The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  "But he must have an heir, Charity! That is the first duty of a prince, to give the country an heir."

  Charity saw immediately that her grandmother was not pleased with what she had just heard. The two women were in Charity's bedroom in the Pfalz, and Charity, who was sitting on a blue velvet hassock close to Princess Mariana's chair, replied a little defensively, "I know that, Grandmama. Augustus told me that he would have to have an heir. But he also said that there was no hurry."

  The princess's eyes, which were so like her own, looked stern. "He is trying to spare your sensibilities." She frowned. "This is the first time I have ever seen Augustus do something stupid."

  "I don't think it's so stupid," Charity said even more defensively. "After all, I am only seventeen, Grandmama. That's awfully young to have a baby."

  "Bah," said Princess Mariana. She leaned forward, took Charity's chin in her thin, arthritic hand, and held her granddaughter's face captive. "Are you afraid of the sexual act, Charity?" she asked with all the bluntness of a woman of the last century.

  Charity could feel the hot color flood into her face and neck. She kept her eyes steady on her grandmother's, however, and replied firmly, "Certainly not. I can throw my heart over any fence, Grandmama. You know that."

  Princess Mariana smiled at the equine metaphor. "Yes." She patted Charity's cheek. "I do know that. I shall speak to Augustus and clear up this idiocy once and for all."

  "No!" Charity was surprised by the explosiveness of her own response. She jumped to her feet and walked to the window in order to gain time to collect herself. Once there she turned, faced her grandmother, and managed to say with composure, "I think you can leave such a delicate matter up to Augustus's good judgment, Grandmama. And I would really rather he not know that I have discussed this with you."

  After a long look at Charity's flushed face, Princess Mariana had reluctantly acquiesced.

  Charity thought back on this conversation now as her carriage stopped in front of the cathedral. The steps were lined with the Household Guard, their ceremonial swords and the gold braid of their uniforms glittering in the morning sun. A splendidly uniformed young man helped her alight from the coach, and her grandmother arranged her train. Then she was going up the stairs, her heart beating so hard and so fast that she was afraid she might faint.

  All of her bridesmaids were gathered in the vestibule along with her father, who came to her immediately and said something nice about how she looked. She heard herself make a reply, and then the great cathedral organ, which had been playing softly, gave forth its full voice. Her father held out his arm, she took it, and they started down the aisle, followed at a discreet distance by her fifteen bridesmaids, none of whom she knew.

  The air in the cathedral smelled of incense, and every pew was filled with unfamiliar faces, all of them staring at her. The marble altar was ablaze with golden candlesticks framing the golden tabernacle. Above the altar hung an Annunciation by Titian that was famed throughout Europe. The Prince had managed to recover it from the treasure trove of Napoleon's larcenous marshal only three months before. In front of the altar were two stools, to be used by the royal pair during the ceremony, and behind those two state chairs where they would sit during the remainder of the nuptial mass.

  Charity was halfway down the aisle when she saw the Prince standing before the altar rail. He was wearing a dark green uniform, with gold lapels, gold-embroidered loops, and gold-embroidered epaulettes with gold bullion fringes. He looked so intimidatingly tall, so sternly handsome, that her pounding heart leaped into her throat and her hands went clammy.

  Who is that strange man? I must be insane. How can I possibly marry a man like that?

  She felt herself begin to shake and concentrated all of her willpower on stopping such a shameful display of nerves. She had almost reached the altar when she allowed herself one more glance at the man who was waiting for her. His gray eyes met and held hers and he gave her a faint smile.

  It's Augustus, she thought, feeling suddenly limp and stupid with relief. I will be all right now. It's Augustus.

  When they exited from the cathedral, the area directly in front of the stairs had been cordoned off by a row of Household Guards, and the crowd behind the uniformed line was so thick and deep that Charity could see no end to it. As the bride and groom stepped into the sudden burst of sunlight there was a blare of trumpets and the noise that roared through the cathedral square was overwhelming.

  They stood for a moment on the top of the stairs while the crowd's adulation resounded all around them. Then Augustus put his arm around her and rested a light hand upon her waist. Startled, Charity looked up at him. He bent his blond head and dropped a tender kiss on her lips.

  The crowd went wild. Augustus smiled and his hand urged her forward. Together they went down the stairs to the carriage waiting for them at the bottom of the steps. He handed Charity in, then got in after her. The Lipizzaners nodded the gorgeous gold plumes on their heads and moved off into the space created for them by the military line of the Household Guard.

  Charity sat in the bridal coach, her hands clasped tensely in her lap, feeling upset and confused. Why had Augustus kissed her?

  He was sitting opposite her in the carriage, looking out the window, acknowledging the cheers of his people. He was smiling.

  Stupid, Charity scolded herself. He kissed you because he knew it would please his people. That's what this whole wedding is about—pleasing his people. You have to be very careful, Charity, not to think that he has any special feelings for you.

  For there was no denying that his light tender kiss, the first touch of a man's lips upon hers, had shaken her.

  All along their drive through the city streets flowers bombarded the coach. 'The devil!" Augustus said with a laugh, as he ducked back against the cushions. "That last one almost got me right in the face."

  Charity managed a laugh. From the street outside all that could be heard was one word, resounding over and over and over again, Augustus! Augustus! Augustus!

  How on earth will I ever live up to him? Charity thought in miserable despair.

  The Prince had been determined to make his wedding a day of celebration for the entire country, and so citizens from all the social classes of Jura had been invited to the wedding breakfast at the Pfalz. The great Marble Room on the ground floor of the palace was thronged with beaming burghers and their wives, as well as the more usual members of the nobility and military. The grandness of the room was echoed by the magnificent wedding cake, nine feet in circumference and sixteen inches in height.

  When Charity and the Prince entered the room the band struck up the Jurian national anthem. All the men bowed and the women sank into deep curtseys, and Charity's feeling of unworthiness deepened. Never had she felt so young, so ignorant, so utterly out of place.

  They remained at the reception for an hour and a half, during which time Charity struggled mightily to be both friendly and dignified, as she thought a Princess of Jura should be. She felt a bit better when her grandmother patted her hand and told her she was doing "very well, little one, very well." However, if someone had asked her the following day to describe what had happened at the reception and whom she had spoken to, she would not have been able to give a coherent answer. She was intensely relieved when her mother came to take her upstairs to change out of her wedding dress. Her baggage had already been sent on to the Alpine lake where she and the Prince were to spend a week's honeymoon.

  She met her new husband at a side door and they got into a carriage bearing no crest and pulled by ordinary horses and drove off without anyone noticing that they had gone. As soon as they passed beyond the gates, Augustus heaved a satisfied sigh and stretched out his legs as best he could. One booted foot brushed against Charity's fawn-colored traveling dress. She looked at it, but made no attempt to draw her dress away.

  "It went perfectly," Augustus said with palpable satisfaction. He gave her a warm smile. "You were wonderful, Charity. You hav
e my undying thanks for everything you have done. My people were cheated out of a coronation, but they had a splendid wedding to celebrate—thanks to you."

  "It certainly was splendid," she said. "I felt as if I were acting in a play."

  "You were." He gave her an anxious look. "Would you mind terribly if I loosened my neckcloth?"

  The question and the look were so boyish that all of a sudden she felt comfortable with him. She laughed. "Go right ahead. As a matter of fact, I think I will take off my hat."

  Both of them suited actions to words. Charity laid her bonnet on the seat next to her. Her hair was still braided into the high coronet that she had worn for her wedding veil, and she would have liked to take out all the pins and let it spill loose, but she didn't quite have the nerve to do that. She looked over at Augustus and was surprised to see a tremendous yawn on his face. He covered his mouth with his hands and his eyes watered. "I am so sorry," he said as soon as he could talk again. "I don't mean to be a bore."

  Charity grinned and felt even more comfortable. It was hard to feel unworthy of a man who yawned in your face. "Don't bother about me. I had two glasses of champagne at the reception and I feel that if I closed my eyes I could fall right asleep."

  "Would you care to take a nap?" he asked, not quite able to disguise his hopefulness.

  Charity smiled again. "Why don't we both try to get a little sleep?" she suggested. "It has been rather a harrowing week."

  "It certainly has," he agreed fervently, and without further ado he tilted his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. Charity watched him, watched the long lashes as they lay quietly on the hard cheekbones, watched as he slid into the profound sleep of the truly exhausted. She remained thus for perhaps half an hour before she put her hat on the floor, curled up on the seat, and fell fast asleep herself.

  The rest of the journey and the arrival at their destination would always remain a blur to Charity. She was half asleep when she got out of the coach and accompanied the Prince up a flight of stone stairs. Afterward she would remember a maid helping her to undress and that the wooden floor of the bedroom felt very cold under her bare feet. Then she was in a nice soft bed, one that didn't jolt and jostle her, and she went back to sleep.

  When she awoke the following morning she didn't remember where she was. She blinked and looked in bewilderment at a wall covered in a Flemish tapestry she didn't recognize. She turned her head the other way.

  A man with sunlit blond hair was standing in front of an open window watching her, and all of a sudden she remembered. Her heart gave the single thud that was becoming almost familiar. "Good heavens," she croaked. "Augustus! What time is it?"

  "It’s after ten," he replied.

  Charity was truly horrified. She sat bolt upright in bed. "It can't be. I never sleep that late."

  He smiled at her. "You were exhausted, so I let you sleep. But you can't stay in bed for the entire day."

  Charity knew that she couldn't stay in bed for the entire day, but she was feeling extremely awkward about getting out of bed while he was in the room. She stayed where she was, hoping that he would go away.

  He held out a hand. "Come over here and let me show you something."

  Reluctantly, she pushed her blankets away and slid to the floor. Dressed in her high-necked, pristine white nightgown, she crossed the carpeted floor to join him. Once she looked out the window, however, all thoughts of modesty fled.

  "Oh Augustus. How absolutely beautiful."

  They were standing at the window of a great stone castle, which was situated on an island in the middle of a lake, surrounded by the Jurian Alps. Charity's eyes moved slowly from the lake's clear, still waters to the snowcapped peaks and she hugged herself in a mixture of awe and excitement.

  The Prince said with concern. "Are you cold? You should not be standing here barefoot and in your nightdress."

  "I'm not cold at all," she replied. "I'm just thrilled." She tore her eyes away from the landscape to look up into his face, and all of her awkwardness magically disappeared. Instead she felt bubbly and elated, as if she was poised on the threshold of a great adventure. "What can we do today? Can we go exploring? Can we climb one of the mountains?" She put her hand on his sleeve. "Oh please, Augustus, wouldn't that be marvelous? What a view one would have of the lake and the castle!"

  He laughed down at her. "We can do a little exploring if you like."

  "Hurrah!" She stepped back. "I'll get dressed in a trice." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go.

  "Wouldn't you like me to show you around the castle first?"

  "I should love to see the castle, but later. Right now, I want to take advantage of this magnificent weather." She looked out the window once again and then back at him. He was making no motion to leave, and she said tentatively, "This is the princess's bedroom, isn't it?"

  He leaned his shoulders against the wall next to the window and crossed his arms. "This room actually belongs to both the prince and the princess."

  Charity was a little uncertain about how to take this news. "You didn't sleep here last night," she said cautiously.

  He gestured to one of the bedroom's three doors. "There is a camp bed in the prince's dressing room. I slept there."

  "A camp bed?" She felt a pang of guilt as she looked at his long frame leaning against the wall. "Oh no, Augustus, you are much bigger than I am! You should be the one to sleep in this enormous bed. I can easily sleep in the dressing room."

  His gray eyes glinted with amusement. "That is very generous of you, Charity, but I can assure you that, compared to some of the places where I have slept, the camp bed is paradise. These arrangements will suffice for the time that we are here at Lake Leive. When we return to the Pfalz we will have separate bedrooms and I shall get my own big bed back."

  A thought darted like a bird in flight across Charity's mind: We could both sleep here in this bed.Before she could say anything, however, he was asking, "Do you wish to have breakfast brought to you here?"

  The moment when she might have spoken had passed.

  With some relief, she answered, "I never have breakfast in my bedroom." Her small nose quivered in disgust. "I think it is decadent."

  He grinned at her choice of adjective. "Then I will have a fresh breakfast set out for you in the sitting room." He moved away from the window, crossing to the dressing room door he had just pointed out. He put a hand on the latch, then turned to ask, "How long will it take you to get dressed?"

  "Fifteen minutes," Charity said.

  He stared. "It took your sister an hour and a half."

  Charity put her hand up to touch her disordered hair, which was still in the coronet of braids she had worn at her wedding. "Actually, it might take me half an hour," she said apologetically. "My hair has to be redone."

  He gave her a brisk nod of approval, the kind a commanding officer might bestow upon a promising subordinate. "I'll tell them to have breakfast in half an hour." And he closed the door behind him.

  Much to his surprise, the Prince found his honeymoon to be an utterly delightful and relaxing experience. He and Charity rowed on the lake, fished, and explored the mountain trails on foot and on horseback. As he did these things, the tension of the last weeks that had strung him as tightly as a bowstring slowly began to relax.

  Charity was an enchanting companion. Outdoors she was as game and athletic as any boy, and on the single day that it rained, he spent the morning showing her around the castle, where they vied with each other in making up hilarious stories about their ancestors, whose portraits lined the walls. In the afternoon they played a fierce game of cards, using for money a pile of medieval coins the Prince unearthed from an old chest in the castle's Great Hall.

  What surprised the Prince most, when he stopped to think about it, was the ease of their companionship. He had wondered what on earth he would ever find to say to Lydia, but Charity shared so many of his interests that talking to her was like conversing with one of his
friends.

  It was the conversation they had on the last day of their stay at Lake Leive that made the deepest impression on him, however. They had spread a blanket in a meadow of Alpine flowers to partake of the luncheon that the castle cook had packed for them. The Prince had finished eating and was stretched out on his back, his head propped on his folded jacket, his eyes closed. The scent of the flowers filled his nostrils, the sun was warm on his face, the faint buzzing of bees was gentle on his ears, and he felt amazingly at peace.

  He had almost dozed off when he heard Charity say, "Augustus, why do you think Franz ran away with Lydia?"

  "He was in love with her," the Prince replied without opening his eyes.

  "I don't think Franz is the kind of person who falls in love," Charity said reflectively.

  At that he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly so he could see her. "Why do you say that?"

  She was chewing on a crust of bread, and she waited until she had swallowed until she replied. "I think he is too conceited to fall in love."

  He laughed. "It's hard not to be conceited when one is as good-looking as Franz."

  "He wants always to be the center of attention. I noticed that at the Regent's reception when he wanted Lydia and me to notice him and not you, and I have seen it happen a number of times since."

  The Prince closed his eyes again. "So Franz thinks well of himself. I am not going to argue that with you, Charity."

  She threw the last piece of her crust to some small brown birds, who immediately began to squabble over it. "I don't think he likes you, Augustus."