My Lady Jane(16)

Edward couldn’t stop this wedding, he knew, not in his country’s present political climate. But he sensed that if he explained the true reason for her rushed nuptials (that they were in a great hurry for her to produce an heir who would inherit the throne of England after he died), it would only upset her further. Instead he tried to think of something soothing to tell her, but nothing especially soothing came to mind.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” he tried. “I can’t. I . . .”

“If you care for me at all,” she said then, “you won’t force me to marry him.”

Edward experienced a tightness in his chest. He coughed into his handkerchief until purple spots appeared on the edges of his vision. Pet raised her head from his lap and cast an accusatory glare in Jane’s direction.

“Are you all right?” Jane murmured. “Edward. Are you . . . ill?”

“I’m dying,” he confessed.

He watched the color drain from her face.

“I thought it was only a chest cold,” she murmured.

“No.”

“Not ‘the Affliction’?” she guessed, and closed her eyes when he just gazed at her sadly.

“I do intend to get a second opinion,” he said. “A better one.”

“When?” she asked in a small voice. “When do they think . . .”

“Soon enough.” He took her small ink-stained hand in his. “I know this marriage is not what you want. Believe me, I understand. Remember when I was engaged to Mary Queen of Scots?” He shuddered. “But you have to marry somebody, Janey, because that’s what young ladies of high birth do: they get married. You can’t hide in your books forever.”

Jane bent her head. A lock of runaway red hair fell into her face. “I know. But why him?” she asked. “Why now?”

“Because I trust Lord Dudley,” he said simply. “And because I’m out of time. I need to know that you’ll be taken care of. After I’m gone, who knows who you’d be matched to? There are worse fates than ending up with someone young and good-looking and rich.”

“I suppose,” she said.

He knew he should tell her about the horse thing. This was a detail she should be aware of. But he couldn’t find the appropriate wording for what was essentially, and by the way, the guy you’re marrying actually is a stud. Literally.

He should tell her.

He’d get someone else to tell her.

“Do this for me, Jane,” he said gently. “Please. I’m asking as your king, but also as your friend.”

She remained silent, staring down at their clasped hands, but something changed in her expression. He saw there the beginnings of acceptance. His chest felt tight again.

“All will be well, you’ll see.” He squeezed her hand. “And, if it will make you feel better, I’ll speak to this Gifford fellow about his carousing problem. I’ll make him swear to be a picture of fidelity. I’ll threaten him with the rack or something.”

She looked up. “You could do that?”

He smirked. “I’m the king. Anything else you’d like me to do to him? The stocks? The cat o’ nine tails? Thumbscrews? The Spanish tickler?”

He was relieved to see the hint of a smile that played across her lips.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, sliding her hand from his to bury her fingers in the fur at Pet’s scruff. “He might be in need of a good foot roasting.”

“Done,” he agreed.

She let out a little sigh. “I suppose there is one other thing you can do for me, cousin,” she said after a moment.

“Whatever you desire,” he said. “Name it.”

Her warm brown eyes met his. “Walk me down the aisle?”

His heart squeezed again. “Of course,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”

After he’d seen her off in a carriage back to Chelsea (where the Grey family stayed while they were in London) Edward sought out Lord Dudley, who he found in the council chambers engaged in what appeared to be a very serious conversation with Mistress Penne. On the subject of his failing health, no doubt.

“So,” the duke said as Edward drew near. “Did you persuade her?”

Mistress Penne felt his forehead with the back of her hand. At his side, Pet let out a low growl, and the nurse withdrew her hand.

“I’m fine,” he said.

The nurse gave him a look that conveyed that she was still offended by his earlier flippancy, and retreated with a rustle of skirts. He watched the door swing closed behind her. Then he dropped into his red cushy chair and reached for the bowl of blackberries.

“Sire,” Lord Dudley began. “You must take care to—”

Pet stuck her long nose into the blackberries and snuffed, sending the bowl clattering to the floor and berries rolling in every direction.

Edward gave the dog a stern look as servants rushed in to clean up the mess.

“Bad dog,” he said.

She wagged her tail.

“Sire, you mustn’t overexert yourself,” Dudley said.

“I’m fine,” Edward insisted. “The fresh air did me good. And yes, Jane has agreed to marry your son. But why did no one tell her about the horse . . . situation?”

Dudley shook his head as if the issue was entirely unimportant. “I’ve found that women do not need to be burdened with such minor details.”