“I’m going to walk with Lady Jane in the orchard,” Edward announced. “Carry on without me.”
“But, Your Majesty,” protested Mistress Penne, rushing forward. She was his nursemaid, a plump, kind-faced old woman who had looked after him when he was a baby and been called back to his side during his illness earlier in the year. Lately she was always hovering, fretting that he wasn’t dressed warmly enough, worrying that any small exertion might be too much of a strain on his now-delicate constitution. “Are you sure that’s wise, in your condition?”
That was one of the forbidden words, but Edward decided he would allow it from Mistress Penne because when he’d get his fevers she’d sit next to his bed and put a cool cloth on his forehead, and stroke his hair, and sometimes even sing to him.
“Yes, Sire, perhaps you should rest,” agreed Dudley.
Edward waved them off. “What’s the worst that could happen? I could catch my death?”
He was trying to be brave and jovial in the face of it all, but in this he obviously failed. Dudley looked disappointed in him. Mary appeared more solemn than usual. Mistress Penne put her hand over her wrinkled mouth and shuffled away, sniffling.
Brilliant, he thought. Just brilliant. But should dying people have to apologize?
Jane looked at him, suddenly taking in his plain clothes and lack of crown and the wag-tailed dog at his side. “Edward? What’s going on?” she asked.
“Come,” he said, stepping down from the throne and offering Jane his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
And so they walked, dog and girl and king, out of the palace and across the grounds and down through the entire length of the orchard, where they settled under the white blossoms of an apple tree.
“All right,” he said, once they were certainly out of earshot of anyone from court. “What’s the matter, Janey?”
“I can’t get married tomorrow,” she burst out. “You’ve got to call it off.”
“But why?” Edward picked up his scratching of behind Pet’s ears, and she made a happy dog noise deep in her throat.
“I simply cannot marry him, that’s all. Not him.”
“But I hear he’s a fine young man, Jane,” Edward said. “Lord Dudley assured me that Gifford will be a model husband.”
When he wasn’t busy galloping around the countryside, Edward thought a tad guiltily.
Jane picked at the brocade on her gown. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? A fine young man. A good match. How fortunate I am, indeed. Well. I went to Dudley Castle a few days ago, for I thought I might get a chance to see him or speak with him before we’re to be wed, and . . .”
Ah, so she must have seen Gifford in his steed-like state. Which must have been rather a shock, if nobody had told her that Gifford was an E?ian beforehand. “What happened?” he asked.
“It was awful. It turns out, Gifford Dudley is a . . . he’s a—” She couldn’t even finish the word. “Please, Edward,” she said, and to his horror, her voice wavered and broke. “You don’t understand. He’s a hor—”
“I know,” he said.
She stared at him. “You know?”
“Yes. Lord Dudley told me.”
“But then why did you agree to the match?” she cried indignantly. “How could you wish me to marry such a—”
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Edward said.
Her brown eyes widened. “What?”
“I thought you’d be intrigued by his condition.”
“No, I can assure you, I am not intrigued by anything to do with him.” Jane’s nose wrinkled up in distaste. “And I wouldn’t exactly say he has a condition.”
“Then what would you say?” Edward was starting to feel as though he’d missed something.
“He’s a horrible skirt-chaser!” she exclaimed. “A stud, a lady-killer, a womanizer!”
Oh.
So she didn’t know about Gifford’s steed-like state.
“Well, Janey,” he said with a cough. “That’s hardly surprising, is it? They say he’s handsome.”
“Do they?” she said, with an edge of hysteria. “Do they say that?”
“Yes,” Edward affirmed. “And rich, handsome young men with titles can generally have their pick of the ladies.”
Unless you were a teenage king with a coughing problem.
Jane’s mouth pursed. “I can’t marry him. Please, Edward, you must put a stop to it.”
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.”