My Lady Jane(19)

At least the wedding meant Jane would no longer live with her mother.

After a bit more tugging and twisting and distress over Jane’s general flatness of bosom, there was a knock on the library door. “It’s time.”

A glance at the window revealed dusk had fallen. It was night.

“What kind of man insists on getting married after dark?” she muttered as she was ushered from the room. A boorish brute, Jane thought. That’s who.

She shot one last longing look at the neglected books. Maybe, at least, they would come with the husband. They could make a trade. The books for— Well, she would figure out what he wanted. Besides women. Edward had said he would speak to him. Even someone like Gifford couldn’t say no to his king.

Jane couldn’t seem to catch her breath. (And it wasn’t just that her corset was too tight, although it was. Extremely.)

She’d always known she’d have to get married, of course. The string of destitute ex-fiancés could not continue forever.

But to someone who’d spent time with dozens—maybe hundreds—of women, how could she compare? To Gifford, what would she be but another woman and the end to his debauchery? He’d resent her every day of their marriage, and not just because of her narrow (unsuitable for childbearing) hips and her odd red hair.

Jane tried to drag her feet on her way to the great room, but her mother hurried her along and sooner than seemed possible, they stood near the wide double doors, both thrown open to release the sound of music and voices. Flickering candlelight cast a haunting glow over Edward, who was waiting for her. He smiled and stood when she arrived, using the armrests for support as he did. “You look beautiful, Jane.”

“You look—” Jane didn’t finish her thought. Today he was wearing the royal regalia, the crown and coat and gold dagger, all the fashion required of a king about to give away his cousin at the altar, but underneath the layers of brocade and fur, he still looked thin. Sick. Dying.

“I know.” He plucked the end of his fur-lined coat between his white-gloved fingers. “I look as handsome and regal as ever. But don’t stare. You’ll embarrass me.”

Jane mustered a smile.

“Now, Jane,” Lady Frances said after all the appropriate greetings and genuflections to the king were made, “try to be happy. This is your wedding day!”

Jane exchanged a look with Edward and rolled her eyes as her mother and lady-in-waiting went into the great room to take their places. Jane made sure to stay out of the line of sight from the guests. As soon as she appeared, people would expect her to begin the long trek to her betrothed.

“Jane,” Edward said when they were alone. “I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it was important.”

“I know.” She didn’t need a repeat of yesterday’s conversation.

“I did speak to him,” Edward said. “His nights of carousing are over.”

“The nights of carousing that have already occurred can never be undone.” She tried to cross her arms, but the embroidered gems caught so she left her hands at her sides. If she ruined The Gown before she’d even said her vows, her mother would never let her forget it. “He’s a dissolute man, a reprobate, a—”

She’d run out of synonyms. That was disappointing.

“Janey—” Edward coughed into a handkerchief that was already speckled with pink.

She waited a moment, unsure whether to help or say something about his condition, but as he stuffed the handkerchief back into a pocket, his face was red with the exertion or embarrassment or both. Instead, she jumped on to the next subject that would help take both of their minds off his affliction. “So, you saw Gifford. Prepare me: how bad is the nose?”

A general flurry of motion came from the great room, and Jane realized that she’d moved within view of the wedding guests.

Edward’s eyebrows raised. “I guess you’re about to find out.”

With a sigh, Jane picked up her bouquet—White Roses of York and cowslips—and took her place by the king’s side. Arm in arm, they entered the great room. It was filled with people, all of them staring at her. What she wouldn’t give for a book to hide behind. She’d have brought a spare book for Edward, too, though perhaps he was more used to the attention, what with being king.

Hundreds of candles lit the great room, a line of them illuminating a path to the altar, where a priest and the groom waited. There were even more candles behind them, which made it impossible to really get a good look at her betrothed.

Together, Jane and Edward made a slow, stately march down the aisle, ignoring the murmurs about how the king seemed sickly, and how the color of her gown made her hair look court-jester red, and how odd and hasty this wedding was. Jane tried to shrink into The Gown.

Then, much too soon, they’d reached the altar and Edward took one of Jane’s hands. “To you, Lord Gifford Dudley, I give my cousin and dearest friend, Lady Jane Grey.” Before Jane’s hand was passed from one man to the other, she gave Edward a light squeeze and blinked away the tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not really.

“Thank you.” Gifford’s voice was deep, but his tone completely bland as he took Jane’s hand and helped her up the step where she stood before him at last.

She looked up. And up. And nearly crushed her wedding bouquet.