The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  This is normal life, he told himself as he listened to Franz recounting an amusing story about the Emperor Francis. Living in a cave with a group of desperate men is not normal life. I am going to have to learn to adjust.

  Princess Mariana said, "Before we let you go upstairs to rest and change for dinner, Augustus, I want you to meet my younger granddaughter." She stood up.

  A frown marred the countess's white forehead. "You haven't sent for Charity, have you, Princess?"

  "I have," the princess returned firmly. "She may not yet be officially out, but she must be introduced to Augustus."

  There was a step in the doorway and the Prince rose, preparing himself to meet yet another black-haired, green-eyed Debritt. Everyone else in the room stood when he did.

  The girl who crossed the floor to stand next to Princess Mariana had long golden-brown hair tied back with a pale yellow ribbon, and her eyes were golden-brown as well. They were very large eyes, and they focused on him with total attention.

  "Augustus, this is my granddaughter Charity," the princess said, and the girl spread her primrose muslin skirts and curtseyed.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Lady Charity," the Prince said.

  The brown eyes scanned him from the top of his blond hair to the tips of his dusty boots. "You look just like I thought you would," she said with satisfaction. "I was terrified you would be short and fat and perhaps even have a squint."

  "Charity," her mother reprimanded. "Show some manners."

  For the first time since he had entered Beaufort House the Prince laughed. "I am glad I have not disappointed you."

  "So am I," she returned with absolute seriousness. Then eagerly, "Tell me, were you able to get the Lipizzaners back from Hungary?"

  "It was one of the first things we did after Napoleon's defeat," he assured her.

  Lydia said in a chilly tone, "I am afraid I do not understand. What are Lipizzaners?"

  The Prince turned to his prospective bride. "Jura is famous for its Lipizzaner horses, Lady Lydia. We have been breeding them for hundreds of years. The Lipizza stud is where the Austrian Court buys its horses for the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. Naturally, we did not wish Napoleon to get his hands on our horses, so before the invasion we moved the stallions and mares to a farm in Hungary." His eyes returned to Charity. "We have since recovered them, however."

  She smiled. With her wide forehead and small pointed chin, she looked rather like a kitten he thought. "I am so glad," she said.

  Franz said, "We shall be delighted to show you the horses when you come to Jura, Lady Charity." Then he turned to Lydia. "But you will have to go to Vienna if you wish to see what the Lipizzaners can truly do. The Spanish Riding School is the most famous in the world."

  "Why is it called Spanish if it’s in Vienna?" Lydia asked in puzzlement.

  "The Lipizzaner horses are originally of Spanish stock," Franz explained. "Jura started its breeding program at Lipizza with Spanish stallions in the sixteenth century. By the middle of the seventeenth century, nobles from all over Europe were vying with each other to buy the best Lipizzaners from our stables."

  The immense gilt-framed mirror that hung over the white marble fireplace reflected the circle of people standing in front of it. The Prince made no move to retake his seat. He was desperately hoping for an end to this gathering.

  Charity said sadly, "I wish we had a riding school in England, but we don't."

  Lady Beaufort said graciously, "I am sure the Lipizzaner horse is splendid, but I myself think the English thoroughbred to be the most beautiful animal in the world."

  "The thoroughbred is certainly a magnificent animal," Franz said with a charming smile.

  The Prince glanced hopefully toward the doorway. To his profound relief, he heard Lord Beaufort say to his wife, "My lady, I think it is time you showed these two young men to their rooms. They have been traveling for quite some time and must be fatigued."

  The Prince wasn't fatigued from the traveling, but he was becoming very tired from the seemingly endless conversation.

  "Certainly," Lady Beaufort replied. She turned to her royal guest and announced grandly, "I will conduct you upstairs myself, Prince."

  "Thank you, ma'am." The Prince gratefully followed the countess out of the room and up the stairs to the privacy of an extremely elegant bedchamber.

  4

  The drawing room of the London town house leased by Count Georg Hindenberg near St. James's Park was filled with heavy oak furniture that looked as if it had been standing in the exact same place for the last two hundred years. The green velvet drawing room drapes looked equally ancient, and there were worn spots on the carpet. None of these signs of decrepitude affected the dignity of the Chief Minister of Jura in the least, however. He was a man in his late fifties, with hair in which the gray mixed indistinguishably with the blond. His square, powerful face looked both intelligent and ruthless as he sat upon a carved Jacobean chair and regarded his prince, who had been given the only upholstered chair in the room.

  The third man present, Jan Rupnik, Marshal of Jura, sat in another Jacobean chair, a tight look on his gaunt, severely featured face. Unlike Hindenberg, who was dressed in a cutaway black jacket whose conservative military styling proclaimed to those in the know that it had been tailored by Stulz, Rupnik wore the uniform of the Marshal of Jura: skin-tight white breeches, high black boots, a coat of dark green cloth with a multitude of gold braid, gold facings, and gold buttons. A red silk sash encircled his still-slim waist. Whether he had worn the uniform as a sign of deference to Jura's new ruler, or as a reminder of his own elevated position, was an open question.

  The Prince had just finished telling his father's ministers about the treaty he expected to sign with Great Britain.

  Angry color had flushed into the chief minister's face as he listened to the Prince talk. "You did not think it worth your while to consult with us before you went ahead and negotiated this treaty?" he demanded as soon as the Prince fell silent.

  "I felt I had to move quickly, Count," Augustus replied quietly. "There was no opportunity to conduct a time-consuming correspondence on this matter."

  Rupnik said, "With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, you have no diplomatic experience. Count Hindenberg has conducted foreign policy for Jura for the last twenty years. He may have been able to offer you valuable advice on this matter."

  "I have not signed the treaty yet," the Prince said pleasantly. "Do you have any such advice for me, Hindenberg?"

  "Don't sign the treaty," Count Hindenberg said. "You will outrage Austria if you do such a thing. The emperor and Metternich will take the opening of Seista to the English as a direct threat."

  The Prince lifted an eyebrow. "Surely Austria does not fear an English invasion? That would be ridiculous."

  "Of course Austria doesn't fear an English invasion," Hindenberg snapped. "But Metternich already does not like the idea of an independent Jura on the borders of Austria's empire. He will like even less the idea of Jura as an English ally."

  The Prince lifted a second eyebrow. "Do you know, I am rather of the opinion that whatever is bad for Metternich is quite probably good for Jura."

  Even though it was morning, candles had been lit, as the room's single window afforded little natural light. The sconces on the wall caught the gold in the marshal's uniform and made it glitter. Rupnik said abruptly, "This isn't a game of chess, Your Royal Highness. Alienating Austria is a very serious matter."

  The Prince looked from one grim face to the other. Their minds are closed, he thought. It was what he had expected, but still he felt a pang of disappointment. It would have been so much easier to have his father's ministers support him. He attempted to explain his thinking, even though it clearly was going to fall on deaf ears.

  "I have no wish to alienate Austria," he told the marshal. "However, I have even less desire to become a small cog in the vastness of the Austrian Empire, which is what I am afraid will happen if we must stand alone.
And that is why I am negotiating this treaty with Great Britain."

  Rupnik fingered the gold braid on his jacket, as if to remind the Prince of his vast military experience. "We were allies with Austria in the late war against Napoleon," he said. "Jurian troops fought alongside Austrian troops at Austerlitz—while you were still a schoolboy, Prince. In the world of today, it is no longer feasible, or even sensible, to look upon Austria as Jura's enemy."

  "I do not regard Austria as an enemy, unless it poses a threat to Jura's independence," the Prince replied. Slowly and rhythmically he tapped his right index finger on his chair arm and the expression in his gray eyes hardened. "I have explained to you that Jura's independence is the principle that I wish to see directing all our foreign policy. Before I offer you the post of chief minister, such as you held under my father, I must ask you, Count Hindenberg, if you feel that this is a policy you can uphold."

  Relief, like the lifting of a floodgate, surged through Hindenberg. This tall, whip-thin Prince was a complete stranger to him, and he had feared the loss of his position. He bowed his head. "Your Royal Highness, you are the ruler of Jura. It is for you to lead and me to follow."

  The Prince smiled at the older man, a particularly engaging smile that was enhanced by the deep cleft in his chin.

  He will be wildly popular at home, the chief minister thought sourly. Already the Prince was something of a legend to his countrymen, the unseen mastermind behind Jura's surprisingly effective guerrilla campaign against the occupying French. Once he appeared in public, so tall and young and good-looking, he would be adored.

  "I am glad you feel you can support me, Count Hindenberg," the Prince said. "I know you were a good friend to my father, and I am sure that you will be as good a friend to me."

  Count Hindenberg bowed his head.

  The harsh voice of Marshal Rupnik interrupted. "What of me, Your Royal Highness? Am I to keep my post as well?"

  "Do you wish to keep the post?" the Prince asked.

  Rupnik's hard features became even harder. "Yes," he barked. "I do."

  "Then I will be happy to have you stay on," the Prince said. "It will be a comfort to me to know that I have such staunch allies at my side."

  "He has allowed us to keep our posts, but how much influence are we likely to have on him?" Hindenberg said to his companion as they sat drinking brandy in the chief minister's drawing room after the Prince had left.

  Rupnik stretched his long, booted legs in front of him and regarded them grimly. He swallowed some of his brandy and said, "This alliance with England is disastrous. Augustus has no understanding of the realities of modern politics. He fought like a tiger at Vienna to keep Jura's independence when he should have recognized the treaty negotiations as a perfect opportunity to become part of the Austrian Empire while still maintaining a portion of our own sovereignty. That is where our future lies."

  "We must write immediately to Frederick in Vienna and tell him what Augustus is planning," Hindenberg said. "Perhaps he will be able to persuade Augustus where we have failed."

  Rupnik stood and went to the corner table where the brandy bottle was placed. He filled his glass and then returned to his seat. "I am surprised that Franz has not tried to change Augustus's mind about this treaty with England," he said. "I always thought that he shared his father's opinion that Jura's future lies with Austria."

  Hindenberg shrugged. "Franz has always been one to look out for his own interests first."

  "True. Perhaps he thinks his best interest at present is to stay friends with Augustus," Rupnik said.

  "Perhaps it will be in the best interest of us all to stay friends with Augustus for the moment," Hindenberg said. "Remember, he is a hero in Jura. He led the resistance against the French and then, at Waterloo, he led what was left of our army to a great victory."

  Rupnik scowled and drained his brandy glass. "I should have been the one to lead the army at Waterloo," he growled.

  "It was not the best of times for you to have come down with a fever," Hindenberg said.

  "Damn youngster got lucky," Rupnik muttered.

  "He has led a charmed life thus far," the chief minister agreed. "But remember, even Napoleon had his Waterloo."

  The misty light of a warm July morning was bathing the Earl of Beaufort's stable with a pale grayish glow when the Prince arrived in the stable yard and looked around for Charity. A moment later he saw her come out of the stable, accompanied by a short bowlegged man who was dressed like a groom.

  She smiled when she saw him. "You are on time, Prince. How splendid."

  He crossed the stable yard to join her. "I am always on time," he said.

  "This is Jenkins, Your Royal Highness," she said, turning to the groom. "He is a particular friend of mine and he has saddled Silver Charm for you this morning."

  As she spoke, another groom came out of the stable leading a tall gray thoroughbred who danced on the cobblestones of the yard as if he was about to explode.

  "Lady Charity assured me you were an excellent rider, Your Highness," Jenkins said a little nervously. "Silver Charm can be a handful."

  "So it seems," the Prince said imperturbably. "I think I can manage him, however." He walked to the horse's side, took the reins from the groom, put his foot in the stirrup, and was up before the animal quite realized what was happening. Once Silver Charm felt the weight on him, he snorted, tossed his head, and began to back up.

  Long legs closed around his sides and a quiet, authoritative voice said, "Whoa."

  Silver Charm, whose sensitive mouth had not been pulled on, halted. His ears flicked back and the Prince patted his shoulder and said, "Good boy."

  "See, Jenkins," Charity said. "I told you he could ride."

  The Prince wondered why this small cousin he had only known for a week should be so certain of his equestrian ability.

  Another groom now led a glossy black mare into the yard, and the Prince watched as Charity mounted. She swung into the saddle as easily as he, threw one leg over the sidesaddle horn, and settled her dove gray skirts. Then she picked up her reins and looked at the Prince. "Shall we go?"

  "Lead the way," he returned with a faint smile, and allowed Silver Charm to follow the little mare through the narrow alley that led from the stable yard to the side street on which the entrance to the stable was located. At the top of the side street they turned onto Oxford Street and headed in the direction of Hyde Park.

  London was starting to come awake. Carts filled with vegetables from the countryside were rumbling along on their way to the market at Covent Garden. The first time the Prince saw one of these high-piled carts approaching, he tightened his legs, deepened his seat, and prepared to deal with a protest from Silver Charm. Much to his surprise, all the gray thoroughbred did was snort once and sidle closer to his companion.

  "His behavior is improving," Charity said. "The first few times I took him out I thought he would kill me."

  She said this in a perfectly matter-of-fact fashion, and the Prince turned his head to look at the girl riding at his side.

  She was dressed correctly in a gray jacket with a matching skirt. The small foot that rested in the single stirrup of the sidesaddle wore a polished black boot. Her other foot was hidden by her skirt. Defying convention, she wore no hat, and the Prince regarded with pleasure the shining brown hair, which had been pulled behind her small ears and fastened tidily at the nape of her neck.

  She was not the beauty Lydia was, but in her own way she was just as lovely he thought. "Thank you for inviting me to accompany you this morning, Lady Charity."

  She shot him a mischievous smile. "I thought you might like the chance to get outdoors for a while."

  "You were right," he replied fervently, thinking of the hours and hours he had spent in drawing rooms and government offices this last week.

  She fell silent as they continued down Oxford Street, and he concentrated on keeping Silver Charm down to a walk. It was a bit of a project, as the thoroughbred was clearl
y itching to go.

  "He always does this when you first take him out," Charity informed him as Silver Charm gave an impatient buck and shook his head. "He'll be better on the way back after he's had a good gallop."

  "Whose horse is he?" the Prince asked.

  "He belongs to my brother, but I usually exercise him in the morning," she replied. They passed a footman walking two small dogs, and Silver Charm bucked again. Charity frowned. "Harry really should send him down to the country. He needs to be out all day, not cooped up in a small London stable."

  "What does your brother do with him?" the Prince inquired, thinking that he really would have preferred a less turbulent mount for a walk through the London streets.

  "He rides him."

  He shot her a glance of mixed impatience and amusement. "Yes, I guessed that. I mean, is he training him for anything?"

  She shook her head. "He bought him because he was big and handsome and Harry thought he would make an impressive-looking hack. He's not really a park horse, though."

  "Perhaps he would make a good hunter," the Prince suggested. "I understand the English are mad about hunting."

  Once again Charity shook her head. "He won't jump. That's why Harry was able to buy him at a price he could afford. His previous owner got sick of being dumped at fences."

  "That could become rather tiresome," the Prince agreed with amusement.

  At last they reached the park, and, as they passed through the gates, Silver Charm's ears shot up and the Prince felt as if he had a bundle of dynamite under him just waiting to explode.

  "The bridle path is usually empty at this hour," Charity said. "You can let him gallop."

  The Prince lifted his hands and Silver Charm bolted forward. The Prince stood in his stirrups and let the horse go. It was the first time he had ever ridden an English thoroughbred, and the speed was exhilarating. The wind whipped tears into his eyes and the emotion he felt through the reins from Silver Charm was that of sheer joy. He laughed out loud, dizzy with delight at the pounding speed.