The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  Lord Beaufort shook his head. "You see," he said, still speaking carefully, "the Prince is set upon marrying an English girl."

  It was Charity's turn to shake her head. "He'll never get an English girl to Jura in time. The wedding is in a week."

  Her father's voice became very gentle. "There is an English girl already in Jura, Charity."

  Her brow puckered. "There is?"

  Then, as he sat there, looking at her in silence, she finally understood.

  "Me?" The word came out as a squawk. "Do you mean me, Papa?"

  "Yes, my dear. I mean you."

  Charity's eyes were so large they seemed to take up half of her small face. "You want me to marry the Prince instead of Lydia?"

  His head moved slowly up and down in an affirmative gesture. Then he said gravely, "I believe it is the only way possible to salvage this situation. You are Lydia's sister. You have the same blood and the same connections as she did. If you will marry the Prince in Lydia's stead, Charity, I believe we may get out of this horrendous situation your sister has precipitated."

  "But Papa," Charity said breathlessly, "I'm too young to be married."

  Lord Beaufort shaded his eyes with his hand, as if he found it painful to look at her. "Charity," he said, "believe me, I feel dreadful asking you to do this. If Augustus was not such a splendid young man, I would not ask it of you. But the situation is dire. We simply cannot let him face this kind of humiliation." He lowered his hand and looked into his daughter's face. "It is true that you are young, my dear, but girls of seventeen get married in England all the time. And you are far more intelligent than Lydia. I think you would make a wonderful princess for Jura."

  Charity pressed her hands against her hot cheeks. "Have you talked to the Prince about this, Papa?"

  "Actually, it was the Prince's idea," Lord Beaufort replied.

  Charity's lips opened as if to reply, then slowly closed. She stared down at her hands, which were once more clasped tensely in her lap, and for a long moment there was silence in the room. Finally she said in a small voice, "I have always wanted to visit Jura, but I never thought that I would live anywhere but England."

  "I know, Charity," Lord Beaufort said. He looked as if he had aged ten years.

  She moved her gaze from her hands to the tips of her boots and said nothing. After the silence had gone on for quite a while, Lord Beaufort said encouragingly, "I would expect you to pay frequent visits to England."

  At the sound of his voice, Charity drew in a long, shuddering breath. Then, without lifting her eyes from her boot tips, she said gruffly, "All right. I'll do it."

  Lord Beaufort's face sagged with relief. He closed his eyes briefly and murmured, "Thank God."

  Charity said nothing.

  He looked at her bowed brown head and said, "I am proud of you, my dear. You are a credit to your name." He added bitterly, "I am sorry I cannot say the same of your sister."

  Charity nodded, her eyes still on the tips of her boots.

  Lord Beaufort frowned. Her demeanor was making him feel acutely uncomfortable. He did not like thinking of himself as the kind of father who would bully his daughter into an unwanted marriage. Without stopping to think, he said, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

  At last she lifted her head. The large brown eyes that regarded him held an expression he had never seen in them before. "Yes, I do, Papa. We both know that I do."

  Lord Beaufort searched his mind for words that would take that look away from her eyes. "Augustus is a fine man, Charity. I feel confident that you will be happy with him."

  "Do you, Papa?"

  "He admires you. He told me so."

  She said with sad wisdom, "I am too young for him."

  Lord Beaufort started to say something, then stopped. For a long moment he searched his daughter's face with narrowed eyes. At last he said, "Then you will have to grow up, my dear. Augustus needs a woman for a wife, not a child. Age is not a matter of years, Charity. It is a matter of attitude."

  She folded her arms around herself, as if trying to shield her body. "Yes, Papa."

  He could not think of any other encouraging remarks, so he said, "Do you feel that you could see the Prince, my dear? As you can imagine, he is anxious to speak to you."

  "I can see him," she said tonelessly.

  "Then I will send him word and he will come to you."

  "All right," Charity said in the same flat voice as before.

  As soon as she heard the door close behind her father, she jumped up and went to stare out the window. This particular window looked out on the front side of the palace, and Charity's eyes remained fixed on the water playing in the fountain while her thoughts flew hundreds of miles and a decade away.

  I am going to marry Augustus when I grow up.

  She had been seven years old when first she declared that intention to her grandmother. It was a statement she had repeated many times as she had listened to her grandmother's exciting stories about the young prince who had chosen to remain behind to fight for his country. As she grew out of childhood, she had ceased to talk about marrying Augustus, but she had not stopped dreaming about him. He represented to her all that was fine and true and honorable, and, when she had met him at last, a tall, slim young man with steady gray eyes and a cleft in his chin, she had known all the delight of someone whose dream has come true.

  Now she was to marry him, and the thought terrified her.

  Even though the warm sun was pouring in the window, she shivered. I don't know anything about being a princess. Lydia, with her arrogance and her beauty, could have carried it off, but not Charity. I am not even officially out yet, she thought in panic. How can I be expected to fill the role of Augustus's wife?

  It had been fun to dream of a perfect prince, fun to fantasize that he would understand her as her family did not; fun to imagine herself, staunch and brave at his side as he battled the evil empire that threatened his country.

  But Charity was old enough to understand the difference between fantasy and reality. She understood that her dream of marrying Augustus had been a child's game. She understood that once she made this marriage, her life would be changed utterly and forever. The responsibility of being Princess of Jura would rein her in more tightly than her mother's strictures ever could. Most profoundly, she understood that all the freedom was about to disappear from her life.

  She was dwelling on this dismal thought when she heard the door open behind her. She turned around and watched as the Prince came in. He closed the door and stood there for a moment, making no attempt to come closer.

  Charity looked at him, her perfect prince, and the muscles in her stomach tightened and she could hear the beat of her own heart. How handsome he is, she thought. How could Lydia have preferred the glitter of Franz to the solid gold of Augustus?

  He said quietly, from his position the full width of the room away from her. "Are you quite sure you want to do this?"

  She wet her lips with her tongue and replied gruffly, "Yes."

  She could see the muscles in his face relax. He crossed the pink, blue, and cream carpet and came to a stop a few feet in front of her. The sun from the window made his blond hair look lighter than usual and illuminated the grave expression in his gray eyes. He said somberly, "Your sister has put me in a damnable position, Charity. If I do not get married one week from today, my people will be deeply disappointed. What is worse, their feelings toward England will not be friendly. And if, after all these elaborate preparations, the wedding is canceled, I will look like a fool. This last situation I could live with, but I cannot live with the other two."

  "I understand that," she said in the same tone as before. "Lydia's behavior is unforgivable, and if my marrying you will help to rectify it, then I am willing to do it."

  A faint smile flickered across his mouth. "Come and sit down. We need to talk."

  She followed him to the pink silk Louis XIV sofa, sat down beside him, folded her hands in her lap, an
d regarded them intently. She was acutely conscious of the size of him sitting right next to her on the adjacent sofa cushion. She tightened the grip of her fingers, frowned, and told herself to stop being such an idiot.

  He said, "Some of the blame for Lydia's action rests with me. Don't lay it all on your sister."

  Charity's head turned toward him in surprise. "You? How could you possibly be to blame, Prince?"

  He was staring into the empty fireplace and his profile looked as clear-cut and stern as one on a Roman coin. "I scarcely spent any time at all with Lydia. I kept relying on Franz to entertain her. I suppose I can hardly blame them if they fell in love." His voice took on a bitter note. "I certainly did all I could to facilitate it."

  "Well," Charity said, knowing that what he had said was true and trying to find a way to excuse him, "you have been very busy."

  His profile did not soften. "Yes, I have been busy, but I have not been too busy to find some time to spend with my fiancée. I just did not bother to do it."

  "Why didn't you?" Charity asked curiously.

  "Because I'm afraid I didn't like your sister very much," he replied, turning his head to look at her. "I knew our marriage was the politically correct thing to do, but I was not looking forward to spending the rest of my life with her."

  Charity was utterly astonished. "But she is so beautiful!"

  "Yes, she is very beautiful. But—" He looked as if he didn't know if he should go on.

  "Yes?" she prompted.

  He returned his gaze to the fireplace. "Well . . . it just seemed to me that she was rather stupid," he said in a rush.

  Charity blinked.

  "Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to think that way, perhaps she was very clever about the things that interested her, but she had absolutely no interest in the things that interest me." He shot her a sideways look to gauge her reaction.

  Charity was delighted by the Prince's words, although she tried very hard not to show it. She answered honestly, "Lydia is an imbecile about politics, but she would have made a good Princess of Jura. She understands society and social etiquette and protocol and things like that. And she would have looked magnificent." Her brow wrinkled with worry. "I will not be able to represent you half as well as she could, Prince."

  "You can always learn protocol," he replied in a practical voice. "I think you will make a splendid Princess of Jura."

  She turned a little on the sofa, so she was facing him, and said doubtfully, "Do you really think so?"

  He too moved so that he was facing her. "I do. And I can tell you one other thing, Charity. I would far rather be married to you than to your sister."

  Her heart gave a great thump. She stared at him out of huge eyes. "You would?"

  He nodded emphatically. "I can talk to you." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And you play a wicked game of cards."

  It was a perfectly sensible answer. Why then did she feel so disappointed? Gamely she smiled back at him, hiding her feelings.

  He picked up her small hands and held them in his.

  Her pulse sped up and she flushed.

  "There is one other thing I want to make clear to you," he said. "I realize that you are being rushed into this marriage, and I have no intention of asking you to consummate it until you are ready."

  At these words, Charity could feel her flush deepening. She wanted desperately to pull her hands away before he could feel the racing of her pulse, but felt she could not. He was going on: "I am older than you by far more than the ten years that separate us. Eventually I will have to have an heir, but there is no rush. I am perfectly willing to wait until you are a little older."

  His hands were so large that they almost completely engulfed hers, but his clasp imparted a sense of warmth and strength and protection. Suddenly all of Charity's doubts melted away. Augustus would take care of her.

  "And you will tell me when I am doing something wrong? I don't want to disgrace you, Prince."

  He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and then released them. "I think," he said, "it is time for you to call me Augustus."

  12

  Fortunately, the sky on the day of the Prince's wedding was slightly overcast. If the sun had been beating steadily upon the huge crowds that were massed along the bridal carriage route and outside the great Gothic Cathedral of Saint Peter large numbers of people would have been overcome by the heat. The welcome cloud cover allowed the citizens of Jura to rejoice in relative comfort.

  The Prince had changed the traditional ceremony that called for two processions into the church, first the bridal procession and then the royal procession of the groom. Instead he chose to await the arrival of his bride inside the comparative coolness of the cathedral. His strongest emotion, as he stood in the sacristy with his best man, Lord Stefan Weir, looking at the discolored spot on the wall where a Madonna by Giovanni Bellini had once hung, was relief.

  There had been an uproar when the news had got out about Lydia's elopement. Julia's two main newspapers had waxed hysterical about the insult to their prince and, had the Jurian diet been in session, there would certainly have been an even greater commotion. However, most Jurian outraged feelings had been soothed by the quick release of the news that the wedding was to go forward, with Lady Charity Debritt assuming her sister's place. Jura was not going to be deprived of its wedding after all, and gradually the grumbling quieted down.

  The Prince himself was actually happy with the way things had turned out. He thought Charity would prove a much more satisfactory wife than Lydia. She spoke German—with a Jurian accent!—and she understood the reasons behind his decision to negotiate a treaty with Great Britain. She was also young enough for him to be able to mold her character into the kind of wife and princess that he would find most useful. Lydia's personality had already been formed, and the Prince had seen that her narrow interests and essential selfishness would make her an irritating and unsatisfactory partner.

  His reflections were interrupted when Lord Emil Sauder popped his head into the sacristy to announce, "The bridal coach has just arrived. Better get into position, Gus."

  The Prince, who was wearing the uniform of the commander-in-chief of the Jurian army, turned to his best man, who was also dressed in military garb. Stefan grinned at him. "Nervous, Gus?"

  "Terrified," the Prince replied humorously.

  Stefan gave an incredulous snort, and the two men left the sacristy to enter the main part of the church.

  Every pew in the cathedral was filled to capacity. The Prince saw his mother in the first row and nodded to her. The princess, who was wearing a white silk hat with an enormous rose on its brim, smiled back brilliantly. The cathedral smelled of incense and burning candles and the mingled perfumes of the women in the pews. The magnificent stained-glass windows did not show to their best advantage because of the lack of sunshine, but even so, the amazing blue that was their primary color glowed with subdued brilliance.

  The Adamovs of Jura had always been Roman Catholic, and the ceremony today would be a nuptial mass performed by the ranking prelate in Jura, Archbishop Rudolf Vasi. Charity was not a Catholic, but the Debritts had made no objection to either of their daughters being married in a Catholic ceremony. In religion, as in so many other areas of life, rank prevailed.

  As the Prince waited for the music that would announce the entrance of the bridal party, he offered up a brief prayer of thanksgiving that everything had gone so well for him. The transfer of power from his father's rule to himself had been smooth, largely because he had been sensible enough to retain his father's men in their old positions. In actual fact, the positions were merely nominal, as the Prince rarely sought, and even more rarely listened, to any advice men like Hindenberg and Rupnik were likely to offer. His own men, who held positions less important in title, were the ones who had his ear.

  As the organ's magnificent tones rolled through the cathedral, the Prince's thoughts turned to his cousin. He had not been half as surprised by Lydia's d
efection as he had been by Franz's.

  What could he have been thinking?

  It was a question the Prince had asked himself many times before. What on earth had motivated Franz to run away with Lydia? It would have been far more advantageous for him to marry a girl from the Austrian or the German nobility. To have chosen a scandalous elopement with an English girl did not seem at all like Franz, who, in the Prince's experience, always had an eye on what would most benefit himself.

  Perhaps he really is in love, the Prince thought skeptically. It was hard to believe, but no other reason presented itself to account for his cousin's strange behavior.

  The Prince himself did not think highly of love as a factor in marriage. His father had fallen in love with his mother, and the resulting marriage had not been a notable success. As Prince of Jura, Augustus wanted a wife who would carry out the duties of his consort with graciousness and with honor. As a man, he wanted a wife who would do as she was told. He had sensed that Lydia would not fit this mold, but he had every confidence that the youthful Charity would. The Prince was extremely pleased with the way things had turned out.

  In later years, Charity would always say that the only reason she had not jumped up into the driver's seat of the coach taking her to her wedding, grabbed the reins, and galloped madly away was the calming presence of her grandmother sitting beside her. Princess Mariana, at her granddaughter's special request, had been the person to accompany Charity in the state carriage as it passed through wildly cheering crowds on its way from the Pfalz to the cathedral in Julia. Fortunately, the soon-to-be Princess of Jura was not expected to show her face to the crowds before the wedding ceremony, so Charity could sit back, clutch her grandmother's hand, and listen to the older woman's soothing comments as the splendidly plumed Lipizzaners carried her ever closer to her wedding with the Prince.

  Princess Mariana had been delighted when she learned that Charity was to marry Augustus, and the faith she had displayed in Charity's ability to perform the duties of the Princess had been a sorely needed boost to Charity's confidence. Lady Beaufort had been so bitterly hurt and disappointed by Lydia's action that she had been no help to Charity at all. It had been Princess Mariana who had taken it upon herself to broach the delicate subject of the wedding night to her granddaughter in order to explain just what Charity should expect to encounter in the initial act of sex. When Charity had repeated Augustus's words about waiting to consummate their marriage, her grandmother had been astounded.