The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  The princess beamed. "Sit down, my child. Sit down." She graciously gestured for Charity to sit in one of her own chairs. Once Charity was seated, Caterina looked her up and down. "I am glad to see that you are dressing better," she pronounced. "You have taste. Those clothes that your mother chose for you . . ." Here she gave a dramatic shudder.

  Charity, who had no impulse to leap to her mother's defense, merely murmured, "I am happy that you like my dress, Princess."

  Next her mother-in-law gestured to the three other people in the room with them. "Allow me to make you known to my companions. You will have met them at the wedding, but that was a time of such confusion, no? Perhaps you will not remember them."

  Charity turned attentively to the two men, who had stood when she came in, and the single woman, a crone-like figure dressed all in black, who had remained sitting in the most comfortable chair in the room. Princess Caterina said, "Allow me to present my nephew, Gian Carlo Vecchio." Gian Carlo was a very good-looking young man, with the princess's red-gold hair and green eyes. He bowed to her. "And this is my cousin, Antonio Vecchio." Antonio was another good-looking young man, only he had dark hair and eyes, and as he made his bow he flashed a smile that showed beautiful white teeth. "And this is my aunt, Madonna Maria Vecchio. I hope you will excuse her if she does not rise to curtsey; she is very arthritic."

  "How do you do, signores, Madonna," Charity replied in the excellent Italian she had learned from Caterina. "Welcome once more to Jura."

  "Your tea tastes like water," Madonna Vecchio said in a deep, gruff voice that matched her mustache.

  There was a moment of startled silence, then Charity replied, "I am so sorry. Shall I send for more?"

  "No." The princess's aunt waved a dismissive hand. "That would probably taste like water as well."

  "Aunt Maria." The beautiful young man, who looked more like Caterina's son than Augustus, spoke in a reproachful tone. "You are rude."

  "No Germans know how to make decent food," Aunt Maria informed Gian Carlo. "Poor Caterina, such a penance it must have been to live in this country for so many years."

  "Jura is not like most German states, Aunt," Princess Caterina said. "It has the advantage of lying directly across the Adriatic from Venice and so has benefited from exposure to our culture and our cuisine." As if to prove this point, the princess picked up a small pastry from the almost empty plate in front of her and ate it.

  A skeptical snort was the Madonna's only reply to this defense of Jura, but she too ate a pastry.

  One of the young men began to comment on the Italian look of some of the churches he had seen in Julia, and the other agreed, mentioning a particular palace that had caught his eye.

  As Charity sat listening to this conversation, she began to wonder if perhaps the Vecchios had taken over her entire apartment. When at last a small silence fell in the rush of Italian voices, she asked, "Have you been given comfortable rooms, Princess Caterina?"

  Her mother-in-law sighed. "As comfortable as possible under the circumstances." As she spoke, Madonna Maria's clawlike fingers reached out and snatched the last pastry from the plate. Charity thought that for someone who complained about the cooking, it seemed as if the Madonna had sampled quite a bit of it.

  Princess Caterina was looking sadly at Charity. "It is an odd feeling to be in the east wing, which is why I chose to take my tea in here. I was certain you would not mind, Charity. After all, this apartment was mine for far longer than it has been yours."

  "Of course I don't mind," Charity replied. "I am very happy that you decided to return for Ozbald Day. It will make the first celebration of the anniversary since the war a truly special day indeed."

  The princess bowed her head modestly. "That is what I thought. That is why I took such heroic measures to be here."

  As she was finishing her last sentence, the door opened and Augustus stepped into the room. He was still dressed in his hunting clothes: high black boots, light tan breeches, and a brown riding coat. His face was more highly colored than usual from his day outdoors, and his hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it to try to restore it to some semblance of order.

  Charity's heart lurched into her throat the moment she saw him.

  He was not looking at her, however—he was looking at his mother and he did not seem overjoyed. "Mama! What are you doing here? Why didn't you write to let me know you were coming?"

  From her seat upon the sofa, the princess opened her arms. "Augustus," she said dramatically. "My son." Clearly she had already determined in her mind how she was going to play this scene. "Come and kiss your mama."

  A muscle twitched in the Prince's jaw, but he crossed the floor, bent, and dutifully surrendered himself to the soft perfumed embrace of Princess Caterina. As he straightened up his eyes met Charity's and he lifted an eyebrow, managing to convey in that single gesture a partnership between them against the gathered Vecchio clan.

  Charity quickly looked away from him. By now her heart was thundering and the blood was pounding in her head.

  I have to pretend that I don't know, she thought, as she listened to Augustus greeting his cousins and his aunt. I must hope that the baroness is only in the city for the Ozbald celebration and that she will leave afterward. Perhaps then I can get him to notice me. Perhaps then he will consummate the marriage and he will not feel any further need to turn to the baroness.

  The pounding of her blood finally began to quiet and Princess Caterina's words reached her ears. "I have been telling Charity how much I miss this apartment. After all, I lived here for many more years than she has."

  The Prince turned around on the sofa and gave his mother a long, hard look. "If you are trying to get Charity to give the Princess's apartment up to you for the duration of your visit, Mama, forget it."

  Princess Caterina looked deeply hurt.

  It suddenly occurred to Charity that it might be easier for her to reside at a distance from Augustus until Baroness Zais had left Julia. She opened her mouth to offer her rooms to the Prince's mother, but Augustus had been watching her. "No, Charity," he said firmly. "You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, but I will not let Mama take advantage of you. It would not be right. It would not be proper. You are the princess, you are my wife, you should be the person residing in the royal apartments." He turned his eyes back to his mother. "And that is the end of the discussion."

  Princess Caterina said haughtily, "I never once asked to use this apartment, Augustus. You overreach yourself."

  "I beg your pardon, Mama," the Prince said.

  "I believe I will retire to my room and take a nap," the princess said with dignity. She rose from the sofa and the three Vecchios stood with her. The Prince and Charity followed suit.

  "There is to be a performance tonight, Princess, at the opera house in Julia," Charity said. "I very much hope that you, your nephew, your cousin, and your aunt will accompany us."

  "An opera? How lovely," the princess replied.

  "What is being sung?" Madonna Vecchio demanded.

  "The Magic Flute," Charity said.

  Madonna Vecchio sniffed. "Mozart is well enough, I suppose. But it is the Italians who truly understand how to compose music for the human voice." Her upper lip quivered in a way that made her mustache dance. Charity bit her lip. "At least the opera is to be sung by an Italian company," the Madonna stated rather than asked.

  The Prince replied evenly, "I was fortunate enough to procure a company from Munich which is renowned for its rendering of Mozart."

  Antonio Vecchio said loudly, "How wonderful, Augustus. I am very much looking forward to hearing them."

  While Antonio was speaking, Gian Carlo had put his hand under Madonna Maria's arm and was firmly leading her from the room. Antonio offered his arm to Princess Caterina and winked at Augustus. "Don't worry," he said. "Aunt Maria won't come. I'll make sure she has a glass of sherry, and that will put her right to sleep."

  "Thank you, Tonio," Augustus said with heartfelt
gratitude.

  Antonio grinned and escorted the princess out of the room.

  Charity had been right when she deduced that the Prince was not overjoyed to see his mother. A month ago, he would have welcomed her, but now, when he was embroiled again in an affair with Eva, she was a complication he didn't need.

  Augustus's conscience had begun to bother him. He tried to hold on to Eva's words: Whatever is between you and me is between you and me. It cannot hurt anyone else. But deep in his heart, he knew that was untrue. It had been true once, before he was married. It was not true now. Now it was hurting someone. It was hurting Charity.

  She doesn't know. How can it hurt her if she doesn't know?

  He answered his own question: Other people knew. Stefan knew. Emil knew. And soon more people would know. It would get around the court—these things always did. And Charity would continue to walk in her beautiful innocence, the loveliest, kindest girl in all the world, and people would pity her.

  The ugly reality of what he was doing had hit him on the night of the masquerade when he had left her at the door of her apartment, fully intending to go back to Julia to meet Eva. He had bent his head to kiss her cheek, and it had struck him like a blow how he was deceiving her. Even more than that, he had realized that he didn't want to leave, that he didn't want to go to Eva, that he wanted to stay right there, with Charity.

  He had to pull away from her quickly, to stop himself from reaching for her and kissing her and taking her to bed and making her his wife in deed as well as name.

  He had gone to Eva, but for the first time he had fully recognized that it wasn't Eva, that it wasn't just physical satisfaction, that he wanted. He wanted his wife. But his wife had given no sign that she wanted him. And he had promised to give her time.

  As a succession of carriages carrying the royal family and their friends left the Pfalz that evening to travel into Julia for the opera, Augustus felt he had enough women to contend with already without having his mother thrown into the mix.

  The Prince got out of his coach in front of the mid-sized Baroque building that was Julia's opera house and waited while his party assembled so they could all go in together. He took Charity's arm while Gian Carlo took Caterina's and Antonio followed as they made their way to the royal box, which was placed in a prominent position to the left of the proscenium stage.

  Princess Caterina proceeded directly to the front of the box, where she stood like a figurehead at the front of a ship for ten minutes, acknowledging greetings. There were three galleries of boxes in the opera house, and tonight, for this special performance, they were filled to capacity with men in black cutaway tail coats with white waistcoats and breeches and silk stockings, and women wearing glittering jewels on their deeply cut evening gowns and tiaras in their elegantly dressed hair. These were the people who were bowing and curtseying to Princess Caterina and making little clapping gestures to indicate their delight in her presence.

  Charity was sitting quietly in one of the gilt chairs, looking through her program and talking to Gian Carlo. Augustus watched the delicate line of her jaw as she turned her head in his cousin's direction and replied to something he had said.

  Finally Princess Caterina decided that she would sit down, and as Augustus watched, she evicted Gian Carlo from his seat next to Charity and took it herself.

  The Prince felt a stab of approval at this sensible action on his mother's part. He turned his eyes back to the opera house, running them over the candlelit expanse of gallery boxes, then down to the seats on the floor where sat the townspeople in their churchgoing best. It was an eminently civilized sight, and it brought a faint smile to the Prince's lips.

  "It is a good feeling to know that the monster is locked up and that civilized life can begin again." Put out of his seat, Gian Carlo had come to join the Prince.

  "Yes," Augustus said. "It is a good thought."

  His cousin's green eyes, which were so uncannily like his mother's, rested on Charity. "Your wife, she is very lovely. So delicate and dainty—like a little deer."

  Augustus scowled. He didn't like Gian Carlo looking at Charity. He didn't like him calling her a little deer. He grunted in reply.

  His cousin shot him an amused look. "I only look and admire, Augustus. I do not touch."

  At that moment the first notes of the orchestra sounded, and the Prince was able to turn away from Gian Carlo as the men took the two empty seats.

  Mozart's music was divine and the opera company from Munich sang like angels. In all of her life, Charity had never heard such beautiful music, and for the length of the evening she was transported out of the world in which she lived into some other place entirely. The Vecchios proved to be perfect companions for her first opera experience. They were Italian, and they revered music and listened with the same raptness as Charity. Discussing the performance with enthusiasm in the carriage on the way home, she found in Gian Carlo a particularly sympathetic listener. As the two of them talked together, Charity's cheeks became flushed with the excitement of finding someone who shared her feelings and her passion.

  In fact, she was feeling so exalted by the experience of her first opera that she sailed off to bed without noticing that Augustus had spoken scarcely a word the whole way home in the carriage.

  18

  The long-awaited national holiday finally dawned, and all Charity could think about was that she was going to have to spend almost the entire day in the company of her husband and his mistress. The euphoria induced by Mozart had disappeared overnight, replaced by a morning fog of dull depression.

  The first activity on Ozbald Day was a Mass of Thanksgiving in the cathedral in Julia. Charity arose reluctantly from her lonely bed and stood like a doll while her maid arrayed her in a new dress and new red velvet pelisse lined and trimmed with chinchilla. The matching red velvet bonnet was topped with ostrich plumes, which gave her an illusion of height. When a lackey arrived to announce that the carriage was waiting, she walked steadily down the Pfalz's fan-shaped outdoor staircase to the shining black coach that was harnessed to four perfectly-matched gray Lipizzaners.

  The Prince was waiting for her.

  She cast one fleeting glance at him as she reached his side, then looked quickly away. He was very elegant in a double-breasted dark blue coat, a white waistcoat, fawn-colored pantaloons, and the polished Hessian boots that he had bought from Hoby's when he was in London.

  "Mama is coming with us," he informed her.

  To her astonishment, she found she had to suppress a giggle. She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You couldn't sound more dismal if you were announcing the arrival of the plague."

  At that moment, Princess Caterina appeared at the top of the staircase and began to make her descent. Her red-gold hair, worn under a small, stylish hat, shone in the sun, and her green velvet pelisse called attention to her splendid coloring.

  "She looks beautiful," Charity said sincerely.

  The Prince's eyes flicked over her small, red velvet person. "I think you must be the sweetest girl that God ever created," he said fervently.

  Charity flushed. What a nice thing for him to say! "You should tell your mother that she looks beautiful, Augustus," she said in an undertone. "You never compliment her, and she adores compliments."

  Princess Caterina swept up to join them. "Augustus. The little Charity. How nice you both look."

  "You look beautiful, Mama," Augustus said.

  The princess became radiant. "Thank you, Augustus. Thank you."

  "We should get into the carriage," the Prince said. "We don't want to be late for mass."

  Charity, who was profoundly grateful not to be alone with her husband, encouraged her mother-in-law to talk. The princess, who never needed much encouragement, monopolized the conversation the entire way into Julia. In front of the cathedral they met up with Gian Carlo and Antonio, who escorted Caterina into the church. Then Charity rested her hand on Augustus's arm and walked proudly beside him do
wn the center aisle. The altar was aflame with candles whose light glittered off the golden candlesticks and tabernacle. The pews were packed with the nobles and burghers of Julia, all of whom had turned to watch their prince and princess make their way down the aisle to the front pew.

  Charity knew, without turning her head, without flicking her eyes, when they passed Baroness Zais. Then they had reached their places and she and Augustus stood as the choir sang the national anthem. The archbishop intoned some words in Latin, Augustus crossed himself, and the Mass of Thanksgiving began.

  After the mass had concluded, Charity and Augustus processed back up the aisle, back down the cathedral steps and into the royal coach, where they were joined once more by Princess Caterina. They were then driven a short distance to the twelfth-century city hall for a breakfast reception given by the mayor and other city representatives. After the reception, they returned to the palace to prepare for the grand reception that Augustus was holding at the Pfalz that afternoon.

  The Prince was thinking that all of the events he had planned for Ozbald Day had turned out beautifully. He looked around the elegant company crowded into the Banqueting Room and realized that this reception was as successful as all of the other events had been.

  Less than two years ago, Napoleon's marshal was living in this palace and French troops were quartered in the city and around the countryside, he told himself. These Ozbald Day celebrations have surely proved to my people that life in Jura is back to normal.

  Why then, he wondered, did he not feel happier?

  One reason was, he answered himself, his narrowed eyes on the red-gold hair of his Venetian cousin, he did not like the way Gian Carlo was hanging around Charity. It seemed to him that every time he looked her way, there was Gian Carlo, fanning her face, making her laugh, bringing her a glass of punch. Augustus scowled as his cousin bent his head close to Charity's to say something in her ear.