Signing documents about palace staff, various lords’ holdings, and marriage requests. The last bit made her feel a little guilty, but evidently the first several requests on the pile were for people who wanted the arrangement approved, so she decided to think of it as giving her blessing. Still, it was disconcerting to have that kind of power in her hands.
Those were a string of more actions that Edward would never again take: signing his name, picking at a thread on the throne cushion, and hearing every council member talk about how great and terribly important they were. (Maybe that wasn’t something to be missed.)
There were also a handful of invitations to preside over state events, visit various nobles’ country homes, and attend something called the Red Wedding. Jane checked the “will not attend” box without giving this last invitation a second thought. As if she wanted to go to any more weddings.
None of it seemed very important, though. Nothing significant or helpful to the people. It was all busy work. She was given time to eat, but otherwise kept occupied. There was little opportunity to think about Edward or ask questions about Dudley’s motives, or do much of anything but wonder if she couldn’t put in an order for a new throne—she felt like a child sitting in this one, her feet barely touching the floor.
And annoyingly, Lord Dudley insisted on accompanying her everywhere. Like he was afraid that the moment she was out of his sight, she’d be out the window and heading for the hills.
Which didn’t sound like such a bad idea at this point.
“There was much Edward wasn’t able to do in his final days,” he was saying to her now mournfully. Dusk was falling. They were both waiting for Gifford at an exit near the stables, with amber sunlight falling through the open door and casting long, dark shadows down the hallway. “Our late king was so very ill. One of his last acts was to name you as his successor. It was his only thought, his only goal in those hours, naming the one person he trusted above all others.”
Above even the duke himself? He was trying to flatter her, certainly.
“Yes. Well, I still wish to see his body,” she said.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Dudley agreed faintly.
“I’d also like to travel to the palace at Greenwich, as soon as we’re able, to see to his room and his books. And what has happened to his dog, Petunia? I should like to see her as well. Can she be brought here?”
“Of course,” Dudley said, but she could tell by the look on his face that he had no real intention of seeing to her requests. But why deny her? What was he hiding?
She turned to gaze out at the sun, which was slowly falling below the horizon. She wished it would move faster. She’d feel better with Gifford here. “I also want all but one of the wardrobes moved out of my room,” she said, as if that were the conversation they’d been having the entire time. “There’s no need for every single one of them. Store them someplace else if you feel I need that many garments.”
Dudley’s lips thinned with a frown. “Your room would be quite bare without them, Your Majesty.”
“We’ll replace the wardrobes with something else, obviously.”
“What else could a queen possibly want in her chambers?” Lord Dudley managed to look genuinely flummoxed. “A large mirror, to make the room appear bigger? A golden stand to rest your crown upon each night?”
Jane wasn’t even wearing the crown now. She had no idea where it was.
Dudley continued. “A loom? Paintings? A spinning wheel? A chair for knitting in?”
He clearly didn’t know her at all. “Oh, my knitting skills are the foundations of textile legend,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Dudley brightened, as though relieved to have figured out something that would occupy so much of her time. “A chair for knitting you shall have, then! And all the yarn and needles a beautiful queen could desire.”
Ha.
“Father, don’t be daft.” Gifford approached, a tall shadow against the twilight sky. “What my wife desires—and what you should have guessed, had you paid attention—is bookcases. And books, of course, to fill them. Not more decorations or useless items. She wants books.”
Jane’s heart jumped as Gifford paused next to her, the sleeve of his jacket brushing her elbow. He knew about bookcases. He’d called her his wife. A tiny thrill managed to burst through the grief and confusion she’d been swamped in all day. “My husband is correct,” she said, smiling. “Bookcases. Books. There’s nothing I like more.”
“Except me.” Gifford winked at her, though; they both knew that wasn’t true.
Dudley clapped his hand down on Gifford’s shoulder. “Ah, son. I’m glad to see you return from your daily deviation from—”
“Yes.” Gifford cleared his throat. “Same as I do every evening.”
Tension snapped between the men. Jane’s skin prickled at the sudden memory of Gifford slipping away last night to go speak with his father.
What had Gifford and Dudley talked about? Gifford had said nothing to her about Dudley since her coronation. He had been unusually quiet, actually, about everything. Uncharacteristically quiet. One might even say suspiciously quiet.