right next to Gifford’s chair—Gifford’s, not Edward’s, mind you—and was staring up at the young lord adoringly. Gifford smiled down on her and reached out to scratch what Edward knew was just the right place behind Pet’s chin.
She sighed and put her head in his lap.
Even she couldn’t resist this fellow’s charms.
Edward started coughing, and then coughing, and then coughing some more, so hard that his eyes watered. When the spasms subsided both Pet and Gifford were looking at him with concern.
“Anyway,” Edward wheezed. “I want to know, G, that as her husband you will take care of my dear cousin.”
“Of course,” Gifford said quickly.
“No,” Edward clarified. “I mean that there will be no one else that you’re going to take care of. Ever. Only Jane.”
Comprehension dawned in Gifford’s eyes.
“Jane deserves a devoted and virtuous husband,” Edward continued. “So you will be a devoted and virtuous husband. If I hear even a whisper of anything otherwise I will be very unhappy. And you would not like to see me unhappy.”
Gifford looked decidedly alarmed, which pleased Edward. He might no longer be strong, but he was still powerful. He smiled. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Gifford said. “I understand, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” Edward said. “You’re dismissed.”
Gifford was on his feet, already nearly to the door, when Edward called after him, “Oh, and one more thing.”
Gifford froze, then turned. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Jane is unaware of your condition. Your . . .”
Gifford sighed heavily. “Horse curse. My horse curse.”
“Yes. No one has informed her yet. I want you to be the one to tell her.”
Gifford’s eyes flashed with something resembling panic. “Me?”
“She deserves to hear it from her husband,” Edward said. As he spoke the words he thought that this sounded like a very wise idea. A kingly idea. Inspired. “You probably won’t see her before the wedding, I understand, but before the night is through, before you and she . . .” He stopped. He didn’t want to think about the end to that sentence. “You should tell her.”
There it was again, the doomed look, on Gifford’s too-handsome face. “Have I a choice, Sire?”
“Do any of us have a choice where destiny is concerned?”
Gifford lowered his head. “A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm,” he said, his voice building in intensity.
Edward stared at the young lord for a few long minutes. “I assume that means you’ll tell her.”
“Yes, Sire,” the young lord mumbled, and took his leave.
Edward watched from the window as, below in the courtyard, Gifford mounted his horse and galloped off the palace grounds. Edward felt good about how the conversation had gone. Then he crossed to his bed and slung himself down into it.
Pet came over to lick at his face.
“Off with you, traitorous dog,” he said, pushing her away playfully, but then he scooted over to make room, and she jumped up beside him.
FIVE
Jane
The wedding day was upon her.
The ceremony was being held at Durham House, the Dudleys’ London home, which meant on Saturday afternoon Jane was taken across the city by carriage and deposited, along with her mother, the seamstress, and Adella, her lady-in-waiting, into the Dudleys’ family library, which was to serve as a dressing chamber. (Only it didn’t seem as much of a library as it did an unused storage room, somewhat cleared in hasty preparation for the wedding.) Light streamed through the windows, thrown open to let in the breeze. There were bookcases (Jane could almost feel them calling out to her), a stack of wooden trunks, and The Gown waiting on a wire frame.
“This is so exciting,” chirped Adella as she fluttered around the sunlit room, touching everything as though it were all good luck. Puffs of dust flew up at her fingers. “You’re finally getting married!”
“Finally,” Jane said, staring at The Gown. It was gold-and-silver brocade, embroidered with diamonds and pearls. (Recall that these were the days before Queen Victoria famously wore a white gown for her wedding and forever changed matrimonial fashion.) It really was a lovely creation, and expensive, no doubt. Perhaps she’d even hear just how expensive if she were to protest this