She laughed again, although it came out as more of a sob. She was the queen. The ruler. The monarch. The sovereign. The leader. The head of state. The chief. The one wearing the proverbial pants. The person in charge. The boss. The. Queen. Of. England.
Jane had always resisted the notion that women were weaker than men, not just physically, but intellectually. Her education had been as good as Edward’s—they had even shared some of the same tutors for a time—and Jane had always excelled at whatever she put her mind to. She could speak eight languages, for heaven’s sake, and was considered by some of her instructors to be a marvel at rhetoric and reasoning. She understood the complexities of philosophy and the nuances of religion. She devoured books several times a day, the way ordinary people took their meals. She memorized poetry in Latin simply to pass the time. All this she could do as well as any man.
But could she rule a country?
Jane paced her new bedroom—a chamber in the royal apartments of the Tower of London fit for (what else?) a queen. Last night, after receiving her subjects (the thought made Jane’s stomach lurch) she’d been sent to her chambers to rest, Lord Dudley citing that a queen should not be kept up so late, and she’d need to be refreshed for a long day of queenly activities that awaited her in the morning.
Jane had been exhausted, so she’d complied, but she’d made certain everyone knew she wasn’t being sent to her room like a child. She’d shot Gifford a quick look—was he coming?—but Lord Dudley pulled Gifford aside to speak with him. So Jane had grabbed a book without checking what it was (it turned out to be Afterlives: The Hundred-Year Debate of E?ians and Reincarnation), and hurled it onto the gigantic bed when she realized it was about death.
Then it had truly hit her: Edward was dead.
She would never see him again.
He was gone.
After a long, angry cry, she hadn’t been able to sleep, so as the sun lifted and somewhere (hopefully outside) Gifford turned into a horse, she explored her chambers. The decor was annoyingly opulent. Long, silk brocade drapes framed the windows, while several wardrobes lined the walls, filled with more gowns than she could imagine wearing. In the two places along the wall not occupied by wardrobes, there was a door that presumably joined the queen’s rooms with the king’s, and a vanity with a large glass mirror, just in case she wanted to look at herself and admire how very queenly she wasn’t.
No, there were circles under her eyes from last night’s journey and devastation. Her skin, previously flushed from days in the sun, now looked sallow and drawn. Her eyes were raw from crying, itchy and red and as puffy as a pastry. Not to mention all her normal flaws.
She looked nothing at all like a queen.
The worst part about her new chambers was that all these wardrobes and vanities and drapes meant there was no space—none at all—for a bookcase. Who on earth could feel comfortable enough to sleep in a room with no books?
Edward would never sleep again, she reminded herself tearfully.
He would never read a book again.
A knock sounded and she ignored it, choosing instead to flop down in the center of her bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and compose a mental list of all the things Edward would never do again. Obvious things, like eating and breathing, she skipped. She was on number twenty-seven: scratching his dog behind the ears, and number twenty-eight: eating ridiculous amounts of blackberry pudding, when her visitor knocked again, then entered anyway.
“Good morning.” Her mother swept into the room, followed by a troop of ladies-in-waiting. At Lady Frances’s instruction, some of the ladies drew a bath, scenting the water with rose oil until the smell filled the room and Jane’s eyes watered. Others opened the vanity, selecting a frightening array of cosmetics. Still more put tray after tray of food on a table: sausages and eggs, bread drizzled with honey, and fruit with rivers of cream.
As all this activity unfolded around her, Jane remained on the bed, unmoving and unmoved.
“Well?” Lady Frances snapped her fingers at Jane, drawing startled glances from the maids. After a moment, she seemed to realize what she’d done, and softened her voice as she dropped her hand to her side. “Jane, my dear. Your Majesty. It’s time for a bath and breakfast. You must prepare to meet your people.”
Jane had met her people last night. “I’m mourning my cousin.”
“I know, my dear, but you must— That is, I think it would be wise to show yourself strong and capable immediately. Don’t wait for a crisis before you take action.”
“You think I should take action?” Jane asked.