Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
With a deep breath, G tore his eyes away from the paper to assess his lady’s reaction.
“That was . . . lovely,” Jane said.
“You really think so?”
“Yes. I mean, I’m glad we will not be forced to live by your quill, because I am rather used to having food on the table. But, I appreciate the effort behind those words.”
(Now, some of you might recognize these words as belonging to a certain Mr. Shakespeare, the likes of whom hadn’t actually been born yet in the year 1553. But you should also know that there are all kinds of conspiracy theories about who actually wrote Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets, and we contend that the real writer was a very old and very happy Gifford Dudley—assisted by Jane and the immeasurable knowledge she drew from books—who went on writing not to make himself famous or rich, but to make a certain lady happy.) G smiled and fell back onto the bed. “You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that.”
Jane lay down next to him, on her side, her head propped up by her hand. “Do you have any other confessions, my lord?”
“Hmmm,” G said. “You heard the one about how much I love you?”
Jane put her hand on his chest, and slowly pulled on the tie that held his undershirt closed. G’s breath caught.
“Yes, I remember that one.”
The knot fell open.
“And, you know the one where I don’t know much about swordsmanship?” Gifford’s voice was low and soft.
“Yes, I remember that one as well.”
Jane tugged at the top button of his vest. G clasped her hand in his. “Kiss me, Jane.”
Lips met lips, soft and questioning at first, and then, quite suddenly, desperate and wanting. And where at their first wedding, their wedding-night chamber seemed full of the echoes of strangers eager to have their say, tonight, they were very much alone. G lost himself in Jane’s kiss. He pulled back for a moment. “I have to tell you, Jane, the way you kiss is a work of art—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” Jane said.
They kissed again, lips exploring and asking and answering, and then eager fingers fumbled at buttons and untied ribbons and never did their lips part except for a moment here and there to say it again.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
They collapsed into each other, and although it would be indelicate to detail what happened next, these narrators will tell you that a “very special hug” does not begin to describe it.
P.S. They totally consummated.
And now, dear reader, there isn’t much more to say on the matter except this: Gifford and Jane lived happily ever after, their destinies colliding quite often. Which pleaseth them both.
Acknowledgments
Hi! Lady Janies here. This is the part where we’re supposed to tip our hats to all the wonderful people who helped make this book into what it is, but there are three of us and we each have an extensive support team, so we’ll try to be brief (ha-ha). After all, you just read a five-hundred-page book. You’re tired. So are we.
Here’s a (totally incomplete) list of people we think are pretty awesome:
First off, our readers, both old and new. Every time we mentioned writing a book about Lady Jane Grey (a comedy?!), you always responded with such enthusiasm. It made the idea seem a little less crazy and a little more doable. Thanks for that. You rock.
Our agents, of course: Katherine Fausset, Lauren MacLeod, and Michael Bourret. “The three of us want to write a book together” was probably the most logistically nightmarish thing you’ve ever heard us say, but you ran with it. Thank you for your unwavering belief in us and our funny little story.
Our fantastic editors, Erica Sussman and Stephanie Stein, who just got this book from the very beginning—the humor, the characters, the playfulness in the telling. One of the best parts of writing MLJ was getting to make you laugh. Also, thanks to Kristin Rens and Laurel Symonds for not minding when Brodi and Jodi ran off to play with a different book for a little while.
Our publicist, Rosanne Romanello, who read this book so quickly we got whiplash. Pterodactyl E?ians are totally a thing.
Our jacket designer, Jenna Stempel, for not killing us for how picky we were this time around, and for giving us a jacket with pearls and lace and Jane looking mischievous.
Our families, for their patience and support while we ran off for weeks at a time to write and play in England. (That’s Jeff for Jodi; John, Will, and Maddie for Cynthia; and Carter and Beckham for Brodi.)