The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  "So you would, Lydia," the princess replied evenly.

  The countess rubbed her hands together, a gesture that the princess found deplorably bourgeois. "Very well," she said. "Tonight I will talk to Beaufort."

  2

  Charity entered the back door of Beaufort House and smiled at the young freckle-faced footman whom she met in the hallway. "Good morning, John. What a glorious day."

  The footman smiled back. "Did you have a pleasant ride, Lady Charity?"

  "Yes, I did. I'm starving, though. Is breakfast set out in the dining room?"

  "Yes, my lady. His lordship is already there."

  "Oh good," Charity said, and, pulling off her leather riding gloves, she went along to join her father.

  The long, narrow dining room of Beaufort House had not been designed by Robert Adam, but it was decorated in the neoclassical style so favored by the great man. In contrast to the vividness of the Chinese Drawing Room, the dining room was cool in shades of cream, pale green, and gold. The ceiling was patterned with octagons enclosing colored circles of green and gold, and the long mahogany table was surrounded by Chippendale chairs upholstered in pale green silk. An immense gilt mirror hung on the wall facing the mahogany sideboard, and a portrait of one of Charity's ancestors wearing a wig occupied the space over the marble fireplace.

  The Earl of Beaufort was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper when Charity came in. "Good morning, Papa," she said. "You are up early today."

  The earl looked over his spectacles at his daughter, who was wearing an old brown riding habit and polished but obviously worn boots. A black velvet ribbon was tied around her long brown hair, which hung halfway down her back in a braid. "Ah, Charity," he said. "Have you been out riding?"

  "Yes." She moved to the sideboard to survey the array of heavy silver serving dishes set out upon it. "I went for a nice long gallop in the park."

  Lord Beaufort regarded his younger daughter's back as she filled her plate. "Wasn't your brother with you?"

  "No. He was supposed to come but he got foxed last night and couldn't get out of bed this morning."

  The earl frowned and his voice took on a sharper edge. "You didn't go alone, I hope? London is not the same as the country. It is not safe for young girls to go out alone in London."

  She carried her plate to the table, where she took the seat at her father's left hand. "No, Papa," she said soothingly. "I did not go alone. I took a groom."

  "That's all right then," he said and went back to his paper.

  Comfortable silence reigned in the dining room as the earl continued to read and Charity worked her way through the food on her plate. When she had finished the last of the poached eggs, she refilled her teacup and regarded her father over its rim.

  "Papa," she said, "what is going on with Lydia?"

  He didn't look up from his paper. "Your mother has said nothing to you?"

  Charity let out her breath in a puff of exasperation. "Please, Papa. Mama never tells me anything. She thinks I am a simpleton."

  At that, the earl folded his paper and put it down next to his plate. He looked at her over the top of his spectacles and said mildly, "Stay just the way you are, my dear. If you ever turn into a fashion plate like Lydia, I shall disown you."

  Charity chuckled. "Small chance of that ever happening, Papa."

  He smiled faintly and nodded.

  Charity swallowed some tea and put down her cup with a definitive clink. "You haven't answered my question. What is the mystery about Lydia? Is she going to marry Langton?"

  The earl removed his spectacles, folded them, and put them in the pocket of his blue morning coat. "I suppose there is no harm in your knowing now," he said slowly. "The arrangements are almost completed." He raised his eyebrows slightly and said, "Your sister is going to marry the Prince of Jura."

  Charity's mouth dropped open.

  Ignoring her expression, he went on; "Jura and Britain are on the brink of signing a treaty that would give our navy access to the port of Seista. In return for this privilege, Britain will guarantee to support Jura's right to be a free and independent nation."

  Charity shut her mouth. "What does such a treaty have to do with Lydia?" she demanded.

  "You will be able to answer that question for yourself if you think about it, my dear," the earl replied. "Treaties between nations are often cemented by marriages."

  "They are cemented by marriages between royal families," Charity said. "Lydia is not royalty. Why should she marry Augustus? Why not Princess Charlotte?"

  The earl pointed to his folded paper. "The Prince of Coburg is to marry Princess Charlotte, and that is not an arrangement Augustus wishes to disturb. Lydia may not be a Royal Princess, but her grandfather on her mother's side is an English duke, and her grandmother on her father's side is a Royal Princess of Jura."

  "Grandmama," Charity said hollowly.

  He nodded gravely. "Add it all up, and Lydia is the obvious choice."

  Charity's eyes had turned more gold than brown, the way they did when her emotions were stirred. She said passionately, "Lydia doesn't care about Jura, Papa! She can't even speak German. All she cares about is looking beautiful and impressing people. She will make a terrible wife for Augustus."

  "I doubt that Augustus is looking for a soul mate, my dear," the earl said drily. "This marriage is a matter of state, not of personal preference."

  "Does this mean Lydia will go to Jura to live?"

  "Of course. If she is to be Jura's princess, and Augustus's wife, then she must reside there."

  "Poor Jura," Charity muttered.

  "The treaty and the marriage are a statesmanlike solution to the very difficult situation in which Jura finds itself," the earl returned briskly. "I applaud Augustus for his astuteness. Both our countries will gain from this marriage. England will get a port on the Adriatic, and Jura will get a Great Power to guarantee its independence. What could be better?"

  Charity scowled but had no reply.

  The following week saw more letters pass between London and Brussels, and then came the news that everyone had been waiting for. Augustus wrote that he was coming to England to sign the treaty and meet his bride. He recommended that the Debritts prepare to make the journey to Jura for the wedding.

  Lydia was furious when she learned that he expected them to be married in Jura, not England. She and her mother had already planned the triumphant ceremony in St. George's, the beautiful church that was only a few doors away from Beaufort House on Hanover Square.

  "I want to be married in London, Papa."

  The earl, who had not yet finished reading aloud Augustus's letter, looked up at his elder daughter. "Augustus clearly expects the marriage to take place in Jura," he replied.

  "I don't know anybody in Jura," Lydia said. "It is cruel to expect me to marry a stranger in the midst of strangers."

  "Were you listening to this letter at all?" the earl asked impatiently. "Your entire family will be accompanying you—your mother, your father, your grandmother, your brother, your sister—we will all be going to Jura for the wedding."

  The earl, his wife, and his elder daughter were gathered in the library of Beaufort House. Usually the only other member of the family to use this room besides the earl was Charity, and the elegant duo of the countess and Lydia looked strangely out of place in the dark-paneled, book-lined, leather-smelling chamber.

  "Mama," Lydia said now, turning to her mother, who sat beside her on the old velvet sofa facing the chestnut wood fireplace. "You know how we have planned this wedding. Tell Papa that I must be married in London."

  The countess's cold green eyes regarded her husband, who was standing in front of the chimneypiece. "Is it really necessary for them to be married in Jura, Henry?"

  "Yes, it is," the earl replied firmly. "Jura suffered under French occupation for years, and the wedding of their prince will be a symbol to its people that a new day has truly dawned for the country."

  "A wedding in England wi
ll symbolize a new day just as much as a wedding in Jura will," Lydia said stubbornly.

  The earl looked at his wife for help. "Will you explain it to her, Sophia?"

  "Are we to understand that the wedding in Jura will be a state occasion?" the countess replied.

  Beaufort held out the letter in his hand. "Of course it will be a state occasion. They will be married in the cathedral in Julia, the streets will be lined with cheering people, and the whole country will celebrate." He turned his eyes to his daughter, whose beautiful mouth was looking distinctly sulky. "I can assure you, Lydia, that it will be a far bigger production than anything you and your mother could possibly stage here in England."

  For one of the few times in their marriage, Lady Beaufort agreed with her husband. "Your father is right, Lydia. You are not marrying a member of minor royalty. You are marrying a head of state. I am afraid that it must be Jura."

  The image of herself in a magnificent wedding gown, waving to adoring crowds of admiring peasants, was working its magic on Lydia. She said, "If the wedding is to be in Jura, I will need a different wedding dress, Mama. The one we chose might be suitable for London, but it is not grand enough for a state marriage."

  Out of long practice, the earl's face remained immobile and he said nothing.

  "You are absolutely right, my love," the countess said. "We should go to Fanchon's immediately."

  As the ladies appeared to be on the point of rising from the sofa, the earl said hastily, "Augustus also writes that he should be in London within the week, and he is bringing his cousin Franz with him."

  "Franz?" The countess subsided back onto the sofa, a puzzled frown upon her face. "Who is Franz?"

  "Paola’s son. He and Augustus have always been good friends."

  “If he’s Paola’s son he will stay with Caterina along with Augustus, not here with us.” Having dismissed Franz, she got briskly to her feet. "Come along, Lydia. We have to cancel the wedding dress that we ordered and choose something grander."

  Lady Beaufort's belief that she would not be called upon to house her prospective son-in-law was put to the test several days later, when the Princess Caterina paid a very unusual visit to Beaufort House. Charity was in the Chinese Drawing Room retrieving a book she had left behind the previous night, when the butler escorted the princess into the room and said that he would inform Lady Beaufort of her arrival.

  As Evans melted away, the princess regarded Charity speculatively. Augustus's mother had the dark gold hair of so many Venetian beauties, as well as the voluptuous figure. She would be fifty on her next birthday, but she looked ten years younger.

  "So," she said in a voice that, after a decade in England as a refugee from Napoleon, still had a heavy Italian accent. "It is the little sister."

  Charity curtseyed and came across the brilliant red-and-blue carpet to stand in front of her. "I am happy to see you, Princess," she said politely. "I hope you are well."

  The magnificent hazel eyes flashed. "I am not pleased with this arrangement Augustus makes to marry your sister," she announced.

  Charity had spent more time with Princess Caterina than any other member of her family, and she had always found the princess's colossal egotism to be amusing—a sentiment she was careful to keep to herself. "I am sorry you are not pleased, Princess," she replied, now gravely.

  The princess opened her reticule and extracted a sheet of paper. "I hear from him this morning that he is coming to England to sign a treaty and take Lydia back to Jura for a wedding." She waved the paper dangerously close to Charity's nose.

  Charity made an indistinct murmur and stepped back out of the reach of the snapping missive. The princess followed her. "This morning I hear! Did he consult me? Did he ask the advice of his mama who has only his interests in her heart? Did he do these things?"

  Charity, who knew the answer to these questions, prudently did not reply.

  "He did not." The princess glared at Charity as if the Prince's slight of his mother had been her fault. "He did not!"

  Charity clicked her tongue and shook her head.

  "Augustus is just like his father," Princess Caterina said darkly. She stuffed the letter back in her reticule.

  "My father seems to think that Augustus has behaved in a very statesmanlike fashion," Charity volunteered unwisely.

  The princess looked forbiddingly into Charity's face. She was so close that Charity could see how lovely her skin still was. "Augustus is not a good son," she announced.

  Charity dropped her eyes and went back to saying nothing.

  The princess turned away and crossed the room to stand in front of the large window that looked out upon the street. The red velvet draperies framed her figure in dramatic fashion. Charity was certain that she had considered this effect before she moved.

  Princess Caterina looked around the elegant drawing room of Beaufort House. "Why does this room look like this?" she demanded.

  "It’s Chinese," Charity explained. "Mama had it redone recently."

  "I do not like it."

  Charity bit her lip to steady it and said, "I am s-sorry you do not care for it."

  The princess's wandering gaze came to rest on Charity herself, who was wearing a blue day dress that was not particularly becoming. "How old are you now?" she demanded.

  "I am seventeen," Charity replied politely.

  "Seventeen. You should be putting your hair up and dressing like a woman, not a child.”She came closer to Charity and peered at her chest. “You have bosoms.You should show them.”

  Charity could feel herself slowly turning scarlet.

  Thankfully the library door opened and a crisp voice said, "Princess. How kind of you to call on us."

  For one of the few times in her life, Charity was glad to see her mother.

  The princess held her position by the window. "Why do you dress this child so dreadfully?" she demanded.

  Lady Beaufort glanced at her daughter. "Surely you have a more suitable dress than that, Charity?"

  "I did not expect to be meeting company, Mama," Charity replied with dignity.

  Lady Beaufort dismissed her daughter from her thoughts. "Won't you sit and take some refreshment, Caterina?" she asked.

  The princess did not relinquish her dramatic pose in front of the window. She said, "I have a letter here from Augustus telling me he is coming to London to marry your daughter and to stay with me. I have come to tell you that he cannot stay with me. I am having my house painted."

  Charity glanced at her mother's face and coughed to hide an irrepressible giggle.

  The princess swept on. "It is too late to write to Augustus, but when he arrives I will explain to him that he must stay here with you."

  Laughter was bubbling like a witch's cauldron inside Charity, and she struggled not to let it escape.

  "You can't possibly be having every room in your house painted," Lady Beaufort snapped.

  "The whole house, it is"—the princess gestured grandly with one hand—"upside down. I cannot have Augustus. Since he is to marry your daughter, he can stay here."

  Charity realized that this was the way the princess was punishing her son for making a marriage of which she disapproved.

  Charity's mother answered in a glacial tone, "I shall be more than happy to offer hospitality to my future son-in-law."

  The princess looked around the room. "Poor Augustus," she said. "But perhaps you have another room where he can sit."

  "There is nothing wrong with this room," Lady Beaufort replied furiously.

  Princess Caterina finally stepped away from the window and came back across the room. She stopped to peer ostentatiously at the black lacquered table with a painted Chinese design that stood in front of the red silk sofa. "So strange," she murmured. She continued on her way to the door, where she turned and announced, "Now I go."

  Charity curtseyed. "Good-bye, Your Highness." She hoped the princess would put the quiver in her voice down to the exertions of her curtsey.

  Th
e princess swept out into the hall and Charity could hear her demanding that someone open the front door for her. The countess marched to the drawing room door, shut it, and turned to her daughter. "What a dreadful woman. I hope to God Augustus is not like his mother."

  "She told me that he was just like his father," Charity said, her suppressed amusement now bubbling in her voice.

  "It isn't funny, Charity," the countess snapped. "It is extremely irritating, this way you have of finding things funny that aren't in the least comical."

  "She told me I should show my bosoms."

  Lady Beaufort glared. "Caterina has no appreciation for what is elegant. She is always falling out of her own dresses. Pay no attention to her."

  "Yes, Mama," Charity said.

  Lady Beaufort moved to the lacquered table the princess had scrutinized, looked it over carefully, then announced, "There is nothing wrong with this table."

  "It is a very nice table, Mama," Charity agreed. "Perhaps Princess Caterina just does not appreciate Chinese decoration."

  "I don't believe for one minute that she is having her house painted," the countess said, turning away from her maligned table. "She is just too lazy to bestir herself to entertain her son. Her only son. Her only child! The woman is an unnatural mother."

  "I think it will be fun having Augustus stay here with us," Charity offered.

  Lady Beaufort did not bother to dignify that comment with an answer. Instead she said, "Caterina was right about one thing, Charity. Your clothes are dreadful."

  Since Charity wore the clothes that her mother had provided for her, she thought this was an unfair remark.

  "We shall have to get you new clothes for our trip to Jura," the countess went on. "You will be one of your sister's bridesmaids, of course." She frowned. "It is a pity you are so short. I suppose there is nothing I can do about it, however."

  "You could try stretching me on the rack," Charity said.

  "Don't be an idiot, Charity," Lady Beaufort snapped. "It is impossible to have a serious conversation with you. You always make these ridiculous remarks."