by Joan Wolf
They galloped flat out for over a mile before he felt Silver Charm starting to slacken his breakneck pace. A mile later, he was able to slow the horse to a trot, then to a walk, and finally to give him the reins so he could stretch and catch his breath. For the first time, he looked around for Charity.
He heard the sound of hoof beats before she came into his sight. Her black mare was galloping smoothly along, stretched forward into the bridle and under the easy control of her rider, who, the Prince noticed, had an excellent seat. When she saw him ahead of her, she slowed the mare to a canter, then to a trot. As she came up beside him, the little black slowed again into a walk. Charity turned to him and said, "How did you like Silver Charm?"
"He was marvelous," the Prince replied with enthusiasm. "I felt as if I were flying."
She smiled at him. "I thought you might enjoy him."
The Prince smiled back, then leaned forward to pat Silver Charm's sweaty neck. "You actually exercise this animal?"
She nodded. "He needs to run, and you can only gallop in the park very early in the morning. Harry is usually out too late at night to get up at five-thirty, so I ride Silver Charm for him."
He regarded the small, perfectly poised figure next to him. "He's too strong for you, Lady Charity. You could get hurt."
"He's too strong for anybody," she replied matter-of-factly. "When you think of it, any horse is too strong for any rider. I always think it's a miracle that they allow us to ride them at all."
He had never thought about it quite that way. He looked at her elegant little mare, at the muscles rippling under the sleek, shining coat, and thought that Charity was right. That refined little mare weighed close to a thousand pounds, and Charity could no more control her if she decided to rebel than she could Silver Charm.
"That is true," he replied slowly.
They walked for a while in companionable silence as the early-morning mist began to lift and blue sky peeked out. The trees on either side of the path were heavy with summer foliage and the air was filled with the songs of birds and the rustling sound of squirrels jumping from branch to branch. They were in the middle of London, the Prince thought, but at the moment it seemed as if the city had simply disappeared.
"This is delightful," he said. "Thank you so much for inviting me to accompany you. I wish you had done it sooner."
"I wanted to," she returned, "but there never seemed to be an opportunity."
Thinking about it, he realized that the only time he had seen her all week had been at dinner, which was one of the few occasions when she joined the older members of her family. Last night had been the first evening that Lady Beaufort hadn't had a social engagement to drag him to, and Charity had been allowed to join the family party in the drawing room. She had sat beside him while Lydia played and that was when she had asked if he wanted to ride with her.
He looked at her profile and said kindly, "You are not yet 'out,' I take it."
She threw him a glance, then returned her gaze to between her mare's pointed black ears. "No, praise be. But Mama has threatened to turn her attention to me as soon as she gets Lydia off her hands." Her voice sounded distinctly mournful.
He smiled. "You aren't looking forward to your entrance upon the social scene?"
Charity shuddered. "God, no. Mama says she will find me a husband, but I don't want a husband."
“I thought all girls wanted husbands,” he said in surprise.
"I don’t.” Charity’s profile took on a look of unmistakable stubbornness. "I like my life the way it is now. A husband would only get in my way."
This was a point of view with which he could sympathize. "What is it you do that is so interesting that a husband would disrupt it?"
"I ride my horses. I read books. I learn different languages."
He was surprised. "Languages?"
"Yes," she replied in German. "I learned to speak German from Grandmama and French from my governess. And Princess Caterina taught me to speak Italian."
The Prince stared. "My mother taught you to speak Italian?"
"Yes." She flicked him a glance. "You speak Italian, don't you, Prince?"
He nodded slowly, still trying to imagine his selfish mother taking the trouble to teach Italian to this girl.
He said in English, "You are coming to Jura with us, are you not?"
"Yes. Mama says I am to be in the wedding party." She gave him a radiant smile. "Grandmama has told me so much about Jura. I can't wait to see it."
"What do you wish to see?" he asked curiously.
"Everything!" she replied extravagantly. "I’m sorry we’re going by ship. I would love to travel through the mountains."
"The mountains of Jura are very beautiful," he agreed.
"And I want to see your horses."
He sighed. "Unfortunately, there has been no opportunity to train our horses for many years. It’s true you will have to go to the Spanish Riding School in Vienna to see the Lipizzaner in his full glory."
They walked for a time in comfortable silence, while the birds sang more loudly and the sky became more deeply blue. The Prince felt more relaxed than he had since arriving in England, and he patted Silver Charm's neck with his gloved hand.
The girl beside him said, "How do you think the Austrian emperor is going to react when he hears about the Treaty of London?"
He turned to her in surprise, then answered mildly, "I don't think he'll like it, but I don't think there is anything he can do about it."
She nodded, her face solemn. "That's what I think too."
They were approaching the park gate and he picked up his reins, ready to deal with Silver Charm on the city streets.
"Did the French do much damage to Jura?" Charity asked. "Will you have a lot of rebuilding to do?"
"There was some damage, of course," he replied. They started up Oxford Street, but evidently Silver Charm had burned off his excess energy, because he walked quietly beside the little black mare, head down, ears relaxed. "They stole artwork from the royal palace and the homes of Jurian noblemen." His mouth tightened. "Napoleon's marshal even removed and had sent back to France the door of our cathedral. It was a beautiful Romanesque creation decorated with animals and doves."
Charity's eyes flashed with indignation, and the Prince thought, It is too bad that the beautiful Lydia doesn't have the same interest in Jura as her sister.
At the stable they left their horses to the tender care of Lord Beaufort's grooms and returned to the house. As they walked side by side, the Prince courteously bent his head to listen to his companion, the top of whose head did not reach his shoulder. The dining room was empty when they walked in, but places were laid at the table and the sideboard held several covered silver dishes.
As the Prince picked up a plate and lifted the cover of one of the dishes, the butler came in and said with distress, "Your Royal Highness, I did not know you would be breakfasting so early. We have only put out food for Lady Charity."
The Prince looked at the dish in front of him. It was brimming with poached eggs. "My goodness," he said to Charity. "You must have quite an appetite."
She laughed, a youthful, joyous sound that made him smile. "There’s plenty of food, Prince. Evans is just upset because of the limited selection."
The Prince raised an eyebrow. "I can assure you, Evans, that I will breakfast quite amply on Lady Charity's choices. Please don't bother to bring more food."
"I expect the Prince would like the newspaper, though, Evans," Charity said.
They filled their plates and sat down, choosing chairs that were opposite each other at the table. The butler returned with a newspaper, which the Prince laid next to his plate, politely prepared to continue his conversation with Charity.
She took a sip of her chocolate and said, "Would you mind letting me have part of that paper, Prince?"
"Not at all," he replied with alacrity. "Which part do you want?"
He divided the paper between them, and a comfortable silence fell a
s they both worked their way through plates of ham and eggs. When Charity had finished eating and reading, she stood up and excused herself, saying she was expected upstairs.
"Will you be riding tomorrow, Lady Charity?" he inquired.
"Yes. I always ride in the early morning."
"Would you mind if I joined you again?"
She smiled. "Do you want to ride Silver Charm again?"
He smiled back. "Yes."
"Five-thirty in the stables," she said, and then curtseyed and twirled around and flew out of the room.
The Prince went back to reading his paper.
5
At two o'clock that afternoon, Lydia came into the upstairs drawing room of Beaufort House dressed to pay a call on Lady Northfield, one of the few members of elite English society who was still in London. It had been a great disappointment to both Lydia and her mother that Lydia's engagement occurred during the summer, when members of the ton were at their country estates or in Brighton with the Regent. That she was not able to parade her conquest around the ballrooms of the great had been a bitter pill for Lydia to swallow.
She expected to find Augustus waiting for her in the drawing room, but it was Franz, not the Prince, who was sitting with her mother. He rose when she came in, and Lady Beaufort looked at her daughter from her seat upon a gold Chippendale sofa. Lydia immediately divined from her mother's face that something good had happened.
"You won't believe this, Lydia," her mother said with not-quite-suppressed glee, "but we have just received a note from the Prince Regent. He wants to have a reception in honor of your engagement! At the Royal Pavilion in Brighton!"
"Oh, Mama," Lydia said. She clasped her hands in front of her heart. This dramatic pose was reflected back to her by the immense gilt mirror that hung between the two front windows. "Oh, Mama."
Lady Beaufort's tone of voice turned from glee to indignation. "Your father received the invitation from the Regent this morning, and he has only just now seen fit to tell me about it."
Franz said in the light, amused voice that Lydia found fascinating, "If you will sit down, Lady Lydia, then I may resume my seat as well."
Lydia went to sit next to her mother. "When is the reception to be?" she asked breathlessly.
"The Regent wishes to hold it in three days' time." Lady Beaufort's indignation flared even brighter. "According to your father, the Regent spoke to the Prince about holding such a reception when they met last week, and the Prince told him it must be held quickly, as he was anxious to leave for Jura."
Lydia's magnificent green eyes widened in horror. "Do you mean to tell me that the Prince knew about the Regent's reception and never told me?"
Lady Beaufort folded her lips. "Apparently that is the case."
As far as Lydia was concerned, this was just another example of the Prince's total lack of solicitude for her feelings. "Really, Mama," she said furiously, "I do think the Prince could have shown more consideration. As it is, I don't even have time to order a new dress."
For the second time since Lydia had come in, Franz spoke. "I am quite sure that Gus did not mean to be inconsiderate, Lady Lydia. It’s just that he has had so little experience of how to treat ladies. I can assure you that it never once occurred to him that you might wish to have a new dress made for such an occasion."
"Nevertheless, he should have told me," Lydia snapped.
Franz regarded her with amusement lurking in the depths of his very blue eyes. Lydia felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She was never quite sure how to read this cousin of the Prince's. Sometimes she thought Franz admired her, and sometimes she thought he was laughing at her. She felt off-balance with him, and this was not a feeling she had ever before experienced with a man.
On the other hand, she had never before met a man who was fully as beautiful as she was herself.
"Where is the Prince?" she asked now, scanning the room as if she expected him to materialize before her.
Franz said, "He received an urgent summons from his mother just fifteen minutes ago, Lady Lydia. He asked me to offer you his most abject apologies and hoped you would accept my escort in his stead."
This was a situation that had happened far too often to suit Lydia. It was not that she objected to the company of Franz. Quite the opposite; she found him a far more entertaining companion than the Prince. What she objected to was taking second place to the Prince's other interests, such as a series of boring government meetings and, now, his mother. Lydia was not a young woman who was accustomed to taking second place to anybody or anything. Every young man she had known previously had been her slave.
She turned to her mother and asked, "Do we have to call upon Lady Northfield today, Mama? We hardly have enough time as it is to prepare for Brighton."
Franz said gently, "Lord Northfield is an important figure in the Trade Commission, Lady Lydia. I don't think it would be wise to snub his wife."
"Bother the Trade Commission," Lydia said sulkily.
"I couldn't agree with you more," Franz said, and that intriguing amusement was back in his eyes and his voice. "But I am sure that Gus would want you to go."
Bother Gus. She had enough presence of mind not to say these words out loud, however. Instead she gave Franz her most dazzling smile and said, "Very well, my lord. I will be happy to accept your escort to call upon Lady Northfield."
The admiration to which Lydia was accustomed flickered for a moment in Franz's brilliant eyes. "You honor me," he said. And smiled back.
Recognition flickered between them, the recognition of two people who had traded all their lives on the power of their extraordinary looks. Lydia laughed, a sound of genuine amusement, and Franz's smile turned into a rueful grin.
Lady Beaufort said impatiently, "Then for heaven's sake, let us go. The sooner we are in Lady Northfield's drawing room, the sooner we can leave it."
As the three of them moved across the cream-and-gold rug toward the drawing room door, Lydia said curiously, "I wonder what Princess Caterina wanted."
"I have no idea," Franz replied. "But I am sure that Gus will tell us all about it when he returns."
The Prince sat in his mother's drawing room, listening patiently to the stream of excited Italian she was directing at him. The gist of her complaint, he gathered, was that her cousin, an unmarried Venetian noblewoman who had been her companion in England for the last nine years, had not been invited to attend the Regent's reception, and the princess was insulted.
"I am certain that the matter can be rectified, Mama," the prince replied in the fluent Italian he had learned as a child. "I will send a note to the Regent that we wish to include Cousin Maria in our party. He will not object."
"She should have been invited in the first place," Princess Caterina said grandly. "That fat Regent has no manners."
"I’m sure it was just an oversight, Mama."
"Hah!" replied the princess, her hazel eyes flashing.
"Was that all you wished to see me about?" the Prince inquired, knowing that it was not.
The princess smoothed the silk of her wine-colored afternoon dress and lifted her chin. It was still quite firm, that white-skinned chin, and it was made even more attractive by the dimple that was placed exactly in the middle of the jawline.
The princess had always been proud of her dimple. The painting of her done by the great Venetian painter Canaletto, in one of his few portraits, was already famous as Girl with a Dimple. On the princess, the dimple looked charming and feminine. On her son, it somehow served to call attention to the essential sternness of the jaw.
"I have heard from Anton," she said now, referring to Franz’s father, the Duke Adamov. “He writes to tell me the emperor will view an alliance between Jura and England with great disfavor. She says that your father would never have made such a treaty."
The Prince, who was dressed in the correct attire for paying an afternoon call—a coat of blue superfine, skin-tight fawn-colored pantaloons, and polished Hessian boots—frowned. “An
ton is still living in Vienna. Of course his view is that of the emperor. But I don’t agree.Papa prized Jura's independence as highly as I do. I think he would have approved of this treaty."
The sofa upon which the princess sat was upholstered in a dark green brocade. She made a gorgeous picture, with her deep wine-colored gown, her white skin, and her still-gold hair. Her son regarded her out of steady gray eyes and waited for her reply.
"I have received also a letter from my father," she said. "He writes to tell me that all of Venice is outraged that the Allies have given the Austrian emperor the crown of Lombardy-Venetia." She gestured and the diamond rings on her fingers flashed. "He says we do not want those big-nosed Austrians in Venice. Or in Jura either."
"No," the Prince replied a little grimly. "We do not."
The princess leaned her voluptuous torso in the direction of her son, who was sitting in a chair at right angles to her sofa. "At first I was not happy that you were to marry an English girl, Augustus. You know that I have always wanted you to marry your cousin Angela. But I have changed my mind. Now I will bless your union." And she opened her arms.
The Prince left his chair, sat beside her on the sofa and submitted to a smothering, fragrant embrace. When finally she released him, he returned to his chair and said, "Thank you, Mama. It makes me very happy that you approve of my marriage and the treaty."
Princess Caterina smiled. "I am sorry that my house is being painted and I could not accommodate you, Augustus."
As far as he could see, there was absolutely no sign of any painting being done in the house. "That is all right, Mama," he said.
"You are a good boy."
His lips quirked. "Thank you, Mama."
A faint line appeared between her perfectly plucked brows. "One other thing before you go, Augustus. Hindenberg and Rupnik have been to see me, and they agree with Frederick that this treaty is no good."
"I realize that."
She lifted one bejeweled hand in warning. "Be careful of those two, Augustus. I have never liked Rupnik. He has eyes like a snake."
The Prince gave his mother a mystified look. "I never noticed anything wrong with Rupnik's eyes."
