Until the ceremony, he had, in jest, been vocal about the possibility that Jane was hiding behind books because she was trying to conceal the hideousness of her face. But deep down he’d hoped it was true. Because that would’ve made it easier to tell her the truth about his horse curse. If she had been less attractive, there might’ve been the chance that a half horse/half man was the best she could do. But Jane Grey could certainly do better than Gifford.
Not that she was a stunning creature. She did have that fire-red hair, after all. But G had to admit that not one in twenty men would find her unseemly. Her eyes were the color of varnished oak flecked with deep mahogany—perceptive eyes that seemed to drink in everything around her. Her skin was creamy and unblemished. Her figure had all the expected parts in all the right configurements. But it was the supple pout of her lips—and they had pouted a lot during the ceremony—that could inspire poetry.
Like kissing cherries, he thought, but that wasn’t a very good comparison.
And now, he had to tell those lips about the curse. He’d promised the king he would share the news with his bride before he and she . . . before they . . . what was the official term for it?
Ugh. Consummated, G thought. What was it with this obsession with consummation of a marriage? As if the “I do”s weren’t enough. At least the nobility of England no longer required live witnesses to the event.
But right now, at the wedding supper, a bigger problem was emerging. Every time G thought about how to break the news to her, he gulped down a cup of ale. And he thought about it a lot. Every time he looked at his new bride. And he looked at her a lot.
As a side note, he decided her frown would not inspire poetry. Because the poem would read: Her frown made him desire they be better strangers.
And what was Jane’s relationship with the king anyway? When Edward had summoned G expressly to tell him how “special” Jane was, Gifford had gotten the distinct impression that perhaps the king would have preferred to have Jane for himself. Yes, she was Edward’s cousin, but perhaps they were “kissing cousins,” judging from the way Jane had clutched the king’s arm as they’d walked down the aisle together. And the way she’d kept glancing in Edward’s direction during the ceremony.
Perhaps his wife was in love with another man.
The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. He washed it down with more ale.
He turned away and scanned the crowd. Billingsly was coming toward him, threading his way through the tables. “My lord,” he whispered in G’s ear. “Your father has asked me to gently urge you to switch from ale to cider.”
“Billingssssssly,” G said, marveling how long one could sustain the s in Billingsly’s name. Perhaps he had consumed more ale than he’d thought. “Billingssssssssssssssssly.” He leaned away from his bride. “I wonder if you might do me a favor.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I wonder if you might tell Lady Jane about the whole . . .” G waved his hand in a circle as if to say, “Fill in the blank about the horse stuff.”
Billingsly looked from Jane back to G. “My lord, under other circumstances, I would gladly assist you. But I believe the lady would prefer to hear such news from you.”
“Coward.” G took another swig from the goblet of ale in front of him. Where was the honor among servants these days? He caught a hard glance from his new wife, and judging from the narrowness of her eyes, he assumed she disapproved of his ale consumption. He wished his ale consumption was all there was to cause disapproval.
G raised his glass toward her, and said loudly, “To my beautiful bride!”
The entire assembly hall raised their goblets in response. “To the Lady Jane!” they said in unison.
G took another gulp, and thought about the best way to break the equestrian news.
My dear, you know those four-legged majestical beasts of the land? Well, you married one!
No. That could not be the right approach.
My sweet, have you ever had a difficult time deciding between man or beast? Well, now you don’t have to!
Again, he thought better of this tactic.
Sweet lady, there are those of us who sleep lying down, and those of us who sleep standing up. I can do both.
No.
You know how some men claim to have another, perhaps hairier side?
Have you ever cursed the fact that your loved one has just the two legs?
Did you know that horses have incredible balance?
Hey! What’s that over there? And then he would gallop away.
G shook his head and could almost feel the ale swirling in his brain. It was at that moment he reasoned to himself that the assembly hall was not the place to tell his wife about his alter ego. Too many people.
Hours later, when G was practically sloshing with ale, he came to the conclusion that the walk to their bedchamber was not the place to tell his wife, either. Too many mounted deer heads on the walls.