by Joan Wolf
For as long as she could remember, Charity had wanted to ride the way the Prince was riding now. She had not been able to do so for two reasons: There was no one in England with the knowledge to teach her, and it was impossible to ride in the classical manner in a sidesaddle. When her grandmother had been a girl in Jura, she had been taught to ride astride in the correct fashion, and Charity had always secretly dreamed that one day she would go to Jura and learn to ride that way too.
Watching the elegance of the Prince on his white stallion, how much in harmony they were, more like a single creature than two separate beings, the light airiness of the stallion's passage seeming to be performed on his own rather than at the command of his rider, tears stung Charity's eyes. She did not think she had ever been so happy.
The prince's triumphant return home was marked by one distinctly unharmonious note. When he returned to the palace after a delightful afternoon at the stables with Louis and Charity, he was informed that his uncle, Duke Anton, had arrived at the Pfalz and desired to speak with him.
The Prince was in his bedroom about to change out of his riding clothes when his secretary, Lord Stefan Weyr, brought him the news. Lord Stefan was a year younger than the Prince and had been one of his comrades during the war years. He was much more than the Prince's secretary; he was one of his closest friends.
The Prince looked now at the sympathetic expression on the round, cherubic face of Lord Stefan and sighed. "I suppose I shall have to see him."
"You don't have to see him immediately," Lord Stefan pointed out. "I can put him off if you want."
The Prince ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging one blond lock so it fell forward over his forehead. He said gloomily, "It might as well be now. Get it over with."
"That's what I think," Lord Stefan agreed.
"All right. Bring him along to my study."
Lord Stefan nodded and left the room.
The Prince signaled to his valet to hand him his jacket, which he put on without assistance. Before he left the vast elegance of his bedchamber to go next door to his study, his valet made certain that his hair was in order once again.
The Prince's grandfather had cherished display and elegance, and the palace he had built reflected this love. On the other hand, the Prince's father had been a man of simple tastes and abstemious habits, and his study, which the Prince had inherited, was an unpretentious room with dark green walls and dark green velvet draperies at the windows. A portrait of the Prince's Hungarian grandmother hanging on the wall over the fireplace was the only decoration. The room was very much as his father had left it. Fortunately it had contained nothing to tempt the light fingers of Napoleon's marshal.
The study looked like the room of a man who worked at his job, and the Prince's father had certainly worked at his, spending hours each day at his desk laboring at the administration of his country. It was largely due to Prince Ivan's enlightened leadership that Jura had been so prosperous before the war. By the end of the previous century, the country had established a vigorous economic life based on the exploitation of local mineral and agricultural resources. Before the war Jura had boasted a self-reliant middle class as well as the traditional hereditary nobility.
The French occupation had broken Prince Ivan's heart, and he had lived out the rest of his life in England, a shadow of his former self. No enemy forces had occupied Jura since Attila the Hun in the fifth century, and Prince Ivan was convinced that he had failed in his trust.
The Prince thought of his father as he stood by the green-draped window of his study awaiting the entrance of his father’s cousin, the next in line to the throne after Augustus. His father had never been close to his cousin Anton. Whereas Ivan's tastes had been simple, Anton loved ceremony and extravagance; whereas Ivan had been a devoted family man, Anton was a notorious rake; whereas Ivan had been noted for his brain, Anton was famous for his charm.
Augustus had always liked his uncle Anton without quite trusting him. So when the tall, still-slim duke came into the room and held out his arms, the Prince went willingly to receive his embrace.
"Gus!" Duke Anton said. "How wonderful to see you after all these years. You have grown so tall! You must have at least three inches on me."
The Prince stepped back and looked down into his uncle's eyes—eyes that were only slightly less blue than his son Franz's. "You look just the same, Uncle Anton," he said. "The years have scarcely touched you at all."
"Look closely, my boy," Anton said jovially. "My hair is gray now, not blond."
"A bagatelle," the Prince said with a smile. He gestured to the gold velvet sofa. "Come and sit down. May I offer you something to drink?"
"No thank you, Gus." As the two men seated themselves, Anton said in a more sober tone, "I imagine you know why I am here."
The Prince stretched his long legs in front of him and turned his head toward his uncle. "You don't like the treaty with England."
"I don't like the treaty with England," Anton agreed. "In fact, I think it is folly, Gus, and I am very angry that you did not consult with me before you signed it."
The Prince's mild expression did not change. "I did not know I had to consult with anyone," he replied. "I was of the understanding that I had the power to make such decisions on my own."
Anton's long, thin nose, an inheritance from his Hungarian mother, quivered. "You have the power, certainly. The question is, do you have the judgment?"
The Prince's right hand had been lying relaxed on his thigh, and now his index finger tapped once against the tight fawn-colored fabric of his riding breeches. "I believe I do," he replied.
"Do you realize how angry you have made the emperor by this treaty?" Anton demanded.
"I believe I do." The Prince's voice was still mild but his finger tapped once again.
"You can't," Anton snapped. "If you did you would never have signed it. Giving England access to Seista is a direct slap in the face to Austria, Gus!"
"I was not aware that part of my duty as Prince of Jura was to please Austria. In case you have forgot, Uncle, Jura is an independent nation and as its ruler I have the right to make whatever alliances I choose."
Anton's handsome face flushed with anger. "Not without consultation!"
The Prince stilled his tapping finger. "I did consult my advisors, and they all agreed that the English treaty was a good idea."
"You did not consult your advisors," the duke rejoined. "Hindenberg and Rupnik are as opposed to this treaty as I am."
A little silence fell as the Prince looked steadily into his uncle's angry face. Then he said slowly, "Perhaps you did not understand me. I consulted my advisors, Uncle—not my father's."
Duke Anton's head snapped back as if he had just received a blow. He scowled. "And just who are these advisors, Gus?"
"I discussed the treaty with Count Viktor Rozman, Lord Stefan Weyr, and Lord Emil Sauder."
The duke looked thunderstruck. "You can't be serious. There is not a one of them that is any older than you are! What can they possibly know about diplomacy?"
The Prince got to his feet and walked to the window, where he stood looking out for a moment, his back to Duke Anton. Then he turned and answered his uncle's question. "They are men who remained in Jura during the French occupation and fought for the independence of their country," he said. "They know how to value that independence in a way that others perhaps do not. I do not think I could find better advisors anywhere."
Now Anton got to his feet. "You and your compatriots were cut off from the world for ten years, Gus," he said, making a visible effort to control his temper. "I would never belittle your efforts to free Jura, but it is essential that you widen your horizons if you wish to lead our country in the coming years. We can no longer afford to dwell in the past. Austria is not our enemy, Gus, but it will be if you turn Seista over to England."
The Prince's firm mouth set hard. "I am not turning Seista over to England. I am opening up trade with England and giving the Engl
ish navy the right to use Seista as a port. There is no direct threat to Austria in either of these actions."
"Damn it, Gus!" Anton shouted. "You know that there is! That port is of far more value to Austria than it will ever be to England. It is perfectly placed for a trade route from Vienna."
"Perhaps you have lived in Austria for too long, Uncle Anton," the Prince said. "You appear to have Austrian interests more deeply at heart than you do Jurian interests."
"They are the same! That is what I must make you understand, Gus. It is in Jura's best interest to remain friends with a great empire that lies not only to its north, but across the Adriatic as well, now that Austria has been given northern Italy."
"Jura has maintained its independence for over eight hundred years, Uncle," the Prince said, his voice hardening. "Let me make this clear. As long as I am the prince, I will never allow Jura to become a satellite of the Austrian Empire."
Gray eyes stared into blue.
"All right," Anton said grimly. "You have made yourself very clear, Gus."
"Good." The Prince's voice softened. "I hope you are planning to stay for dinner."
"That is kind of you, Gus, but they are expecting me back at my palace in Julia for dinner."
The Prince nodded.
Duke Anton made a stiff bow. "I am sorry you do not agree with me, Gus. I have had far more experience of the world than you and I believe my advice has some value."
"I will always value your advice, Uncle," the Prince replied. "But upon this particular subject I am afraid we must agree to disagree."
The duke gave one more stiff bow, turned, and walked out of the room.
10
Lydia arrived in Jura exactly three weeks to the day after Charity and the Prince. The Baroque splendor of the Pfalz was far more impressive than she had expected, and she was standing between her mother and Franz, surveying with approval the lofty magnificence of the Banqueting Room, when the Prince arrived to welcome her. He was followed almost immediately by Lord Beaufort and Charity. Harry, her father explained, was not at the Pfalz at present, having gone on a visit to the countryside.
After the initial greetings, the Prince courteously asked Lydia about her voyage.
"It was very pleasant," she replied truthfully. "The weather was excellent, the sea was calm, and Captain Edwards was most attentive to all our needs." She bestowed a gracious smile upon her fiancé. "I hope your voyage was as enjoyable, Prince."
He did not return her smile but replied gravely, "I am afraid that we were not as fortunate as you, Lady Lydia. The sea was quite rough for a while, and a number of people were ill."
"Even I was ill," Lord Beaufort said humorously, "and I am accounted a good sailor."
Franz said, "I'll wager that you weren't sick, Gus."
A glint of amusement showed in the Prince's gray eyes. "For a while there, Lady Charity and I were the only two left standing."
Lydia glanced at the small figure of her sister, who was standing between the Prince and Lord Beaufort. Charity's cheeks had a peach-colored glow that could only have come from being out in the sun without a hat. Her hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a ribbon and hung in a single thick braid halfway down her back.
It's a good thing that Mama has come, Lydia thought. Charity has probably been running wild with only Papa to look after her.
Franz was speaking to the Prince. "I will never forget the time when we were youngsters and our parents packed us off to Venice to stay with your grandparents." He looked at Lydia and Lady Beaufort. "A sudden storm came up and everyone on board—including the crew—was sick.” He turned back to his cousin. “But not you. Every time I straightened away from the rail after puking up my guts and saw you standing there with not the slightest tinge of green to your complexion, I hated you."
Lady Beaufort frowned in disapproval of the vulgar reference to puking and guts.
The Prince's amusement increased. "You were certainly a pathetic sight," he agreed.
They all stood talking for a few more moments, and then the Prince called for servants to escort the new arrivals to their bedchambers. As Lydia prepared to depart, he touched her arm lightly and said, "If you wouldn't mind, Lady Lydia, perhaps you and I might have a private talk after you have refreshed yourself."
"Certainly, Prince," Lydia replied, her regally calm exterior not quite in tune with the sudden tightening she felt in her stomach.
He nodded gravely. "I will send someone to direct you—in half an hour?"
Lydia, who had every intention of bathing and completely changing her clothing as well as redoing her hair, stared at him as if he were mad. "Let us make it an hour and a half," she said.
He looked completely nonplussed at this reply.
He is accustomed to being obeyed, Lydia thought. Well, he will have to learn that he can't issue orders to me. She lifted her chin and gave him a haughty green stare.
"It takes Lydia quite a long time to do her toilette, Prince," Charity explained.
There was a pause. Then he said expressionlessly, "I see. Well then, let us say an hour and a half."
Lydia rewarded him with a smile, which once again he did not return. Then she turned away to accompany her mother and Franz out of the Banqueting Room.
"This is only a temporary accommodation for you, Lydia," Lady Beaufort assured her daughter as they followed a bewigged lackey out of the Pfalz's main section and into the east wing where the guest rooms were located. "Once you are married, you will have the Princess's Apartment, of course."
Lydia did not reply, and the lackey opened a bedroom door and informed Lady Beaufort that her maid would be with her immediately. As the door closed behind her mother, Lydia and Franz continued down the passageway together.
"Where is the Princess's Apartment?" she asked him a little breathlessly.
"In the other wing, next to Gus's rooms," he replied.
"Oh," Lydia said.
They walked a few more steps in silence, then Franz said in a voice that sounded strangely harsh. "This is reality, my dear. Gus is not some imaginary prince out of the Arabian Nights. He is a man, and you are marrying him."
Abruptly Lydia felt as if all of the air was being squeezed out of her lungs. Then the lackey opened another door and bowed her inside.
"Will I see you later?" she asked Franz with suppressed urgency.
"We will meet at dinner," he replied, his face wearing an unusually angry look.
The room Lydia had been assigned was furnished in the style of Louis XIV and was far more elegant than her quarters at home. She was standing in front of the gilt-framed pier glass, looking at her reflection, when her maid came in, followed by several footmen carrying her baggage.
"I have an appointment with the Prince in an hour and a half, Agnes," she said to her maid. "Will you send for a bath?"
Precisely an hour and twenty minutes later, Lydia sat in one of the gilt chairs that was placed in front of her bedroom's marble fireplace, hands folded in her lap, awaiting the Prince's summons. Finally a knock sounded on the door and another white-wigged lackey announced that he had been sent to escort her to His Royal Highness.
As she passed through the magnificent Music and Banqueting Rooms that took up the entire central section of the Pfalz, Lydia kept thinking: I will be a princess. This magnificent palace will be my home. People will address me as Your Royal Highness. I will be the envy of all my friends.
But these heretofore magic words did not have their usual effect. As she followed the lackey into the west wing of the palace it occurred to her that during the course of their brief engagement, she had never been alone with the Prince for more than a few minutes.
He had never even tried to kiss her.
I'm nervous because I have not had an opportunity to get to know him, she reassured herself. I'm glad we are going to have this opportunity to talk in private.
The lackey stopped before an open door and turned to her. "The Walnut Room, my lady," he announced.
<
br /> "Thank you," Lydia replied and stepped over the threshold with every appearance of calm assurance.
He was standing at the window, looking out, but when the lackey announced her name he turned and crossed the floor to stand in front of her. "Prince," she said, bestowing upon him her most charming smile. She held out her hand and he lifted it briefly to his lips. His mouth felt cool and impersonal on her bare fingers. Then he gestured to a wood-trimmed tapestry sofa and asked her to be seated.
Lydia looked from the walnut wood walls to the walnut furniture and said gaily as she took the indicated seat, "I can see how this room earned its name, Your Highness."
He nodded and seated himself beside her on the sofa. "I thought it was important that I go over with you the plans I have made for our wedding," he said.
He could at least smile, Lydia thought resentfully. Her face outwardly serene, she folded her hands in her lap and listened as he began to describe to her the extensive festivities that would attend their wedding. Finally he got to the wedding ceremony itself.
"The archbishop will marry us in the cathedral. You will be driven there in a coach, and I expect the streets to be packed. My people are most eager to see you."
She pictured the scene—herself in her gorgeous bridal gown, the adulation of the cheering crowds—and brightened.
He was going on: "Your sister will be one of your bridesmaids, of course, as well as several of my Venetian cousins."
A sudden cloud descended over the delightful picture in Lydia's mind. No one she knew would be there to view her conquest. Strangers were to be her bridesmaids, not the girls from home who would have been green with envy at the sight of her triumph.
He was still talking, and she made an effort to focus her attention. "How aware are you of the political implications of our marriage?" she heard him ask.
Lydia anxiously searched her mind. "Doesn't it have something to do with the English navy being able to use Seista as a port?" His gray eyes were trained on her face, but she was finding it surprisingly difficult to meet them.
