The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  At that, the Prince pushed himself up on his elbow. He stared at her through a lock of hair that was hanging over his left eye. "Are you serious?"

  She nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. I have been thinking about this, and I bet that Franz never dreamed that I would step in to take Lydia's place. He thought that by running away with her he would undo your wedding."

  A bee buzzed in front of the Prince's nose, and he sat all the way up, waved it away, pushed his hair off his face, and demanded, "Why on earth should Franz wish to do such a thing?"

  The birds had finished with the bread, and Charity linked her arms around her updrawn knees and regarded him thoughtfully. "I don't know. But I don't like the feeling I have about him. I think he deliberately set out to make Lydia fall in love with him."

  He stared at her for a moment in silence, more perturbed by her comments than he wanted to be. Finally he said, "I have known Franz far longer than you, and I can assure you that he may be a little selfish and a little spoiled, but he has always been my friend."

  Charity shot him a skeptical look, propped her chin on her knees, and did not reply.

  Why on earth am I allowing a child of seventeen to upset me? the Prince thought impatiently. Out loud he said, "You must admit that your experience of people is somewhat limited, given your age."

  She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like Mama."

  The Prince found this remark profoundly annoying. "Well, even if Franz did have some deep dark plan in mind by eloping with Lydia, it has been negated by our marriage."

  The bright sunlight glinted on the gold strands mixed in with the brown of her hair, and a week of being outdoors had turned her skin from ivory rose to the palest gold. He looked into her large brown eyes and thought that she was a very pretty girl. At last she said, 'That is true."

  He lowered himself back on the blanket and closed his eyes. He was just drifting off when once more her voice interrupted his descent into sleep. "Augustus, I have a few things I would like to discuss with you."

  The tentative note in her voice was so unusual that he realized he had to pay attention. He yawned and opened his eyes. "All right."

  "It's about my role as Princess of Jura."

  He sat up. She no longer was clasping her knees but had curled her legs sideways under her. Her tan skirt had twisted a little to reveal two small, bare, perfectly arched feet. Charity had stepped in a stream and wet her shoes, so she had taken them off and set them out to dry in the sun while they ate. He found himself staring at those dainty feet and made himself look away.

  "You should probably talk to my mother about that," he got out. "I don't know if I can be of much help to you."

  To his complete surprise, she asked, "Have you ever read Plato's Republic, Augustus?"

  He reached out, plucked a bluebell, and slowly began to pull it apart. "Many years ago."

  "Well, perhaps you will remember that in it Plato describes his idea of the perfect state. He says such a state should be ruled by a philosopher-king, whose role is to be the guardian of his people. The happiness of this philosopher-king lies in doing his duty to all of his people. For the purpose of this ideal state, according to Plato, should not be the happiness of one class but of the entire community."

  He tossed away the denuded bluebell and looked at his wife. "I remember that."

  She gazed back at him with touching gravity, and a delicate pink color slowly stained the golden skin over her cheekbones. She said, "I know I am very young, and that I have no experience, but I would like to be a philosopher-princess."

  I must handle this very carefully, he thought. When he spoke his voice was gentle. "And how do you propose to go about achieving this lofty goal?"

  Her great brown eyes continued to cling to his. "That night on the ship, when you and my father were talking, you said that the British blockade during the war had caused great economic hardship in Jura. Remember?"

  She had his complete attention. "I remember. Our economy before the war was strong, and it will be strong again, but until we can restore the normal balance of trade, many people are hurting."

  She said, "I know I can't do anything about the economy, I don't know enough about it, but I would like to try to help the people who are suffering because of it." A spark of indignation made her eyes sparkle with gold. "What seemed so awful to me in London was that none of the hungry and homeless people there had anywhere to go for assistance. Women had to sell themselves into prostitution, Augustus, in order to feed their children!"

  He remembered the men who had held up his carriage on the way to London and their bitterness at being ignored by the very government that they had helped to save. "We don't have quite the same problem in Jura that you have in England," he said. "We are a much smaller country, remember."

  The delicate pink color had brightened and flew like a flag in her cheeks. "Can you tell me that there are no hungry people in Jura?" she demanded. "No women with sick children who have no place to take them for medical care? No men who are out of work and desperate to find a means to feed and house their families?"

  He looked at her for a long moment in silence. Then he said somberly, "No, I cannot tell you that."

  "I would like to set up offices throughout the country where people could go if they needed help. I don't know how we would find them, but I would like the people of Jura never to feel that their country has abandoned them."

  He looked at the grave face of his young wife and felt deeply touched. "I think that is a wonderful idea," he said, "and I will do everything I can to support you."

  Her smile was radiant. "Thank you, Augustus. We will both be philosopher-kings!"

  "That is certainly not a goal I can quarrel with," he replied.

  As they packed up their picnic and prepared to return to the castle, he reflected that in some ways perhaps Charity wasn't as young as he had thought.

  13

  Charity returned to Julia feeling more comfortable about her marriage than she had thought possible. She and Augustus had always been friends, and on their honeymoon she felt that they had become partners. She knew that someday they would become husband and wife, and even that future consummation no longer held any worries for her.

  "Augustus will know when the time is right." She spoke these words with sublime confidence to her grandmother two days after her return from Lake Leive. "Don't worry, Grandmama. It will be perfectly safe leaving this matter up to him."

  "Charity . . ." The two women were having tea together in the privacy of the sitting room of Charity's new apartment. "A man has certain needs, my dear," the elder princess explained carefully. "If those needs are not filled by his wife, he may look elsewhere. You would not like that to happen, would you?"

  Charity put her delicate Meissen cup back into its saucer and stared at her grandmother in a mixture of amazement and outrage. "We are talking about Augustus, Grandmama. He would never do something like that. He is the most honorable man alive. And I am perfectly willing to fulfill his needs. He just has to ask me."

  Princess Mariana opened her mouth to say something else, then sighed and shook her head as if accepting defeat. "If you don't mind, Charity," she murmured, "I will have a little more tea."

  A week after Charity's return from her honeymoon, her family left Jura to return to England. Princess Caterina had gone back to Venice while the royal couple were still on their honeymoon, but her absence meant nothing to Charity compared to the loss of her own beloved family, and she dreaded the moment of their departure.

  On the actual day that the Debritts left, however, Charity performed splendidly. She and Augustus walked out to the coach with them, and as her mother, father, brother, and grandmother got into the carriage, she gave each one a farewell kiss.

  Her mother returned the kiss, but Charity could see from the dark circles under her eyes that she was still grieving over Lydia.

  Harry gave her a brotherly hug and recommended that she learn to behave herself.

  Her gra
ndmother looked into her face and said, "Perhaps I should stay. If you feel you need me, Charity, I will."

  In return, Charity enveloped the older princess in a warm embrace. "I want you, Grandmama, but I don't need you. We have been through this before and it's too late to change your mind. England is your home now and that is where you want to be and where you should be."

  Lord Beaufort said impatiently, "For heaven's sake, Mama, get into the carriage. You are coming home with me and that is that." Then, as Princess Mariana obeyed her son, he turned to his daughter. "Don't worry, chicken," he whispered in her ear as he held her tight. "You'll be a wonderful princess. And you'll be coming home for a visit in no time."

  Charity breathed in the familiar smell of her father and felt as if her heart would burst in her chest. In a shaky voice, she replied, "I know, Papa. I'll miss you."

  She stood next to her husband and watched the Lipizzaners trot past the fountains and through the gate, taking her family away and leaving her behind. She felt Augustus take her arm and say, "We should go back inside."

  She gave him a glittering smile. "Certainly."

  She walked beside him, letting him be her guide because she couldn't see clearly through the glaze of unshed tears in her eyes. They went up the double fan staircase and into the palace and all she kept thinking was, I mustn't let anyone see me cry, I mustn't let anyone see me cry.

  Augustus walked and she walked with him, until at last he closed a door behind them and she heard him say in an unusually gentle voice, "It's all right now, Charity. We're alone."

  She kept her eyes looking downward so he wouldn't see the tears. "Thank you. I am fine, Augustus."

  "You were splendid," he said in that same gentle voice. "I am proud of you."

  Despite her effort, two tears spilled over. She dashed at them with her fingers. "I'm s-sorry. I don't mean to be a watering pot."

  "I think you are very brave."

  She looked up at him out of tragic brown eyes and he stepped forward and gathered her close. She leaned against him, and let the storm break in the safety of his arms.

  He held her and thought that she was so small that it was almost like embracing a child. He bent his head and murmured, "I know you are feeling abandoned, Charity, but you still have me. I'm a poor substitute for your family, but I promise I will do my best never to fail you." Her face was buried in his coat just over his heart and she was crying with deep and racking sobs. He smoothed her silky hair and her head felt small and round and vulnerable under his hand.

  I have done this to her, he thought. I have torn her away from her family and her country and forced her to marry a stranger and to live in a strange land. All that concerned me was my own needs; I never once thought that Charity might have needs of her own.

  "I'm sorry, little one," he murmured. "I am so sorry. I will try to make it up to you. I promise I will try."

  Charity was grateful to her husband for his comfort, and when she went to sleep that night she found that her mind was dwelling less on the sorrow of her family's absence than on the pleasure of being held in Augustus's arms. The following morning she rose, determined to start her new life as a philosopher-princess. In order to accomplish this goal she called in Lord Stefan Weyr, the Prince's secretary, and asked him to help her establish an office.

  In fact, the next month saw Charity begin such a whirlwind of activity that Lord Stefan was moved to complain. "The Princess is giving me as much work as the Prince," he groaned to Lord Emil Sauder one afternoon as the two young men happened to arrive at the stables at the same time. As they walked up to the Pfalz together, Lord Stefan told his friend about Charity's projects.

  "Good for the Princess," Lord Emil said admiringly.

  "What she is attempting is too ambitious for the few people she has on her staff," Lord Stefan said. "She is talking about setting up health centers, temporary shelters . . . These are things we have never done before. It is a huge undertaking."

  "Then tell her to get more people," Lord Emil said. "Gus won't mind. Tell her she needs her own secretary, that you don't have the time to do the job the way it should be done."

  "I think I will," Lord Stefan said. "I'd better make certain it's all right with Gus first, though."

  Lord Emil curled his lip. "I can just see Gus telling you that under no circumstances does he want health centers and shelters set up for his people."

  Both men laughed.

  "You know, Stefan, I think it was a lucky thing that the first sister ran out on Gus," Lord Emil said. "This second one is much better."

  This was a judgment with which the Prince heartily concurred. Directly after the Debritt family's departure, the Prince had begun to breakfast privately each morning with his wife. They would meet at six-thirty in the small salon adjacent to Charity's bedroom, both of them in their dressing gowns, and talk over coffee, fruit, and bread. This breakfast quickly became a sacrosanct tradition, honored by all the staff. Nothing short of a declaration of war would induce anyone to interrupt the Prince when he was breakfasting with his wife.

  Augustus had begun this ritual in order to give Charity time to speak with him about any problems that she might have, but it was not long before the discussion became mutual and he was telling her about his problems and projects as freely as she told him about hers.

  One morning, as they were sitting at the small breakfast table covered with an immaculate white cloth and set with blue-and-white breakfast dishes, he told her about an interview he had had with Chief Minister Hindenberg the previous day.

  "The man is impossible!" he exploded as he drank his second cup of coffee. "He is so afraid of Austria that he doesn't want me to make a single independent move. He wants me to consult the emperor before I use the chamber pot, for God's sake."

  "Get rid of him then," Charity advised. "He was your father's chief minister and you kept him on and gave him a chance, but if he cannot adapt himself to your policies, then he must go."

  A few strands of hair had fallen over Augustus's forehead and he pushed them back with an impatient motion of his hand. "It isn't that simple," he said. "Hindenberg has friends in the diet I don't want to alienate."

  Charity chose a peach from the attractively arranged basket of fruit in the middle of the table. "The country adores you, Augustus, and I doubt if there will be a peep of protest in the diet if you let Hindenberg go."

  The Prince held out his cup for a refill of coffee, and Charity put down her peach and poured it for him. Then she refilled her own cup. In the last month she had become almost as addicted to coffee as her husband.

  "I'll think about it," he said as he frowned into the dark liquid in his cup. "I must admit it would be a relief not to have to listen to him anymore. He puts me in a temper every time he opens his mouth."

  Charity picked up her peach once again and the Prince drank half of his coffee. Then he said, "I heard yesterday from Viktor in Vienna. He thinks the emperor is going to impose tariffs on the goods Jura exports to the empire."

  Charity lowered the peach from her mouth. "Oh dear. That is exactly what you feared would happen."

  "Viktor is going to talk to the ambassadors from Russia, Prussia, and France to see how they would react to such a breach of the free trade agreement signed by the Congress."

  "You have a treaty with Britain," Charity pointed out.

  "I know. But it would be best if we could stop this tax before it is enacted."

  Charity nodded agreement and finally took a bite from her peach. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the sweetness of the fruit, and, looking at her, the Prince noticed how flawless her skin was in the unforgiving brilliance of the morning light. She still had the skin of a child, he thought, close-textured like fine porcelain, with a flush of natural color in the cheeks and on the lips.

  He said, "How is the temporary shelter in Julia coming along?"

  "Very well indeed." She took another bite of the peach, her healthy white teeth cutting neatly through the juic
y flesh of the fruit. She finished eating, wiped her chin with a napkin, and flashed him her wonderful smile. "It is so funny, Augustus. Ever since I had the idea to make it fashionable to show concern for the poor, every baroness and countess in the country is rushing to be a Good Samaritan."

  He smiled with amusement. "So I have heard."

  Her eyes sparkled. "It is amazing how much power I have just because I am the princess. Yesterday I talked two of Julia's most prestigious doctors into giving one afternoon a week of free examinations to the needy."

  He laughed. "Did you really?"

  She nodded her head. "I told them that neither you nor I would feel comfortable consulting a doctor who was not compassionate toward those less fortunate than we." Her smile was angelic. "Both of them leaped at the chance to impress us with their charitable solicitude."

  "You are diabolical," he said, with genuine admiration.

  She inclined her head modestly. "Thank you."

  "And ruthless as well."

  "Mama used to call it stubbornness," she said. "I must say, I like diabolical and ruthless better." She pushed back her chair, walked to the window, and looked out at the sunlit garden. "How wonderful it is to see the sun again!"

  Augustus stared at his wife. The light from the window shone through the thin cotton of her nightdress and dressing gown, outlining her naked body beneath. Her long hair, which was brushed simply behind her ears, streamed down her back, brown and gold in the sun. She suddenly whirled around to face him, and he had a glimpse of high young breasts beneath her nightclothes before she came back to her seat at the table.

  "Guess what?" she said.

  His heart was pounding and he struggled for composure. "What?" he managed to get out.

  "Next week, on the twenty-first, I shall turn eighteen."

  He said, not very intelligently, "You have a birthday next week?"

  "Yes."

  He struggled to pull himself together. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Of course we must arrange a celebration. Eighteen!"

  The word rang in his ears. Eighteen. It sounded a lifetime older than seventeen.