The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  She shook her head in a firm negative. "No festivities, please. We are going to have a big celebration for Ozbald Day, Jura's national holiday, and one celebration a month is quite enough, I think."

  He looked into her eyes. They were so intelligent, her eyes. "I cannot allow your birthday to pass unnoticed."

  She looked down and with her forefinger began to trace an invisible pattern on the white tablecloth. "Well . . . if you would like to give me a present, I might be able to suggest something."

  The talk of birthday presents made him feel more comfortable. "Yes? And what could that be?"

  She flicked him a glance then went back to creating her pattern. "Favory Dubovina," she said.

  She had surprised him. He leaned back in his chair, a small frown between his brows. Louis had told him that the young stallion was one of the most talented he had seen in a long time. He was also very high-spirited. "Have you been riding Favory Dubovina?"

  Her finger stilled and she looked at him, her white teeth set into the flesh of her lower lip. "Yes," she said.

  "Under Louis's tutelage?"

  She nodded. Strangely, that nod did not look childlike to him anymore. Perhaps it was because he had never before noticed the long, graceful line of her neck. It was like the stem of a flower.

  "Lord Louis has been letting me ride him," she explained. "And he said that if I continued to work with him, he would ride him also, so that his training will be perfect."

  His frown smoothed out. If Louis thought she could do it, then it must be all right. He stood up. "Very well. Happy Birthday, Charity."

  Her lips parted. "Do you mean I can have him?"

  "He is yours."

  She jumped up from her seat, ran around the table, and threw herself at him. "Oh Augustus, thank you! thank you! thank you!" Her arms were tight around his neck and her body was pressed full length against his. The scent of lavender drifted to his nostrils from her loose hair. His heart began to hammer.

  Very gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and moved her away. She looked up at him, her skin flushed, her face radiant. "You are the best husband in the world," she said.

  He tried to smile back but his face felt stiff. "That is nice to know."

  She clapped her hands. "I am going to go directly to the stables and tell Lord Louis."

  He stood like a statue and watched as she flew out of the room; then he turned and resumed his seat at the breakfast table. He sat for a long time staring sightlessly at some crumbs on the white cloth, scarcely moving until a servant came in to see if he wanted anything else. Then he just shook his head, stood up, and returned to his own apartment to begin his day.

  Life went on as usual, but for the Prince something had changed irrevocably in the way he regarded his wife. The body he had glimpsed through her thin night robe, that he had held so briefly in his arms, was not the body of a child, and it had awakened a fire in him that, try as he might, he could not extinguish.

  There had not been many women in the Prince's life. The first was the wife of a Jurian baron, who had seduced him when he was sixteen. She had been fifteen years older than he, and experienced in the arts of love. He had acquired a great deal of knowledge that was not academic during that particular holiday from school.

  Then Jura had fallen to Napoleon, and the Prince had taken to the mountains. He was twenty-two when he met the widow of Baron Zais, a man who had earned his title by his contributions to the economy of Jura. The baron had owned extensive iron works on the shores of Lake Behinj in the Jurian Alps, and one bitter winter, after the Prince had been wounded in a skirmish, he had convalesced at his widow's lakeside home.

  Lady Zais had been forty years of age that winter, intelligent, independent, and sensual. For the next five years she had been the Prince's occasional mistress.

  In addition to these two, there had been several other highborn ladies at the Congress of Vienna who had been more than happy to sleep with a prince, but he had not been with a woman since Waterloo. This was the reason, he told himself, why he was suddenly looking at his innocent young wife with such inappropriately carnal thoughts.

  The Prince's problem was that he had promised Charity she would not have to take up her wifely duties until she was ready. At the time he made the offer, the Prince had not foreseen the quandary this promise would place him in. For the fact was, he was ready to begin a normal married life, but Charity was not.

  She had the body of a grown woman. She had the intelligence and compassion of a grown woman. But emotionally he feared she was still a child. He found himself remembering words she had once said to him. I don't want my life cluttered up by another person. A husband would only get in my way.

  He had gotten in her way more than enough already. He had wrenched her from her home and family and put her into a position she had never expected—or wanted—to fill. And she was doing a splendid job of being Princess of Jura. He was very proud of her.

  She didn't need him importuning sexual favors from her. He was quite certain of that.

  He was also quite certain of something else. He was miserable.

  One morning, after a particularly restless night, he wrote a letter to Eva Zais.

  14

  "Augustus, may I speak to you for a moment?"

  The Prince looked up to see his wife peeking in the door of his office. He put down the pen he was holding and said courteously, "Of course, Charity. Come in."

  She crossed to his desk and he watched the way she walked, watched the easy grace of her movements as she took the chair that would place her opposite him. He used to think that lithe fluidity of hers was childlike. He must have been blind.

  She gave him a tentative smile. "I am sorry if I am interrupting you."

  He felt a pang of remorse. He had been finding excuses to avoid their breakfasts of late; Charity in her dressing gown was just a bit too much for him to bear.

  He was tempted to say: Charity, I want you. Let's make this marriage a real one. Let's go to bed together. Let's do it tonight. But the brown eyes gazing at him were troubled. She really had no idea what was bothering him.

  For the first time in his life, the Prince actually wished that his mother was present. Charity needed a woman to talk to her, but all of the women of her family had returned to England, and his own mother was in Venice.

  It's so typical of Mama, he thought with exasperation. The one time I need her, she's not here.

  While these thoughts were going through his head, Charity gazed at him with that heartbreaking, tentative smile. He forced himself to smile back and reply, "Of course you are not interrupting me. How may I help you?"

  She asked him about some problem with her shelter in Julia. It was not of any major importance, and the Prince was quick to realize that she had used it as an excuse to see him. He made some recommendations, which he was quite certain she had already thought of, and waited for the real reason she had sought him out.

  She looked down at her hands, which were folded in the lap of her pretty jonquil yellow afternoon dress, and for a moment her lashes lay upon the delicate skin above her cheekbones.

  Desire stirred and he cursed, silently and fluently, and his mouth set into a hard line. She looked at him and said, "Have I offended you in some way, Augustus?"

  Wonderful, he thought. This is just wonderful. Now she thinks she has offended me.

  "Of course not," he said. "Whatever makes you think such a thing?"

  "Well . . . we don't have breakfast together anymore."

  "Oh. That." He waved a hand. "I'm sorry, Charity. I have been busy."

  She swallowed. He watched the motion in her slender neck. "I see."

  He cast desperately around for something to change the subject. "Ah . . . are you enjoying your new horse?"

  She had a smile that could light up the world. "Oh yes. You must come one morning and see him, Augustus. Lord Louis is so pleased with our progress."

  "I shall try to do that," he promised, picking up t
he pen he had been writing with when she came in. Her radiant smile died away, and, taking the hint, she rose to her feet. He said pleasantly, "Don't hesitate to come to see me if you have any more problems."

  "I won't." She looked so forlorn that he wanted to leap up, tear around the desk, and grab her into his arms. Instead he sat like a statue and let her leave.

  As October passed into November, everything in Charity's life was going smoothly except the most important thing of all: her relationship with her husband. Instead of drawing closer together, as she had expected, they were growing farther and farther apart.

  He doesn't find me attractive. It was the only reason Charity could imagine to explain Augustus's withdrawal from her. He liked her as a person. They had become good friends on their honeymoon. But clearly the thought of having a physical relationship with her disgusted him.

  I suppose I can't blame him, she thought miserably as she lay awake at night in her lonely bed. Any man who thought he was going to have Lydia in his arms and then got stuck with me would be disappointed.

  What made this development even more disconcerting was that Charity was finding herself physically very attracted to Augustus. The blinkers of childhood had fallen from her eyes, and she was seeing Augustus with the eyes of a woman.

  Everything about him fascinated her and made her want to touch him: his hair, which was long enough to brush the collar of his coat; his gray eyes; the cleft in his chin where she longed to put her finger; his hands, with their strong, finely shaped fingers; the golden gleam of chest hair that she had caught a glimpse of once or twice when they were at breakfast together. She wanted desperately for Augustus to kiss her, but she didn't know how to tell him that, and she was beginning to be horribly afraid that he didn't feel the same way about her.

  So stood matters between the Prince and the Princess of Jura when the Prince's uncle, Duke Anton, returned to Julia for the first time since his son had eloped with the Prince's original fiancée. He arrived during a driving rainstorm the first week in November, spent the night at his own palace in Julia, and the next morning, in a burst of cold sunshine, he went to the Pfalz to see Augustus.

  When the Prince entered the salon in the royal apartment where Anton awaited him, the duke did not make his usual attempt to embrace his nephew. He said only, "It is good of you to see me, my boy."

  Augustus walked forward, holding out his hand. "It is foolish for us to be estranged."

  "That is most generous of you, Gus." Anton put his hand into the large, strong grasp of his nephew. "I am not going to defend what Franz did. He was very wrong. But he is my son, and I feel I must stand by him."

  "I understand perfectly," the Prince replied. "Won't you be seated, Uncle Anton?"

  In the Prince's father's time, the main purpose of this salon had been to show off the extensive art collection that covered its walls. The art had disappeared with Napoleon's marshal, leaving the room with bare walls and a single blue silk sofa, upon which the men now sat.

  Anton looked around the room, his forehead scored with three deep lines. "This is a disgrace," he said. "The paintings in this room were priceless. Do we have any chance of getting them back?"

  "I am doing my best, Uncle," the Prince replied mildly.

  Anton scanned his nephew's face and said, "I must say, Gus, I did not expect you to be so calm."

  The Prince understood that his uncle was not talking about the stolen artwork. "If Franz's elopement had resulted in the cancellation of my wedding, I would not be so calm," he replied. "As things stand now, however, he is welcome to Lydia. I am very pleased with the wife I have got."

  "I am glad to hear that," Anton said. "It was clever of you to think of wedding the younger sister."

  The Prince did not reply.

  Abruptly, Anton got to his feet and paced to the green marble fireplace, which had a large discolored spot on the wall above it where a painting by Tintoretto had once hung. When he reached the fireplace he turned to face his nephew, straightening his shoulders as if preparing for a conflict.

  The Prince remained where he was on the sofa. He was dressed in riding clothes and high boots, and it occurred to Anton that instead of seeming lost in the vast emptiness of the room, Augustus actually dominated it. There was a quality about the man that had been absent in the young boy the duke had known. This Augustus was a man accustomed to being in command. It was there in the hardness of his eyes and the firm set of his mouth. It was there in his figure, lounging on the sofa as a lion might bask in the sun. He looked perfectly relaxed, but one sensed the potential for danger in that slim, long-limbed body.

  "The last time we spoke," Anton said, "I became angry with you. That was foolish of me, and I beg your pardon for it."

  The Prince inclined his head and waited.

  "I wish you would just listen to me, Gus," Anton pleaded. "I don't believe you have any idea of the danger that your treaty with Britain poses to Austria."

  Augustus looked surprised. "Danger? Uncle Anton, please don't tell me that the emperor is afraid that Great Britain is going to attack Austria."

  "No, I am not going to tell you that," Anton replied. He took a deep breath as if gathering his strength. "Gus, I know that your father brought you up to believe that it was your sacred mission to keep Jura independent, but an independent Jura did not pose the threat to Austria in your father's time that it does today."

  The level gray stare never changed. "How is that, Uncle?"

  "The French occupation of so much of Europe has helped to disseminate dangerous and revolutionary ideas of liberalism and nationalism. Why should countries that have long been part of the Austrian Empire, countries such as Hungary and Poland, not decide to emulate Jura and declare themselves independent as well?"

  The Prince unfolded his long length from the sofa and went to stand at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight behind him made his light blond hair look almost as golden as Franz's. "Well, Uncle, perhaps they could be as successful as we. Perhaps they should be." He made these outrageous remarks in a perfectly normal tone of voice. "After all," he continued in the same manner, "what does Austria have to offer its subject peoples other than a moribund administration that stifles their economies as well as their political vitality?"

  Anton shut his eyes and told himself that he must not lose his temper over Gus's wild pronouncements. "I have not come here to argue with you about the value of the Austrian Empire, Gus." He gave his nephew a stern look. "I have come to ask you to think like a prince and take into consideration the welfare of your people."

  Something flickered behind the Prince's gray eyes. He replied evenly, "That is something I always try to do, Uncle Anton."

  "Then listen to me, please! I am here to bring you a proposal, and I am putting this proposal before you because I am a Jurian and a patriot and I believe that this is in the best interest of my country."

  The hidden spark in the Prince's eyes became more noticeable. "What is this proposal?"

  Anton finally recognized the flash in Gus's eyes as anger and strove to moderate his own voice. "Austria is prepared to negotiate an alliance with you that would give Austria access to Seista. In return, Austria is prepared to recognize you and your heirs as the legitimate rulers of Jura."

  The Prince stared at his uncle as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "The emperor already did that, Uncle, when Austria signed the Final Act of the Congress of Vienna." His voice sounded very clipped. "You want me to give away Seista and in return get something that I already have?"

  The duke said forcefully, "What you will get, Gus, is peace! I cannot represent too forcefully the emperor's anger about this treaty with England."

  Augustus's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Tell me, Uncle, just what does the emperor plan to do if I do not agree to this so-called alliance?"

  Anton allowed an ominous pause to fall. Then he said somberly, "Tell me, Gus, if Austria should move against Jura, who would come to your aid?"

&
nbsp; The Prince's face was grim. He did not reply.

  Anton took two steps toward the window where his nephew stood. "I have read the Treaty of London, and it does not promise that Britain will commit ground troops to protect the independence of Jura. Oh, Britain will protest to the other Great Powers, but you must know that Castlereagh does not want Britain to be drawn into a continental war." Anton moved another step closer to his nephew. "Gus! Please take what I am saying seriously. It is more important for Jura to be friends with the empire next door than it is to be friends with one that is far away."

  The pause that the Prince allowed to fall was far more ominous than the one that had gone before. When he finally spoke his voice was very soft. "You may tell the emperor for me that it is not wise policy to threaten actions that you cannot carry out. I have every intention of standing by my treaty with Great Britain."

  After a visibly upset Anton had left, the Prince felt a sudden, violent need to get out of the palace, and so, without a word to anyone, he headed down the path to the stables. When he was halfway there he met Charity dressed in her riding clothes. She had obviously finished her lesson and was on her way back to the Pfalz.

  She stopped when she saw him. "Augustus! What is wrong?"

  He halted also and rubbed his hand up and down across his face, as if to scrub away his expression. "Is it that easy to see?"

  She shook her head. "Of course not. It's just that I know you rather well."

  He dropped his hand and sighed. "I just had a talk with Anton and, as usual, he succeeded in making me angry."

  "Good heavens." Her fine brows puckered. "I didn't know that Anton was in Jura."

  "I received a letter from him a week ago, asking if he could come. I wrote back and said that he could. I suppose I forgot to tell you."

  This was the kind of information that would once have been discussed at their breakfasts, but which, since the breakfasts had stopped, there had been little opportunity to exchange. Charity kindly refrained from pointing this out, however, and simply said, "How did he make you angry this time?"