G’s worst fears come true. “Wow, Father. Fertile and well vetted? You make it sound so very romantic.”
At this point, Lady Gertrude moved her hand from her husband’s shoulder and placed it on the back of his neck, as if to prove a showing of such ardent affection was indeed possible in forced marriages. “Darling boy, if left to your own devices, I fear you would never marry.”
“I thought that fact was already established and agreed upon,” G said. A month after he’d first begun to turn into a horse, he’d overheard his mother lament to his father that no self-respecting lady would want a half horse for a husband. And then his father had said his chances would’ve been better had he been a horse both day and night, and skipped the human part entirely. Then perhaps his parents could sell him and receive some compensation for all their trouble.
G had gone out and slept in the barn after that.
Now, in the drawing room, Lord Dudley shook off his wife’s hand as if he were shooing away a pesky insect. “It is my wish for all of my children to marry.”
“Why? You don’t need heirs from me,” G said. “I’m second son.”
“Which is why I have invested the last fortnight securing your happiness—”
“You mean, arranging for me to wed a perfect stranger,” G interjected. “Well, thanks but no thanks, Father.”
A vein G had never noticed before popped out on Lord Dudley’s forehead. “I am securing your happiness and thus ensuring your future and your own estate and a fortune for future generations of Dudley men and you will get married and father a son or two or seven before you turn into a horse forever, is that understood?”
G backed up a step, partly to avoid Lord Dudley’s increasingly airborne spittle and partly because he did not know turning into a horse forever was even a possibility, although he had to admit the freedom of galloping far away and blending in with the wild horses of the Cornwall region sounded tempting when compared to impending nuptials. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend the rest of his life alone. Marriage had its merits, he supposed. But what kind of husband could he make? His parents’ own marriage had taught him that when there is no great love in the beginning, better acquaintance would only lead to more contempt.
Besides, what woman would marry him once she found out the truth?
“But Father—”
“You’re getting married, or I’ll have you gelded, so help me, I will,” Lord Dudley ground out.
“And what is the name of my dearly intended?” G asked.
This response seemed to calm Lord Dudley a degree. “Lady Jane Grey.”
“Lady Jane Grey?” G hoped he had heard his father wrong. He hadn’t been present in court for several years now, but he knew of Jane. Her reputation preceded her.
The book girl.
“Lady Jane Grey. Daughter of Lady Frances Brandon Grey. First cousin once removed to King Edward.”
Lady Gertrude leaned forward. “What do you think, my boy?”
G took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “I’m thinking lots of things. Like the fact that the lady’s face has rarely been seen because it’s usually buried in a book.”
“You’ve never opposed the education of a lady before,” his mother said.
“And I am still not opposed to it. But what if she is merely using the Second Volume of the Political History of England to cover up some hideous malformation on her face?”
“Gifford!” his father said.
G’s mouth snapped shut at the sound of his given name.
“Your sharp wit will get you nowhere.” Lord Dudley flared his nostrils and exhaled—a move that nearly produced a windstorm. “My boy. It sounds as if you are under the delusion that this match is merely a suggestion.” His lips disappeared into his beard, as they did when Lord Dudley was upset. “Believe me when I tell you the negotiations behind this match have been arduous and delicate, and your romantic notions of lifelong bachelorhood will not be humored.” He stood and put his fists knuckle-down on the desk, the top of his head reaching the mouth of the stuffed bear carcass hanging on the wall, caught in mid-roar. “Let me repeat. YOU WILL MARRY THE LADY JANE GREY!”
His voice echoed off the walls. Nobody moved for fear of disturbing the beast further.
Lord Dudley unclenched his fists and walked over to G. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, son. I’m sure you will be very happy.”
“Thank you, Father,” G said through clenched teeth. “One last thing. Does Lady Jane know about . . . the equestrian situation?” G couldn’t believe he’d resorted to using a phrase his father would use, as if the upcoming marriage had suddenly made him more ashamed of his curse.
Lord Dudley put his arm around his son, but it was only so he could escort him from the room.
“It matters not,” he said, and closed the door in G’s face.