The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  "Sorry, Mama." They were the two words Charity uttered most frequently to her mother.

  "Now I have to think about entertaining Augustus as well as getting ready for a wedding! I would like to choke Caterina."

  Charity, who was thrilled that Augustus would be staying in the same house, was prudent enough not to say so.

  3

  His Royal Highness, Augustus Josef Charles, Prince of Jura, shifted restlessly in his seat in a vain attempt to get more comfortable.

  "Don't look so miserable, Gus," his cousin said with amusement. "We should be in London in a few more hours."

  The Prince looked out the coach window at the hedged fields of green and gold that stretched away into the distance. "I hate being cooped up in a carriage." His voice, speaking German with a Jurian accent, was deep and pleasant. "There is not enough room for my legs."

  Franz laughed. "If your legs were a normal length, like mine, you wouldn't have such a problem."

  Augustus sighed and leaned his blond head against the hard cushion of the seat. "I am absolutely terrified of meeting this girl, Franz. What on earth am I going to talk to her about?"

  Franz said, amusement still audible in his voice, "What does one talk to any woman about?"

  "I have no idea," the Prince replied frankly. "I have had little opportunity during the last ten years to spend much time in the company of well-bred young women."

  In fact, since the age of seventeen, when his father had abdicated the throne to one of Napoleon's marshals and gone into exile in Britain, the Prince had lived in the mountains of Jura, directing an ongoing guerrilla war against the occupying French. He had spent most of his adult life in the company of men, and all of his thoughts and energy had been focused on the effort to free his country.

  "Don't worry about having to talk to her," Franz advised. "You're a prince and you're about to make her a princess. That's all she cares about."

  Augustus frowned. "I have to talk to her about something, Franz. What do you talk to women about?"

  Franz's father, a duke, was a cousin of the Prince’s father but his mother was Austrian and he had spent most of the war years in Vienna. Consequently, his experience of the world was considerably broader than that of his cousin. "Tell her how beautiful she is," he recommended. "All women like to hear that."

  "But what if she isn't beautiful?"

  "Tell her she is, and she'll believe you."

  The unmistakable sound of galloping hooves came clearly through the open carriage windows. Then a shot rang out and a gruff voice shouted in English, "Halt or next time I'll shoot to kill!"

  "Good God," the Prince said in mild surprise. "I didn't think this sort of thing happened in England."

  "Neither did I," his cousin drawled in return.

  As they spoke, both men were reaching inside their coats to extract pistols. The Prince also grabbed the pistol that was reposing in the carriage pocket.

  The coach came to an abrupt stop.

  "Come out with yer hands up," the same voice shouted. "If you cooperate you won't get hurt."

  "There are three of them," the Prince said. "You take the one on the left and I'll take the other two."

  Franz nodded.

  "Now," the Prince said, and, one after the other, the young men threw themselves out the door of the coach and landed in a roll on the hard surface of the highway, their pistols already firing.

  In less than half a minute, the three highwaymen were shot out of their saddles and their horses had galloped away in panic. Except for the dirt on their clothes, the Prince and his cousin were unharmed.

  One of the men the Prince had shot was sitting up, his hand on his shoulder, cursing furiously, and the other was lying on his stomach groaning. Franz was standing over the third man, his pistol pointed directly between the prostrate highwayman's terrified eyes. The Prince glanced at his cousin's set face and glittering blue eyes and said crisply, "No, Franz. Leave him be."

  For a moment the Prince was afraid his cousin had not heard him, but then the manic light died away from his eyes and he slowly lowered his pistol. The man on the ground heaved a shuddering sigh of relief.

  "Collect their guns," the Prince said, in the same crisp voice as before.

  As Franz picked up the weapons that had been scattered when the men fell, the Prince regarded the fallen highwaymen. The one who had been lying on his stomach had managed to roll over and sit up, his hands clutching his lower leg. Franz had wounded his man in the arm.

  "You are fortunate," the Prince informed them in his excellent English. "If my cousin and I were not such good shots, you might all be dead."

  "Just our luck," the man who was sitting on the roadway holding his shoulder muttered disgustedly. "Our first attempt and instead of stoppin' some rich old gent, we get two marksmen."

  The Prince looked at the gypsy-dark face of the man who had spoken. "You are plying your trade rather close to London, aren't you?"

  The man laughed harshly, then winced and tightened his hold on his shoulder. He was sweating profusely. "Beggars can't be choosers, my lord," he said sarcastically.

  The Prince ran his eyes over the other two men, both of whom looked stoically back. There was something resigned and oddly brave about them that he found curious. "Why do you call yourselves beggars? You look able to work."

  The man with the wound in his forearm said bitterly, "We wuz good enough to fight Boney, but now that he's gone we ain't good for nothin' else."

  Once more the Prince's gaze went from one face to the next. Then he lowered his pistol. "You were in the British army?"

  "Aye," said the man who looked like a gypsy.

  "Fought in the Peninsula with the duke, we did," said another, a distinct note of pride in his voice.

  The Prince frowned. "Have you no pensions?"

  Franz said in German, "For God's sake, Gus, are you going to stand here chatting forever? Get into the carriage and let us be on our way."

  "Get in first," the Prince returned. "I'll follow you."

  Franz looked at the guns that he had collected. "What shall we do with these?"

  "We'd better take them. These fools will only get into more trouble if we leave them behind."

  The Prince waited until his cousin was inside the coach before he put his own pistol back inside his coat. When he withdrew his hand it contained six gold coins, which he tossed to the men. "Get a doctor to see to your wounds." He turned, stepped lithely into the hired carriage, and closed the door behind him. The coachman cracked his whip and the horses leaped forward. The three would-be robbers looked at each other in amazement, then scrambled as best they could to collect the coins.

  Several hours later, the Prince's hired coach was rolling down George Street in the direction of Hanover Square. This particular square of houses had been built during the reign of the first George, and the present Earl of Beaufort's grandfather had been among the first to purchase a home there. The Prince had stayed in Beaufort House once seventeen years ago, when he had visited England with his father, but he had little memory of London except that he had thought it was very dirty.

  The architect had designed George Street to broaden as it neared Hanover Square, affording a panoramic view of the square's unique architecture to those who approached it from this direction. In honor of the dynasty for whom it had been named, the majority of the houses that fronted the square had been built in what the architect had conceived to be a German style. Their unifying feature was the connection of the windows into long vertical strips by means of aprons of rusticated stone. Whether or not this detail was German might be a matter for argument, but there could be no doubt that it was extremely attractive. A small, gated park nestled in the square's center.

  "Charming," Franz murmured as he regarded this vista from the vantage point of the coach's window.

  "Yes," the Prince replied in an abstracted tone.

  The carriage proceeded along the street on the west side of the square and stopped at No. 12
. The Prince alighted and stood upon the pavement, staring at the front door that was less than ten feet away, feeling absurdly nervous.

  Damn Mama, he thought. His first stop in London had been to his mother's house, where he had been informed by a very embarrassed butler that the princess was not at home and that her son was to make his home at Beaufort House while he was in London. Thanks to her, I am going to be trapped under the same roof with this girl for weeks.

  "Courage," Franz murmured in his ear.

  Before he could reply, the door of No. 12 opened and a dignified-looking servant was bowing and welcoming him to Beaufort House. The Prince walked forward into the front hall, Franz behind him.

  The servant took their hats and their gloves. "His lordship and the princess are awaiting you in the library, Your Highness," the man said with profound reverence. "If you will follow me?"

  The hallway they went down was narrow, with a black-and-white marble floor.A variety of landscape paintings hung upon the walls. They passed a graceful wooden staircase and waited as the servant opened a door on their right and announced, "His Royal Highness, Prince Augustus."

  A small, elderly woman in a black silk dress rose from her chair and curtseyed. "Augustus," she said. "How glad I am to see you."

  The Prince noticed the cane propped beside his great-aunt's chair, and crossed the floor to take her hands into his own. "Aunt Mariana," he said with a warm smile. "How splendid to meet you again."

  She reached up to hug him and he bent from his superior height to return her embrace. When finally she released him, he gestured to his cousin to approach and said, "You know Franz, Aunt, don't you?"

  "Of course I know Franz," she replied, enveloping her other great-nephew in a hug that was less awkward, as the disparity in height between them was not so large.

  While his great-aunt and his cousin were embracing, the Prince turned to the man who was standing quietly behind the princess. "Lord Beaufort?" he said courteously.

  The earl bowed. "Your Royal Highness. It is a great pleasure to meet you again."

  Princess Mariana invited them all to be seated. The Prince and Franz she directed to the old velvet sofa, and she and the earl took the two chairs on either side of it. The Prince scarcely had time to glance around the book-lined room before the library door opened again and the same servant who had shown them in arrived carrying a tray with glasses and a bottle of sherry, which the earl poured and served to everyone, including his mother.

  "How was your journey, Prince?" Lord Beaufort asked after he had resumed his seat.

  The Prince took a sip of his sherry, which was very good. "Uneventful until an hour or so ago." And he proceeded to relate the tale of the attempted robbery, ending with an apology for the dirt stains on his clothing.

  "What a dreadful thing!" the princess cried. "You might have been killed, Augustus!"

  "There was small chance of that, ma'am," Franz murmured in amusement.

  "The economy simply cannot absorb all of the ex-soldiers who have been thrown on it now that the war is over," the earl said worriedly. "The change from a war economy to a peace economy is one of the most difficult things we are going to have to deal with in the coming years."

  This was a topic the Prince found interesting, and he and the earl discussed it intently for a few minutes while the other two sat and listened. Then Lord Beaufort said, "I have an appointment for you to meet with Castlereagh tomorrow morning, Prince. We have had a tentative agreement between our nations drawn up for your perusal and approval."

  The Prince nodded. "Excellent."

  The princess said uneasily, "Augustus, have you informed your father's advisors of this projected marriage? They are still here in London, you know. They came back as soon as they heard of Napoleon's escape."

  The Prince's posture was relaxed, with one rather dusty booted foot crossed over the other, but his fingers tightened on the stem of his sherry glass as he said calmly, "I have not written to them, no. I thought I would wait until I could speak to them in person."

  "Your mother told them," the princess said.

  The Prince sighed. Then he lifted an eyebrow and said ruefully, "I waited as long as I decently could to inform her about it. I asked her to say nothing to my father's ministers until I arrived in London, but I had no real hope that she would honor my request."

  The princess looked from her son to her great-nephew, then back again to her son. "I didn't tell you this, Henry, but Count Hindenburg and Marshal Rupnik came to visit me yesterday. They were seriously upset that Augustus had made marriage plans without consulting them."

  The Prince said quickly, "Did you say anything to them about the treaty, Aunt?"

  She shook her elegantly coiffed white head. "No. They appeared to know nothing about your plan to give the British navy access to Seista, so I said nothing."

  The Prince's fingers relaxed on the glass. "Good. It will be better if they hear such news from me personally."

  Franz said, "If they are upset about a marriage with England, they are going to have heart failure when you tell them about the treaty, Gus."

  The Prince said mildly, "I hope to be able to convince them that this is the best course for Jura. If they don't agree, that will be a shame."

  Princess Mariana leaned forward in a posture of urgency. "Augustus, it will not be wise to make enemies of Hindenberg and Rupnik. They were your father's advisors for many years, and they have friends all over Europe. If you replace Georg Hindenberg as chief minister, or Rupnik as marshal, you will only cause a great deal of trouble for yourself."

  "I understand that, Aunt," the Prince replied in the same mild voice as before, "and I have every intention of keeping my father's men in their old positions."

  The princess looked relieved.

  Beaufort said, "When will you tell them about the treaty, Prince?"

  "I will meet with them tomorrow afternoon, after I have spoken to Castlereagh."

  Franz said lightly, "That should prove to be an interesting interview."

  The princess picked up her cane. "Well, Augustus, I think it is about time that you met your bride."

  The Prince felt his stomach sink, but he leaned forward to put his glass on the rosewood table in front of the sofa and said courteously, "I shall be delighted."

  "The ladies are waiting upstairs," Beaufort said. The princess and the three men rose to their feet.

  Augustus was silent as he climbed the graceful oak staircase to the second floor. He followed his future father-in-law into a drawing room at the top of the stairs and beheld with amazement the slender black-haired girl who curtseyed and looked up at him out of extraordinary green eyes.

  He took her hand and lifted her from her curtsey. "I am delighted to meet you, Lady Lydia," he said.

  She gave him a dazzling smile and he blinked. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

  "Your Royal Highness, may I present my mother, Lady Beaufort," she was saying in an attractive, throaty voice.The Prince turned his head to look into an older version of Lydia's face.

  "How do you do, Lady Beaufort," he said pleasantly. "It is so kind of you to offer my cousin and me a roof over our heads, since it seems my mother is unable to do so."

  "It is my pleasure, Your Royal Highness," the countess replied. She indicated the young man beside her. "May I present my son, Lord Stepfield."

  The tall young man, black-haired like his sister, bowed. "Your Royal Highness."

  The Prince held out his hand to his future brother-in-law and the two men shook. Lord Stepfield looked very much like Lydia. The Prince then introduced his cousin to the Beaufort family.

  "Won't you sit?" Lady Beaufort said, gesturing to the chair that was placed beside Lydia's.

  The four men and three women took seats in the circle of gilt Louis XIV chairs that had been arranged in front of the marble fireplace. The Prince waited for someone else to start the conversation, as he had no idea what he was supposed to say. Lady Beaufort turned to hi
m and asked him about his journey.

  "It was very pleasant, ma'am," he replied.

  "Except for the last part," Franz put in.

  The Prince looked at his cousin questioningly. Should he tell the ladies about the attempted holdup?

  Franz's blue eyes were dancing. "Shall I tell the tale or do you want to?" he asked.

  "You tell it," the Prince replied promptly.

  As Franz described what had happened, somehow managing to make it all sound engagingly comical, the Prince sat quietly and observed Lydia and her mother, who were gazing at his cousin with utter fascination.

  Franz is being charming, he thought with amusement, and moved his eyes to his cousin, trying to see him the way someone would who was meeting him for the first time.

  Franz wore his silken blond hair longer than was currently fashionable, one lock dangling with careless artistry over his forehead. His brilliant blue eyes were full of laughter as he gestured with one hand to demonstrate how dirty they had become from rolling on the ground. Franz was almost too beautiful for a man, but the Prince knew the ruthlessness that lurked behind his cousin's perfect face, and he never made the mistake of underestimating him.

  The Prince was perfectly prepared to let Franz carry the burden of the conversation, but after his cousin had finished the story of the attempted holdup, Lady Beaufort turned his way and said, "I understand that you wish to be married in Jura, Prince."

  The Prince was not entirely successful in hiding his surprise. It had never once crossed his mind that he would be married anywhere else. "Yes," he said.

  Franz shot him an exasperated look. "The Prince is a hero in Jura, and his marriage will be a cause of great rejoicing for our people." He smiled engagingly at Lydia. "They think Gus is a god, and you will be his goddess, Lady Lydia."

  The Prince tried to swallow his disgust at this fatuous comment, but Lydia looked enchanted.

  The next hour dragged slowly by. The Prince, who was not accustomed to drawing-room chit-chat, answered all questions that were put to him about Jura, but contributed little to the banter that went back and forth between the ladies and Franz.