The English Bride

by Joan Wolf

  Beside him, Franz heard Lydia make a small sound, and he glanced at her. Her face was frozen and her dilated eyes were fixed on the small figure of her sister as she stood beside the Prince, her head not quite reaching the height of his shoulder.

  Franz perfectly understood his wife's feelings. He turned his head until his lips were close to her ear and warned in a low voice, "Careful."

  She shot him a startled look. He held her eyes for a moment, and then she bit her lip and looked away.

  Franz's eyes returned to the royal couple. It's just bad luck that Gus is so damn tall, he thought. He wouldn't be half as impressive if he were my height.

  The Prince was impressive, however. There could be no doubt about that. He was perfectly friendly as he went around the room speaking to different people, but he had an aura of authority about him that was unmistakable. He had not had that air when he was a boy, Franz thought. It was something he had acquired in the mountains.

  When we were boys, Gus was always the quiet one, Franz thought. I was the one who was the leader.

  It had been a distinct shock for him to meet his royal cousin again after a separation of almost ten years. Franz had not been overjoyed by the Prince's transformation. Gus was still quiet, but there was a power in his quietness that had not been there before.

  Franz had always thought he would make a better prince than his cousin, but it wasn't until he actually saw Gus in his royal role that the corrosive poison of jealousy had started its work. He had stolen Gus's bride in an effort to humiliate him. He had set out to do it the moment he first saw Lydia, and he had been successful. He was always successful.

  But Gus's humiliation had never happened. He had, with his usual damn coolness, simply married Lydia's younger sister.

  In their circle of the room, the royal couple were coming closer to Franz, and for the first time he fixed his gaze on the diminutive figure at the Prince's side. What he saw caused his brows to draw together.

  When Franz had last seen Charity she had been a charming child, but the girl he was looking at now was not a child any longer. The brown eyes were still huge, but the soft girlish roundness of her face had given way to a more defined look. Her high cheekbones were more prominent, more like Lydia's, and her mouth had changed its expression.

  She looks like a woman, Franz thought. And his eyes went speculatively to his cousin, who had always professed that he knew nothing about women. I wouldn't have thought Gus had it in him, he thought sardonically.

  "Ah, there you are, Franz," the Prince said. His voice was perfectly affable.

  Franz bowed. The Prince held out his hand with demonstrable friendliness, and the cousins shook. Then Augustus turned to the woman at Franz's side and said, in an equally friendly manner, "How are you, Lydia? You are looking beautiful as ever."

  Lydia curtseyed and said breathlessly, "Your Highness. I am happy to see you again."

  "Are you?" The Prince sounded amused.

  Sudden fury shot through Franz at that note in Gus's voice. He repressed it, however, and said, his own voice soft and caressing, "You look wonderful, Princess. Marriage must agree with you."

  The large doe-like brown eyes looked straight at him but their expression wasn't doe-like at all. Charity said, "It does." Then she turned to Lydia and held out her arms. "How lovely to see you, Lydia. Isn't it wonderful that Harry is here as well?" And she gestured to her brother to join them.

  Lydia hugged her sister with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "Lovely to see you too, Charity," she murmured.

  There was a fractional pause, during which time Harry came up to them. Franz saw Charity give him a meaningful look and he turned to Lydia and said heartily, "Great to see you, Lydia!" He proceeded to envelope her in a bear hug that displaced her shawl and made her beautiful eyes flash.

  The Prince looked at Franz and murmured, "It is so nice for my wife to see her family again. She has been looking forward to Lydia's arrival."

  Charity slipped her arm through Lydia's. "Why don't we three sit down and have a nice chat together? I have a letter from Papa I'm sure you'll like to hear. Come along, Harry."

  Lydia cast an anguished glance at Franz as Charity bore her inexorably off toward a corner of the room. Franz looked at the Prince and said with amusement, "I wondered why you arranged this reception for me, Gus. It was very clever of you."

  His cousin's eyes were cool. "The credit goes to Charity."

  "Then it was very clever of her."

  Suddenly Augustus smiled. "It is good to have you back in Jura, Franz," he said. He touched his cousin briefly on the shoulder and turned away.

  While the Prince and Princess went to Lake Leive to spend Christmas, Franz remained behind in Julia, wooing many of the nobles who were his father's friends. Franz was possessed of a silver tongue and enormous personal charm, and he used both to denigrate his cousin in the most reluctant, regretful, sorrowful fashion imaginable. The upshot of this campaign was that he succeeded in convincing eight malcontent noblemen that it was their duty, as Jurian patriots, to remove Augustus from the throne of Jura and replace him with Anton.

  On a bitterly cold morning in January, the eight met in the library of the Julia palace of Count Boris Heusse in order to concoct a plot that would bring about this end. The men sat around a large library table drinking coffee, Franz at one end of the table and Count Heusse at the other.

  "We have to come up with something better than Rupnik and Hindenberg did," Baron Ladislaus Zapolya said sarcastically. "None of us wants to end up with a noose around our neck."

  A shudder ran around the room at the thought of the fates of the previous plotters against Augustus.

  "There is no need to kill Augustus," Baron Heusse said fussily.

  Count Sigismund Corvinus motioned impatiently with his hand. "And just how the hell are we to remove him from the throne without killing him?"

  Franz spoke in a voice that was perfectly calm and reasonable. "Arrest him and get him out of the country before word gets out to the people what has happened."

  All eyes turned to the composed face of the Prince's cousin. "Easily said, Franz, but not easily done," Baron Hertling remarked irritably.

  "How on earth are we to arrest him?" Lord Nikola Appel said. "We aren't military men. Augustus would walk right through us, and then where would we be?"

  "We certainly don't want to involve the Household Guard again," Count Heusse said.

  "God no," Lord Nikola said fervently.

  Franz's blue gaze turned on Baron Zapolya, who responded promptly, "My brother-in-law commands one of our cavalry regiments. If I tell him that we must replace Augustus in order to avoid an Austrian invasion, I believe he will listen."

  Baron Hertling downed his coffee as if it were a shot of brandy and said nervously, "What if he doesn't? What guarantee would we have that he won't go straight to Augustus?"

  Baron Zapolya lifted one of his thick black eyebrows. "Marc has always thought that he would make a wonderful Marshal of Jura, but as long as Augustus is prince, Emil Sauder has that position sewn up."

  A thoughtful silence reigned as the men digested this piece of information. Then Count Heusse said warningly, "We can't risk any of your brother-in-law's men running to Augustus, Ladislaus. Look what happened to Rupnik and Hindenberg."

  "I will instruct Marc not to inform his men about their mission until they are actually on the way to arrest Augustus," Baron Zapolya said reassuringly.

  "This is all very well," Baron Hertling said in his testy voice, "but what the devil are we to do with him after he is arrested?"

  All eyes in the room turned to Franz.

  "Put him on a ship and send him to England," Franz replied coolly.

  A rumble of nervous laughter greeted this comment.

  Franz did not smile. "I believe that will be the best solution for everyone. Gus has relatives in England who will take him in. He can live a perfectly comfortable life in exile." He quirked one golden eyebrow. "As we all know o
urselves from personal experience."

  "What if Great Britain demands that Augustus be restored?" Baron Hertling asked nervously.

  Once more Franz flicked a glance at Baron Zapolya, who responded by saying firmly, "The British government does not wish to become involved in the internal affairs of Jura. Their ambassador may make a formal protest, but Britain will not lift a finger to restore Augustus to his throne."

  The clink of a coffee cup being returned to its saucer was the only sound. Then Lord Nikola Appel said, "I think you are right."

  Murmurs of assent came from the others at the table.

  "Are we all in agreement, then?" Count Heusse asked crisply. "Ladislaus?"

  "Aye."

  Nikolo?"

  "Aye."

  Methodically, Count Heusse went around the table until he came to the last man. "Leopold?"

  Baron Hertling looked somberly at Franz. 'There will be no bloodshed?"

  "None," Franz replied, his blue eyes steady.

  "Then—aye," Baron Hertling said.

  The tension that had been building in the room suddenly relaxed. More coffee was poured as the men talked to each other in low voices.

  Count Heusse gave them a few more minutes, then called them to attention once more. "Augustus will be back in Julia at the beginning of February for the opening of the diet," he said. "We must do it before then, while he is relatively isolated in the country."

  "Where is he now?" Baron Hertling asked.

  "He and the Princess are presently at Zosi," Franz said. "They are expected to remain there for a week, and then they will return to Julia for the opening of the diet."

  "Zosi is perfect for us," Baron Zapolya said. "We can put Augustus and his English wife into a carriage and get them to Seista within hours. They will be well on their way to England before word leaks out about the coup."

  "We must act quickly," Baron Hertling said nervously. "The quicker we act, the less chance there is of our plans coming to the wrong ears."

  Sober nods from each man around the table greeted this comment as the fates of Rupnik and Hindenberg flashed once more through everyone's mind.

  Baron Heusse asked, "Where is your brother-in-law's regiment stationed, Ladislaus?"

  "Lipizza. I will go down there immediately and speak to him. Let's meet again tomorrow morning and I'll give you his reply."

  With murmurs of agreement, the somber-faced group of conspirators broke up.

  22

  Something changed in Charity during the long night she spent lying awake at the far end of the bed from Augustus. The sensual magic that had carried her through the last few months suddenly wasn't enough anymore.

  Her feelings were complicated by the fact that she suspected she was with child. Part of her was thrilled by this thought, but another part wondered if this would signal the end of her intense relationship with Augustus. If he knew he had gotten what he needed, would he once more relegate her to the background of his life?

  These doubts, sown so successfully by Princess Caterina's words, blossomed on the night of the diplomatic reception. He had never told her that he loved her, and now the absence of those three words began to spread like poison through her heart. For the first time in their marriage, Charity actually began to pretend that she was asleep when Augustus came to bed.

  This transformation took place during the Christmas holiday, which they spent at Lake Leive, and then continued during their vacation at the Prince's villa of Zosi, where they moved so that Augustus and his friends could do some hunting. To the great relief of both Augustus and Charity, Princess Caterina had decided to return to Venice for the holidays, so they were spared her less than soothing presence. Harry accompanied the royal couple, but Charity's main distraction was a new friend who had joined their party. He was the younger son of one of Jura's nobles whom Charity had met recently when he came to Julia to study with Lord Louis. Lord Maximilien Broder was only twenty and totally mad about horses. Charity liked him and she invited him to accompany the court on its Christmas journey.

  As their time at Zosi grew longer Charity was very glad she had Max’s company. With Harry following Augustus like a puppy and Lady Stefanie spending all her time with Emil, Charity and Lord Maximilien grew closer. They spent hours discussing the different horses in the stable, their training, the work Lord Louis was doing with them, and the kind of rides each of them had. It was a topic of conversation neither of them ever tired of.

  The court had been at Zosi for almost three weeks when one night Charity came into the bedroom she shared with Augustus to find him standing, arms folded, in front of the window.

  "No cards tonight?" she asked lightly, stopping at the foot of the bed and turning in his direction. She didn't quite raise her eyes to his face.

  "I rather thought I might like to see my wife tonight," he replied evenly. "I haven't seen much of her lately."

  She raised her eyebrows. "I have been right here, Augustus. You are the one who is out hunting all day and up late all night, playing cards with your friends."

  The fingers that were resting on his folded arms tightened so that the knuckles noticeably whitened. "You don't appear to have missed my company very much. You seem to have been very well entertained by Broder." There was a dangerous note in his voice that she had never heard before, and she darted a quick glance at him.

  At the sight of Augustus, his ruffled blond hair, his gray eyes, the cleft in his chin, her heart turned over. Suddenly she wanted desperately to touch him, to smooth back his hair, to kiss his chin . . .

  The set of his mouth was grim, and she tried to remember what he had just said. Something about Max…

  "Max is a friend of mine," she said reasonably. "If you can spend time with your friends, surely I may spend time with mine."

  "My friends are of my own sex," he retorted. "You don't see me closeted half the day with some pretty young girl, do you?"

  Charity stared at her husband's grim, angry face and realized with shock that he was jealous. Abruptly she turned away so that he couldn't see her face.

  Augustus is jealous of Max, she thought in thrilled wonder and amazement. He's jealous of me.

  She turned back to her husband, a look of wounded innocence in her widened eyes. "Augustus, what are you saying? Surely you don't suspect that my relationship with Lord Maximilien is anything more than friendship?"

  It was his turn to look away from her. "Of course I don't," he said gruffly. "It's just . . . It's just . . . Oh, I don't know, it just seems to me that you have been different of late."

  Yes, Charity thought, I haven't been falling into your arms every time you lift your eyebrow.

  "You have been busy with your friends," she repeated.

  He went back to scowling.

  Charity felt a twinge of satisfaction that she could upset him the way he could upset her. She walked to the bed, unbuttoned her robe, put her foot on the footstool, and climbed in. "Are you coming?"

  He came.

  The Prince was thoroughly upset. In the way of men, he had thought that his marriage was just perfect. His wife was passionate, generous, and right there in his bed, night after night after night. Not only that, she was exactly the sort of person with whom he felt comfortable in every other way. He could talk to her and she would understand, he could confide in her and she would be discreet. Perhaps best of all, she shared his vision for his country. She was going to be a great Princess of Jura.

  He loved her. He adored her. He thought he was the luckiest man in the world to have got her. It simply never once occurred to him to tell her any of those things. After all, she never said any of those things to him and it didn't bother him one jot.

  Had she said them, had she said, I love you, Augustus, he would have returned the sentiment immediately. But she didn't, and so he didn't either. Why should he? Everything was going perfectly.

  And then things started to go wrong. He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but he first noticed it when they were a
t Lake Leive for Christmas. He came into their bedroom one night, and Charity was asleep. Charity was never asleep. She always waited up for him, to discuss his day and, of course, to make love.

  He wasn't upset the first time. After all, the poor girl had a right to be tired once in a while. But when it began to happen on a regular basis, he began to worry. He missed the sex, certainly, but it was more than that. He worried that something had come between them. If he should lose Charity . . .

  Very little in life had ever scared the Prince, but the thought of losing Charity did.

  Then he began to notice all the time she was spending with the slim, dark-haired, dark-eyed boy, Lord Maximilien Broder. The Prince discovered from Louis that Charity and Lord Maximilien were both his students and that Charity had invited the boy to accompany the court to Lake Leive and to Zosi.

  Augustus had a very difficult time refraining from sending Lord Maximilien home. Only the knowledge that doing so would precipitate a huge scandal stopped him. Even confronting Charity with his suspicions did not restore his serenity. She had asked him if he suspected her of having an affair with Lord Maximilien and, when he looked into her eyes, he had realized that he did not suspect her of that, that he had never suspected her of that.

  He was jealous because she had found a male friend whom she liked more than him. He didn't want her to like anyone more than him.

  He took her to bed, and did everything in his power to show her how he felt about her, and for one wonderful night things between them were the way they had been before. As he lay awake, watching her sleep, rejoicing that she had not turned away, that she had nestled against him in the way she used to, he prayed fervently that whatever it was that had gone wrong between them had been made right.

  Charity was still asleep when the Prince arose the following morning to go hunting. It was snowing when he and the men returned to the villa later in the morning, and they were divesting themselves of their warm coats in the hall, which was decorated with a variety of glassy-eyed hunting trophies, when a servant approached him carrying a folded letter on a silver salver. Augustus instantly recognized the seal.