My Lady Jane(45)

Jane turned to her left, then to her right, seeming to search for the lady to whom he was referring.

And then recognition dawned upon her face.

Her mouth opened slightly. “But . . . but . . . I don’t want to be queen. It’s not my right. Mary is the rightful heir.”

A squire stepped forward and unrolled a scroll of paper. “By royal decree, from His Majesty King Edward. A Revised Line of Succession. ‘Upon the event of my death, I bequeath my kingdom and the entitlements and protections thereof, to the Lady Jane Grey and the male heirs who follow her.’”

Lord Dudley raised an elbow. “May I escort you to the throne so we can commence with the coronation?”

“So quickly?” She stepped back.

“We need a queen. Now, my lady,” Lord Dudley said.

Jane’s mother bowed deeply before her. G could tell from Jane’s face that this act was perhaps the most disturbing gesture of support she could have received. Her brows knitted together, her hands stayed firmly at her side, and she gazed pleadingly at G. He was pretty sure if she could turn into a Brown Carpathian bull she would stampede out of the castle and never return.

Horse, she mouthed. He then realized she wanted him to become a horse, and carry her far away. G wished he had the ability to comply.

Here was his lady, shaking ever so minutely under the heavy stares of every member of court. This was the Jane with the brilliant red hair and radiant face. The one who didn’t pretend everything was under her control. The one who was most accustomed to a book staring back at her, not a person. Not a roomful of people. The one who, realizing what a formidable task ruling a country was, would never lunge for the crown when given the chance.

This was his lady. His wife. And he would take care of her.

G stepped forward, took her hand, and draped it over his arm. They stood, nose to nose, for a very long moment, the hum of murmurs in the throne room dimming to near silence.

“You can do this,” G whispered.

Her voice was ragged. “I can’t.”

He shrugged. “Okay, we’ll tell them thank you so much for the very kind offer of running the country, but no thank you. I have no desire to honor my cousin, the king’s, wishes. Now where are my damn books?”

Jane cracked the tiniest of smiles. “That sounds about right.”

“Or, perhaps, as an alternative, and merely a suggestion”—G ran his fingers lightly over her knuckles—“you could accept the throne, and do everything you said you would do if you ever ran the country.”

She looked up. He took her face in his hands.

“Remember the people we helped? Now you could help an entire kingdom, from giving the highest born a new perspective and lending aid to the lowest peasants. We could help them, together. I’ll be right here with you. Except when . . . I have to be outside. But I’m with you, Jane.”

“Is it possible?” Jane said. “That we could help others and rule?”

G gave her a look of eternal optimism. “Let’s not forget the free fountain of never-ending ale.”

Jane threw her arms around G, taking him and the entire court by surprise. The more conservative ladies in the throne room daintily held lace handkerchiefs to their bright cheeks. The servants in attendance gave one another knowing looks, as though to say, With such a forward lady, no wonder there were shredded clothes in the wedding bedchamber.

Lord Dudley, on the other hand, beamed as if the couple were producing a male heir right then and there.

A chill went down G’s spine at the sight of his father’s smile. His father never smiled. Which made G wonder just what the duke was up to.

Lord Dudley led Jane to the throne, but she would not let go of G’s hand. In fact, she squeezed his fingers until he winced, increasing the pressure as the Archbishop of Canterbury lowered the crown onto her head. She let go only to hold the scepter and the orb, the final symbols of the monarchy.

The hand with the orb shook, and Jane’s eyes narrowed enough that G thought she might chuck the ball toward Lord Dudley’s eagle nose. He had to admit it provided a very tempting target. But she refrained, and placed the orb and scepter back on the pillow.

“Long live Queen Jane!” Lord Dudley announced.

“Long live the queen!” the members of court replied.

And it was over. Just like that. Hours ago, they were alone in their country house, possibly about to kiss, and now Jane was queen. Although G had missed the last few years of court, and therefore any sort of changes to royal protocol, he distinctly remembered the coronation of King Edward. There’d been three days of celebrations in anticipation of the event, and the coronation itself had lasted hours. And it had taken place in the opulent Westminster Cathedral, not this less formal throne room. King Edward had been nine at the time, and seemed barely able to stand under the weight of the crown and the royal robes.

But Jane’s coronation had lasted ten minutes. There were no street-side celebrations to welcome the new queen. None of the pomp and splendor that should accompany a coronation. Even now, as G glanced around the throne room, the expressions on faces ranged from forced smiles to worried glances, excepting the mother of the queen and G’s own still strangely beaming father.

Lord Dudley stood by the throne, assuming a position of power a little prematurely, by G’s assessment. A line had formed to receive the queen, and vow allegiance to her, but G was no longer watching the line. Instead, movement at the entrance caught his attention. A messenger entered the room—cautiously, as all messengers did after the reign of the Lion King.