PART IV
Love and War
Chapter Twenty-three
For all the future days of his life, Leopold knew he would never forget the harsh and merciless reality of the moment when he learned that Rose had done it. She had walked down the aisle of St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna and married Archduke Joseph, eldest son of the Austrian emperor.
Leopold was a cavalry officer in the war against Napoleon. He had charged boldly into murderous enemy lines in Spain and on the battlefields of Leipzig. He had witnessed more horrors than he cared to remember, but nothing struck him so deeply or devastatingly as the knowledge that Rose had given her heart to another and all hope was lost.
She would not change her mind and come home to him now, nor would he be released from this dark hellhole in the earth, miraculously restore his reputation, and gallop across national borders to reclaim her before it was too late.
She was lost to him now, married to another man, while he was becoming something akin to a caged tiger … wounded and ravenous and angry enough to rip a person apart.
Namely the archduke of Austria. If not for him, Rose would still be in Petersbourg, and Leo might still have a chance to repair the damage.
But she was lost to him now, and part of him hated her for abandoning him so quickly, for not trusting him or believing in him.
How could she have married another? Had she already lain with Joseph? Oh, God in heaven, help me … He couldn’t survive the thought …
Some days, the jealousy was like a sharp sword in his gut. He felt shackled to these walls. The betrayal burned so searingly in his brain that he cursed Rose for every word she spoke when she came to confront him here. Other days he nearly collapsed with grief at the loss of her and despised himself for such weakness.
He hated the powerlessness, the excruciating torture of this frustrating confinement, interrupted only by the humiliation of standing trial while his father was found guilty, stripped of his title and property, and sentenced to death.
Leopold had never considered himself a vengeful man, but a wretched violence was kindling inside of him and burning very deep in his core. He continued to imagine what he would do if he could escape and meet the archduke again. Perhaps he would grab him by the throat and fling him into the Danube. Or casually elbow him into a well when no one was looking.
They were morbid thoughts, all of them, but somehow they mollified the bitter monster inside of him, which was born from his grief and despair.
And his regrets.
If only he had exposed his father’s treason when he first returned from England. If only he had confessed everything to Rose.
He could only blame himself.
All this is my own doing.
With that thought hammering relentlessly in his brain, he woke one morning and smashed his table and chair to bits and pieces. After that, he had only his cot to sit on.
He tried to sleep. It wasn’t easy, for he was never at peace.
Days turned to weeks, and by the end of February, the verdict came down. Leopold braced himself for the sentencing.
In the end, the court ruled that he was innocent of the charges of murder, for he had known nothing of it, but was guilty of treason in addition to a number of lesser charges.
He, too, was stripped of his title of marquess, and Cavanaugh Manor was seized by the crown.
His mother was also charged with treason, for she had known of the plot but had never revealed it. However, the court was lenient toward her for she had not spoken to her husband in more than ten years and everyone knew she openly despised him. She was sentenced to time already served in prison, but was stripped of her title of duchess. Naturally the scandal would ruin her socially, but Leo knew she wouldn’t care about that. She never enjoyed moving about in society, and was happiest in the country, and she had her own money.
But Leopold regretted every moment of her suffering. He mourned all that she had lost in her life—her husband, who had never been faithful to her, and her two daughters who had died of typhoid early in life.
Now the disgrace and downfall of her only son.
Leopold had stood at the rail for the reading of his sentence and had borne it bravely—even the final word that he would be spared the hangman’s noose but would spend the next twenty years of his life in prison.
If he lived that long. The odds were not good for such longevity at Briggin’s.
Hence, he prepared to enter a new chapter in his life, an exceedingly dark one that made him wonder if he might have been better off at the scaffold, for the lonely years ahead of him seemed a much crueler punishment.
But on March 31—less than five weeks into his twenty-year sentence—a royal visitor arrived to convey news of a most shocking turn of events, and an offer he simply could not refuse.
Chapter Twenty-four
Vienna
“You will not believe it,” Joseph said to Rose as she entered the palace after her usual morning ride through the park.
Feeling refreshed from the exertion of a fast gallop, she pulled off her riding gloves and hat and handed them to the butler.
“Believe what?” she asked, recognizing the alarm in her husband’s expression. “Has something happened?”
“Napoleon has reached Paris,” he said. “He has taken back the throne.”
Rose halted on the carpet. “Good God. King Louis fled Paris only a week ago. What will it mean for France? For all of Europe?”
Joseph stared at her with uncertainty, then motioned for her to follow him into the library. “There is no question about it…” He shut the door behind them. “Bonaparte cannot be trusted to keep the peace. All the allies expect the worst.”
“It hardly seems possible,” she said. “A month ago he was still sitting on Elba. How could he escape and muster an army so quickly?”
“Speed and recklessness have always been his greatest strengths, but there is more.” Joseph paced the room. “Napoleon’s former marshal, Murat, who is regrettably still King of Naples, will soon begin an invasion of the Papal States. If that occurs, he will have broken his agreement with my father, and it is very likely that Austria will go to war. I just spoke with Metternich, and he anticipates that we will be sending our troops to Italy very soon.”
“Are you certain we should be fighting Murat in Italy, when Napoleon will no doubt be marching north to reclaim what he has lost?”
Joseph nodded. “I share your concerns, Rose, but it is difficult to predict what he will do. What matters is that we are all on the same side. All the great powers here in Vienna have formed a new coalition that will not be broken. We have promised one another not to negotiate separately with Bonaparte. We will present a united front against him.”
She collapsed into a chair. “That is good news. Is there any chance that the coalition might march on Paris and simply throw him out before he gathers more forces?”
“He has already gathered an enormous army, I am afraid.”
She thought of Leopold that night in the orchard and remembered his prediction that Napoleon would escape from Elba before the year was out. How right he had been …
“What about Wellington and the tsar?” she asked. “What are their intentions?”
“Wellington intends to march to the Low Countries where he will be joined by the Prussians. The Russian army is still in Poland and a terrible distance away.”
“Have you heard from my brother?” she asked. “I am certain Randolph will commit troops to the campaign.” After walking her down the aisle a month ago, Randolph had left Vienna and returned to Petersbourg for the birth of his first child, which could happen any day now. Rose was constantly awaiting news.
“Your foreign minister has already verified a commitment from Petersbourg,” Joseph said. “I expect your brother’s army will march to Brussels and meet Wellington there as well.”
Rose stood up. “I see. That is very good.”
But who would command the troops, she wondere
d, when one of their greatest war heroes was currently rotting away in prison for high treason?
Joseph hurried to the door. “I must go now,” he said. “There is much to do and much to discuss with the other foreign ministers. I will see you at dinner and tell you everything I can about what is happening.”
She watched him go. “Be careful, Joseph. The world seems suddenly unhinged.”
He paused at the door to regard her with both worry and affection.
A moment later he was gone, leaving her alone to think about armies and soldiers—and how life could spin so wildly out of control in the space of a single heartbeat.
Such twists and turns did not surprise her, however, for she had come to expect them in life.
Nevertheless, as she sat down to pour herself a cup of tea, her hands trembled as she brought the cup to her lips.
* * *
Leopold paced back and forth in the prison cell and considered all the information that King Randolph had just relayed to him.
Austria was marching to the Rhine to fight Murat, while Russia was still in Poland. British and Prussian forces had gathered in Belgium, and Napoleon was preparing to march.
“He will try to split up their armies and defeat them one at a time,” Leopold said. “Divide and conquer. That has always been his strategy.”
“This is why we need you in Belgium,” Randolph said. “You have fought him before, while Wellington has not yet faced him in battle. At least not until now. We must send our best troops to support the coalition. Wellington will value your experience with Bonaparte.”
“Are you forgetting that I am a convicted criminal,” Leopold asked, “sentenced to a twenty-year imprisonment?”
Randolph strode to the chair—which had been replaced for the king’s visit—and sat down. “No, I have not forgotten, which is why I have come. To offer you a temporary parole for as long as the campaign lasts, in exchange for your loyalty and service as an officer of the crown.”
Leopold regarded Randolph shrewdly. “At what rank?”
“General, as before. Cavalry division. In fact, you would be leading many of the same men.”
“You believe they would respect my authority, knowing that I have been disgraced?”
“That would be for you to foster their allegiance,” Randolph said. “But I would not offer this post if I did not believe you would be as effective as you ever were. You always ran a tight ship and…” He paused. “There are many who believe you were wrongly convicted.”
Leopold frowned. “How so?”
“Some feel your father was the guilty party, not you. That you could not be held accountable for your upbringing. That your Royalist beliefs were a thing of the past and that as a hero of the war, you should have been awarded some leniency from the court.”
Leopold inclined his head. “What do you believe?”
Randolph leaned back in the chair—until the front legs lifted off the floor. “I believe I must support the decisions of my magistrates and the jury. I also believe, however, that if you had known of your father’s plot to commit murder, you would have come forward and exposed him for what he was. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that there can be no proof of that. It is my own speculation, nothing more, and it is a question that will never be answered, for we cannot turn back the clock.”
Leopold sat down on the cot. “But how I wish I could.”
They regarded each other intently in the dim candlelight of the cold prison cell until Randolph leaned forward again and rested his elbows on his knees. “Will you do it? Will you accept this commission?”
Leopold was both intrigued and motivated, but he needed further clarification. “It is a parole, not a pardon.”
“That is correct, and your time away will count as time served.”
Leopold chuckled softly. “I am sure you and your court ministers are well aware that my chances of coming home alive to finish out my sentence are slim. It is going to be a bloody, vicious battle if I know Bonaparte.”
“I am sure you are right about that, but I do hope you will return safely, sir, with as few casualties as possible.”
“I will do my best.”
“Does this mean you will accept?”
Leopold nodded and stood. “I’d be a fool not to, for how could I resist a chance to walk out of this cell, return to the field of battle, and lead a full cavalry charge upon Europe’s worst enemy?”
Randolph reached out to shake his hand. “Excellent. I will send a man to release you within the hour. He will escort you to your new post.”
“But I have no property,” Leopold said. “No home. Where will I stay?”
“At the barracks until it is time to march. That will not be long from now. The sooner you leave Petersbourg the better, for there is little time to spare.”
Randolph started for the door.
“Wait…” Leopold stepped forward to ask one more question—the question that was still burning like a raging inferno in his brain. “You did not mention Rose. Where is she? How is she?”
He needed to know, because if he was going to get out of here …
Randolph paused. “She is in Vienna with her husband, and she is very well.”
“Joseph is not leading the Austrian army to Naples?”
“No.”
“Will she be in Brussels?”
Randolph would give him no more information than that. He turned and walked out of the cell, leaving Leopold to refoster his resolve and prepare himself for one more charge.
Chapter Twenty-five
Brussels
It was with a whisper of uncertainty that the Duchess of Richmond went ahead with her ball on the evening of June 15, when rumors abounded that Napoleon was marching toward the city. An assurance from the Duke of Wellington, however, put her at ease and guaranteed a strong attendance from the illustrious list of invited guests.
Rose and Joseph had arrived in Brussels a few days prior to act as ambassadors. They were to send frequent reports to Joseph’s father, Emperor Francis, about the status of the allied armies. Naturally, at the last minute, they had been added to the duchess’s guest list and looked forward to an evening of stimulating conversation and merriment.
Rose dressed for the ball with a reliable sense of calm, as if it were any other event on her social calendar, until the unthinkable happened. A knock sounded at her door and her husband—it still felt strange to call him that—entered to request a private moment alone before they departed. She immediately dismissed her maid.
“I am not sure how to tell you this,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed in their hotel room, “but it is something I felt you should know.”
Fastening a dangling sapphire earring to her lobe, Rose swiveled around on the dressing table stool to face him. “Good heavens, it sounds serious. The hotel is not about to be pummeled with grapeshot, is it? Please tell me before I imagine the worst.”
He usually chuckled when she spoke in jest, but not so this evening. “There is someone on the guest list whom I doubt you are expecting to see,” he said with concern.
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Who is it?”
“Leopold Hunt.”
At the mere mention of the name, the hotel might as well have been pummeled with grapeshot after all, for she was stunned to the point of speechlessness.
Leopold? Here? In Brussels?
She drew back in surprise while astonishment fluttered through her. Then immediately she forced herself to feign indifference. “What in the world is he doing here? Has he escaped prison? The last I heard he was sentenced to twenty years. No one has written to tell me otherwise.”
“I apologize,” Joseph explained. “Perhaps I should not have kept it from you, but I felt it best to let you get on with your life. It’s what you said you wanted when we agreed to marry. You said you never wanted to see that man, or hear his name spoken, ever again.”
Her stomach was careening. This couldn’t be happening. “But you kne
w he was released?” she asked. “How did you know?”
“Your brother Nicholas wrote to me in April and informed me of the situation. He explained that Lord Cavanaugh—” Joseph stopped himself. “Pardon me. He is Mr. Hunt now. Or rather General Hunt. Your brother offered him a temporary parole to serve in the cavalry and lead the Petersbourg troops into battle. He has accepted the commission and is here in Brussels.”
Rose stared at her husband in disbelief while her vision clouded over. She never imagined she would ever see Leopold again. She had tried so hard to put all that behind her, but suddenly now she had to prepare to meet him this very night. At a ball.
A part of her wanted to shout at Joseph from across the room—wasn’t it customary to shoot the messenger in times of war?—but instead she cleared her throat and reached for her other earring.
“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” she coolly said. “I am not sure what I shall say to him if we rub shoulders. To be honest, I am surprised the duchess invited him to her ball. He is disgraced, after all.”
“I will be at your side the entire time,” Joseph assured her. “Unless you would prefer not to go. I would understand, you know. It is a rather awkward situation, isn’t it?”
“That is putting it mildly.” She rose from the dressing table stool and tried not to reveal the depths of her anxiety. Joseph had been so good to her, so forgiving for everything. He had come to her rescue when scandal had threatened to ruin her family. He had taken her back even when he knew she had genuinely loved another. And he had been very patient, waiting for her to recover from that heartbreak.
Even on their wedding night.
Now that man she once loved was here, threatening everything Joseph wanted from her.
She felt a critical need to reassure him. Her honor demanded it. “I am not thrilled at the notion of seeing the man who once tried to seize my brother’s throne,” she said. She was intensely aware of Joseph’s uneasy gaze watching her as she crossed to the wardrobe and began searching for a different pair of gloves, for she did not like the ones her maid had selected, and she had to do something to appear in control of her emotions. She feared if she stopped and stood still long enough to consider the tidal wave that was about to come crashing over her world that very evening, her true feelings would be exposed.
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