My Lady Jane (9 page)

Pet's snarl faded. She sat down. She still did not seem even remotely interested in the pie. She reminded Edward of a statue of a stone lion that his father had commissioned for the royal gardens, standing at attention, back stiff, head high, ears forward.

She was guarding him, he realized. But from whom? Mistress Penne?

Soon he heard footsteps on the stairs again, and Pet stood up, her tail wagging.

Peter Bannister came bursting in the door. His eyes went first to Edward, taking in the monarch's rumpled bedclothes and pale, strained face, but when he found that the king was unharmed, the kennel master dropped to his knees beside Pet. The dog licked his face, then whined deep in her throat and sat down again near the foot of Edward's bed.

“There now, my girl,” Peter soothed in his rough peasant's lilt. “It's all right. You can come out.”

Come out?
thought Edward.
Come out of what?

Pet whined again.

Peter crossed to the door and bolted it from the inside, then turned back to the dog. “Fine. Come on, then.”

“What is it that you wish her to do?” Edward asked, out of breath. “Shake hands?”

Pet snorted.

“I know I told you never in the palace,” Peter said, as if he were actually having a two-way conversation with Edward's dog. “But now I'm telling you that it's safe.”

Another whine.

“Petunia,” Peter scolded. “For the love of Pete. Focus.”

Pet stood up, then lifted her front paws onto the edge of Edward's bed, her neck thrown back like she was stretching. There was a flash of light, as painful as if Edward had accidentally glanced into the sun, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again there was a naked girl standing at the foot of his bed.

His mouth dropped open.

Peter wordlessly lifted one of Edward's fur blankets off the bed and wrapped it around the girl, who looked a bit dazed herself.

“Give her a minute,” Peter said.

Edward still had his mouth open.

“It always takes time, after the change,” explained Peter, as if Edward was supposed to know what he was talking about. “Especially after spending so long out of human form.”

The girl shook her head as if to clear it, sending her long blond hair cascading around her shoulders. Then she said, “What
is a second opinion?” She asked the question slowly, as if she were carefully choosing each word.

“A second opinion?” Peter repeated.

The girl turned to look at Edward with soft brown eyes, and in that instant he knew unequivocally that this girl was Pet. Pet, his dog. This girl. An E∂ian, clearly. A naked E∂ian girl.

He closed his mouth.

“What is a second opinion?” she asked again, shifting closer. She didn't seem to be at all concerned that she was only draped in a fur blanket.

“I just rubbed your belly,” Edward blurted out.

She cocked her head to one side. “You want to rub my belly?”

“She's been out of human form for a while.” Peter's face reddened.

“You keep saying that you're going to get a second opinion,” Pet-the-girl said.

Edward wasn't really listening. He was too busy thinking,
I have been sleeping with this dog for a week. Her body against mine. My dog is actually a naked girl. Naked. Girl. Naked.

“A second opinion is when one doctor tells you something bad, so then you get another doctor to tell you what he thinks. To make sure that the first doctor was right,” Peter said.

Pet nodded. Then she was silent for several heartbeats before she said, ever so carefully: “It is my opinion that Your Majesty is being poisoned.”

That shocked Edward out of his my-dog-is-a-naked-girl reverie.

She bent to scoop a handful of the pie from the floor, holding the blanket around her with one hand and the pie cupped in the palm of the other. She brought it to her face and sniffed.

“There's a bad smell,” she said. “In the berries. A wicked smell.”

She held the palmful of pie out to Peter, who also sniffed it and then frowned.

“Yes,” Peter said. “That doesn't smell right. Well done, lass.”

Pet-the-girl smiled, the kind of smile that Edward sensed was the equivalent of a tail wag. He was beginning to feel like he was dreaming, the strangest and most inappropriate dream he'd ever experienced.

“So you're saying that someone poisoned my blackberry pie,” he said.

“Not someone,” Pet-the-girl said matter-of-factly. “The nurse.”

“Mistress Penne?”

She nodded. “Her body is stiff with lying. The scent of fear is all over her. I watched her. She puts the bad smell in all Your Majesty's berries.”

She was accusing the woman who had changed his diapers and kissed his boo-boos and sung him to sleep of poisoning his beloved blackberries. It was unbelievable, but Edward believed it nonetheless. He believed Pet. Perhaps only because he couldn't imagine this plain-spoken creature capable of telling a lie.

“But why would she do that?”

“Because the bad man pays her,” Pet answered.

“What bad man?” Peter frowned.

“The one with the big sniffer.”

Edward rubbed his hands over his eyes. Lord Dudley. Which meant the doctor was probably in on it, too. It was all falling into place. The
it
they'd been talking about. Assassinating him. So Jane would be crowned queen and then Dudley could rule the kingdom.

He sighed. It was a bit cliché, really. A familiar story, even for back then. The evil, power-hungry duke, grasping at the crown. The villain.

Which made Edward the naïve, unsuspecting fool.

And he'd married Jane off to the villain's son.

They were both pawns in a political game.

He wanted to stand up. He wanted to pace and scream and break things. He wanted to send somebody to the dungeon. Torture. The executioner's block. He wanted to become a lion and roar down the stairs and find the duke's throat. But even the thoughts tired him, and instead, as if to remind him of his body's current frailty, he was wracked by a violent coughing fit, which held on to him so long that his vision dimmed and he was afraid he was going to pass out.

“Your Majesty is still breathing?” Pet-the-girl said softly, when he could hear anything outside of his own noise again. He felt her head upon his shoulder, her body against his, offering comfort the way she would in her other form. She still smelled like dog: her breath, a woodsy musk emanating from her skin, mixed with a scent he recognized as his own cologne.

He tried to sit up. “I'm fine.”

She pulled away and smiled at him. “Fine. Yes. You are a fine person. My favorite.”

Peter cleared his throat. “You must excuse my daughter, Your Majesty. As I said, she's been out of human form for a very long while.” He took Pet-the-girl by the hand and tugged her off the bed.

Her brow furrowed. “Have I displeased Your Majesty?”

“No, Pet.” Edward turned toward Peter. “She's your daughter?”

Peter nodded.

“Are all the dogs in my kennels E∂ians?” Edward wanted to know.

“No, Sire. I have three sons and two daughters in the kennel, is all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Edward said wryly, but he couldn't seem to find his smirk.

“My family has served your family in this way for generations,” Peter said. “We have guarded your palaces and your lands. Sat at your feet. Protected you on the hunt and in the home.”

Pet-the-girl's chest swelled with pride at her father's words (not that Edward was noticing anything about her chest), as if the man was reciting an ancient oath.

“I didn't know,” Edward said. “Why did no one tell me?”

It seemed that he'd been in the dark about so many things.

Peter shook his head. “No one knew, Your Majesty. Not even your father.”

Pet-the-girl was smiling at Edward again. “Your Majesty chose me, out of all the others, to come inside the palace. Your Majesty likes me best.”

“Indeed,” he agreed faintly. This was becoming too much for him. He felt dizzy. The cloudiness was obscuring his thoughts again. He fell back against his pillows and took several deep breaths. His stomach gurgled loudly. He was still hungry, but how could he trust anything anyone offered him? Mistress Penne. Dudley. Boubou. The people he had counted on most were trying to kill him.

He was angry, of course, but more importantly, this just really hurt his feelings.

His eyes burned. “What am I going to do?” he murmured.

He felt Pet-the-girl's hand come down on his shoulder. “I will keep Your Majesty safe,” she said.

He felt something like a warm breeze on his face, and when he looked up he saw Pet was a dog again. She jumped up on the foot of the bed and lay across his feet.

Edward didn't know whether or not he should object.

EIGHT

Jane

So. Her husband was a horse.

And no one had told her.

Not her mother, not Edward, and certainly not Gifford. She'd had to find out as it happened and get the details from a servant. Outrageous.

Jane paced the hallway outside Gifford's bedchambers, listening to the horse clomp around inside. She squeezed the broken stems of her poor, mauled bouquet. It wasn't that she was opposed to marrying an E∂ian. On the contrary, she found that rather exciting. But there was the small matter of Gifford seeming to despise her, and the larger matter of
no one telling her
.

Well, she couldn't be sure her mother had known about the equestrian aspects of her husband, and Gifford was a drunken
debaucher so of course he couldn't be expected to tell her the truth. But Edward! Edward had known. He'd said he thought she would find Gifford's condition intriguing, but where she'd assumed he meant Gifford's nighttime women habits, now she knew he'd actually meant Gifford's history of daily horsehood.

From others, that omission would have been forgivable, because others sought only to use her in their schemes and politics. But Edward was her best friend. She had never kept any secrets from her cousin, and his silence on this matter was unpardonable.

And he deserved to know that.

Inside Gifford's bedchamber, the clomping paused and something decidedly wet sounding plopped on the floor. A rank odor came from the room.

Unacceptable.

Jane hurled her bouquet stems at the door, marched out of Durham House, and ordered a carriage to take her to the palace.

The whole ride there, Jane practiced what she would say to Edward. She would lay out the points for him: the breach in trust, the disappointment, the hurt, and the reminder that she had married this horse boy because he had asked.

Only as she stomped up the palace steps, receiving raised eyebrows from members of the esteemed noble class, did she realize she was still wearing The Gown and all her wedding attire. The Gown rested askew on her chest and hips, and the headdress listed to one side. The plaits in her hair had come undone in her sleep.

Well, it had been very late at night by the time the wedding
was over, and there'd been no spare clothes for her in that wretched room, not even a nightgown. Certainly she wasn't going to sleep naked in the presence of that—that—horse boy.

“My lady.” A nose appeared, Lord Dudley following close behind. “I'm surprised to see you.”

She smoothed back her hair as the duke approached her. “As I'm sure you've guessed, my new husband is indisposed right now.”

Lord Dudley grimaced. “Ah, yes. Of course you know about my son's . . . condition.” Embarrassment flashed across his face, and Jane had the sense he wasn't used to discussing the equestrian affliction with anyone, and therefore wasn't used to disguising his feelings on the subject.

She smiled and threw back her shoulders, anxious to take out her frustrations on someone. “Of course I do. He's quite a magnificent creature, don't you think? Very strong. Regal. I can see you only purchase the finest quality hay for him. What sort of diet does one feed a beast like that? Horses are herbivores, if I'm not mistaken. But human men can be quite carnivorous. I assume you considered the logistics of a meat diet on a horse stomach years ago, though. I'd be interested to see your research, my lord.”

Her husband's father turned pale.

“You know, I've been meaning to acquire a horse of my own. I thought I might get outside more and enjoy some exercise. Imagine the benefits of riding a horse that truly can understand your every command, and spot potential danger not just on an instinctual level, but a human level as well. No more shying at wheelbarrows
or cows or other harmless things.”

The duke's frown was turning into a glower. “Gifford is my son, not an animal.”

“Given his E∂ian existence and his rather promiscuous nocturnal activities, I would think you'd have realized long ago that being your son does not preclude him from also being an animal. The two states are not mutually exclusive.”

Alarmingly, Lord Dudley gave her an oily smile when he should have shriveled further. “Promiscuous perhaps, my lady, but you appear to have thoroughly enjoyed the benefits of his experience.”

Jane immediately turned red.

“Can we expect happy news soon? I have been looking forward to the idea of more grandchildren.”

Her face felt like it was on fire, but as the duke turned away, a superior set in his expression, she called out, “I'm surprised you don't have a hundred already!”

Then she realized that was not quite the stinging quip she had intended, and actually dug her deeper into the losing side of their verbal battle. As the duke vanished around a corner, she crossed her arms and shifted her course to a small powder room where she could begin to make herself presentable—not that Edward ever cared how she appeared, but she didn't want everyone in the palace to assume she'd had a rambunctious night with her new husband.

She spent several minutes adjusting The Gown as best she could, and then she went to work on her hair, first carefully
removing the headdress. Untangling the mess took a bit more work, followed by some finger combing, and then she pulled her hair into a low bun and pinned it into place.

After she inspected herself in the framed silver mirror, she proceeded to the turret room where Edward spent all his time lately.

A pair of guards stood watch at the base of the stairs.

“I'm here to see the king,” she announced.

The two men glanced at each other, and the one with a big, bushy unibrow said, “His Majesty is asleep. If you'd like to wait in the library, someone will be along to tell you when he's ready to receive you.”

Jane frowned. Edward had never been a late sleeper before. Then again, he'd never had “the Affliction” before. He'd looked so pale and worn last night that it was a wonder he'd even been sitting straight by the end of the feast.

Well, there were worse places to wait than the library.

“Inform me as soon as the king awakens. I want to know the instant he's available.”

“Of course, my lady.” The guard stood at attention once more and resumed looking through her.

Jane headed for the library, a familiar place filled with memories of time spent with Edward. Often, they would choose a topic and whoever produced the most facts about it by the end of an hour would win. (Jane had won a lot, a fact she loved to remind Edward about. Those few times she'd lost still haunted her nightmares.)
It was here she'd first learned about E∂ians, how they'd been persecuted for centuries, and that the gift typically ran in families, though neither she nor Edward had been blessed with an animal form. Edward, and everyone else, might have been frightened of his father's second form, but Jane had always been jealous of her mother's (very secret) magic.

Did
Lady Frances know about Gifford? She was outspoken in her dislike of E∂ians (in spite of being one herself), so maybe no one had told her, assuming she wouldn't approve the match otherwise. (Few people realized just how desperate Lady Frances was to marry off her daughter. She'd have married Jane to a tree stump if it had been allowed.)

Jane sighed and wandered toward the selection of books on horses: feeding, caring for, history, anatomy, potential illnesses, and how to braid a tail.

She spent a few hours lost in old texts describing the process of driving the nail through the shoe and hoof, the importance of equine companionship, and the necessity of grooming not just the fur, mane, and tail, but picking rocks out of the hooves as well. Furthermore, what to do if the hoof was split.

Fortunately Billingsly was probably responsible for all that, and maybe Gifford didn't need shoes, as he likely didn't want iron nailed into his bare feet when he transformed every evening. She'd have to ask.

By noon, Edward had not emerged from his chambers and Jane was getting hungry. She put away the books and returned to
the stairwell. The same two guards were on duty. “Has the king awakened?” she asked.

“I'm afraid His Majesty is not taking visitors today.” Unibrow Guard didn't break his stance.

Jane scowled. “He will see me. Tell him that Lady Jane—” She stopped. Her name was Lady Jane Dudley now. Jane Dudley. Terrible. She swallowed hard. “Tell him that his cousin Jane wishes to speak with him.”

“The orders are that he sees no one today.”

“Go up and ask if he will see me. Because he will.” Jane crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one hip. “I'll wait right here.”

“No one is allowed to see the king today, my lady. If he wants to see you, he'll send for you.”

Jane bristled. “This is ridiculous. You must allow me to see him immediately. There won't be any problem, you'll see.”

“My lady, if you continue to insist, we will call for someone to escort you out of the palace.”

Her face was hot with anger. How dare they block her from seeing her cousin?

Unless . . .

Unless Edward was getting worse and had ordered himself into isolation, but why would he isolate himself from her?

As she left the palace—without an escort—she decided to write a letter to him.

She stopped just before entering her carriage and glanced up at the turret.

A silhouette filled the top-floor window for a moment. Edward? Before her return to Bradgate Park, she'd have recognized the shape of her cousin anywhere, but now he'd grown so thin she couldn't tell if the shadow had been him or not.

She stepped into her carriage and drove away.

Jane spent the afternoon in Chelsea, avoiding her mother's questions as Adella and a handful of maids packed for the honeymoon. She'd written a few notes, had the letter to Edward sent out, and then took an hour to decide which fifty books she would bring to the country. They'd be there for weeks, and she wanted to be prepared for a lot of quality alone time. Apparently Gifford would be spending his days as a horse, and thus useless for company.

Maybe that was all right.

A little before dusk, she took a carriage back to Durham House and returned to Gifford's bedchambers. He was still in horse form, sleeping, as far as she could tell. The bed had been moved to one side, and in the corner sat a cold pile of, well, the expected result of a large animal being trapped inside a room all day. She pressed a handkerchief to her nose and opened the window to air out the stink, then went to the wardrobe, where she found a shirt and trousers.

She lit a few candles, and then sat on the bed to wait while the sun fell toward the horizon.

Last time, the change had been sudden, just a burst of light she hadn't expected, and when she'd finished blinking away the
sparks, her husband had been a horse.

Now that horse stood there sleeping, his sleek coat shining in the last rays of sunlight. It seemed incredible that those slender legs could carry the entire body, and not just carry, but run and jump and prance. She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Lord Dudley that his son was a magnificent beast. If only he could
control
it. Well, it was fortunate he'd married her, as she knew quite a lot about E∂ians. If anyone could help him learn to govern his gift, it was Jane. And her books.

Then it happened. Light flared and the sleeping horse became a sleeping man, lying naked on the floor.

His eyelids fluttered and his nose wrinkled at the stench of his own manure. Jane leaned over the side of the bed and lowered his trousers in front of his face.

“Thank you, Billingsly.” His voice was groggy.

“You're welcome.”

Gifford's eyes went wide as he snatched the trousers and shoved the wad of fabric over his nether region. Jane sat back on the bed while her husband scrambled to his feet.

“My lady, please! I am indecent.”

“You are,” Jane agreed. “Not to mention the fact that you are also unclothed.” She slipped off the opposite side of the bed, away from him and his nudity, but also away from the pile of unfortunate smells. “Is there a reason, Gifford, that you didn't tell me about your condition?”

“Please call me G.” He adjusted his grip on the trousers,
letting the legs hang in front of him as though he were wearing them. Almost. “Everyone calls me G.”

“I've never heard anyone call you G. Besides Billingsly, but he is a servant. He would call you Josephina if you ordered. Anyway, you haven't given me an answer as to why I spent my wedding night attending an ale-stinking sot, and the morning after sharing a bedchamber with a horse.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“I'm sorry, but how would you put it?” She refused to grin, even though his discomfort was delicious. After the utter mortification of earlier, both with Lord Dudley and the guards, she reveled in this feeling of power over him. It was about time something went her way.

“I would say you spent our wedding night with a charmingly tipsy gentleman who was hesitant to pressure an obviously virtuous lady to rush into . . .”

Oh. That.

Jane blushed and glanced out the window toward the busy street. She chose a passing cart full of apples to find fascinating, but it was quickly gone.

“And as for the equestrian awakening, I fail to see a downside.”

“You mean the thing no one warned me about? It seems like a subject that might come up. For example, ‘Oh by the way, your future husband changes into a horse as soon as the sun rises every morning.'”

He shrugged.

“Do you even try to control it?”

“It's a
curse
, my lady. Controlling it would defeat the purpose.”

“And what is the purpose?” Perhaps if she knew the nature of it, she could better help him solve this pesky problem.

“I don't know.”

“Gifford, you never get to see the light of day.” Yet he
failed to see
a downside. “I
fail to
see
an upside, except for the possibility that I will one day need a quick escape, in which case it will be useful to have a fast horse.”