His gaze was steady on her, and though they stood very close together, neither of them moved.
Would he kiss her? Part of her hoped he would. A big part, maybe. Multiple parts: her butterfly-filled stomach, her thudding heart, and her lips, which remembered the gentle breath of a kiss during their wedding. Not meant to be sweet then, just swift, but now proof that he was capable of such tenderness.
She shifted toward him. “G . . .”
“My lady?” He touched her arm, and if he was surprised about her use of his preferred address, he didn’t show it. There was a hopeful note in the way he said, “Jane?”
A knock sounded, and a maid entered without waiting for permission. Jane and G jumped apart as if they’d been caught in a compromising position. Which they had, almost, but they were married so it was allowed.
Jane’s heart pounded and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, though G’s recovery appeared much smoother. Perhaps he was more used to being discovered like this—or worse.
“Yes?” Gifford’s voice was rough; maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he appeared. “What is the meaning of this?”
The maid stepped aside to admit two burly men in royal guard uniforms. “Lady Jane must return to London immediately.” It was Unibrow Guard, the same man who’d prevented her from seeing Edward the day she left London.
Jane went cold. No good news came in the middle of the night. “What is wrong?”
“We’re not at liberty to say, my lady, but you must come with us. Your belongings will follow. A carriage is waiting.”
“Perhaps you should tell her what it is you want from her first,” said G, stepping closer to Jane. “There’s no need to keep her in suspense.”
“I’m afraid we’re under orders to do nothing but deliver Lady Jane straight to the Tower of London.”
“By whose orders?” G pressed.
“Your father’s.” The guard turned to the maid. “Pack their belongings and send along everything later tonight. Ensure the lord and lady have something to eat for the journey. . . .”
Jane’s mind whirred as the guards continued giving orders and she was taken from the house. Why would she be needed at the Tower? Was Edward there? Had he sent for her? Had his illness grown worse?
Before she realized, she’d been packed into the carriage, with a book shoved into her hands. G sat beside her murmuring something that might have been comforting, but all she could think of was Edward: how pale he’d looked at the wedding, the hollows under his eyes, and even the way he’d stopped wearing the daily attire befitting a king.
Unibrow Guard sat in the carriage with Jane, the only one who seemed to know how to speak, though nothing he said was particularly useful for assuaging her anxiety. It was only as the carriage burst into motion that Jane noticed the rest of the guards: almost a score of men on horseback riding alongside her and Gifford as they bounced along the road. They were armed with swords, and all wore the Dudley crest.
“Please,” she tried again. “What is the reason for this?”
“You’ll find out as soon as we arrive.”
This man was a fortress.
She looked over at G from the corner of her eye. His jaw was set, and he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.
Guilt or worry?
Gifford couldn’t have anticipated this, could he? Unless he’d planned something with his father ahead of time, but to what end? While Lord Dudley didn’t seem to like Jane very much, there could be no benefit to cutting short the honeymoon.
Perhaps she was suspicious of him simply because she didn’t like his nose.
And suspicious of G because she did like his nose.
Perhaps Edward had recovered and he wanted to speak to her directly about her letter. Perhaps he was summoning her in order to apologize. Just because no one had ever recovered from “the Affliction” didn’t mean he couldn’t be the first.
Jane lowered her eyes to the book in her hands. Famous Steeds of England in the Fourteenth Century.
“You looked like you needed a book,” G said. “It was on top of the pile.”
“Thank you.” But the words were automatic, and Jane spent most of the ride staring out the window as a knot of worry tightened in her stomach.
It was late when they arrived in the outskirts of London, so a certain stillness of sleeping was to be expected. But tonight, either because of her mysterious summons or because there was truly something off about the city, there was a subtle almost-paralysis in the streets. As if everything were a painting. Even the wind had died.
Their carriage clattered unnaturally loudly down the road. A few people appeared in doorways, staring.
The Tower of London, too, held that stillness when they arrived. That feeling of a held breath.
(We’d like to take this opportunity to point out that, in spite of the name, the Tower of London is actually a castle with many towers. The White Tower, Bloody Tower, the Flint Tower . . . It’s all very impressive.)