The English Bride

Part One

LONDON

1815

1

The direction on the letter read: Her Highness, the Princess Mariana, Dowager Countess of Beaufort. The elderly princess accepted the missive from a deferential footman, moved toward the daylight of an open window, and unfolded it carefully. A familiar strong, upright script, written in German, leaped out to greet her.

Hotel d’Aramis

Brussels

25 June 1815

My Dear Aunt,

By now, of course, you in England have learned of the Allies’ great victory at Waterloo. It was a horrendous battle, and far too many men died, but I believe we have finally seen the last of the Ogre whose greed nearly gobbled up the entire of Europe.

As you know, before Napoleon’s escape I was at the Congress of Vienna where Britain, Austria, Russia, Prussia, and France were meeting to divide up among them the countries that had been conquered by Napoleon. My concern at the Congress was to get the Great Powers to recognize the continued independence of our beloved Jura. In this we were successful. The Final Act of the Congress of Vienna does declare Jura to be a free and independent state.

Austria signed the Final Act, but only after the Austrian minister, Prince Metternich, had worked strenuously to get the other nations to declare that Jura would now be part of the Austrian Empire.

Austria concerns me. If you look at a map, you will see that Jura is now totally surrounded by the empire. I have no doubt that both Emperor Francis I and Prince Metternich will do everything in their power to bring Jura under the sway of the Habsburg Empire. In order to strengthen our own position I feel that it is imperative for us to have the protection of one of the other Great Powers.

I discussed our situation with the British foreign secretary, Lord Castlereagh, while we were both in Vienna for the Congress, and he expressed an interest in making a treaty with Jura in which Britain will support Jura in return for the right of the British navy to use our port of Seista.

The reason I am writing to you is that I wish to make a British marriage in order to bolster this treaty. Unfortunately, I understand that Princess Charlotte is to marry the Prince of Coburg, and as there are no other British royal princesses available at the moment, the girl will have to come from a noble family that has strong ties to the government.

I write to you as the person most likely to help me in this matter. For the next few weeks you may reach me at the above address. I know, Dear Aunt, that you will fail neither me nor your country.

Your Nephew,

Augustus Josef Charles

P. S. Do not say anything about this to my mother!

The Princess Mariana read the letter through again, more slowly this time, her brow furrowed in thought. She was seventy-two years of age and had lived in England since she was nineteen, but she never forgot that she had been born a princess of Jura, and her first allegiance was to the country of her birth.

What Augustus had proposed made excellent sense, she thought approvingly. She had always known that the boy was physically brave; it was a great relief to discover that he could also think like a statesman.

She took the letter and, using her cane, walked slowly to one of the red silk-covered sofas that furnished the Chinese Drawing Room of the Beauforts’ London town house. Carefully she lowered herself onto a silk cushion and smoothed the letter in her lap. She was deep in thought when a familiar voice said commandingly, Grandmama! Have you fallen into a trance?

The princess looked toward the small figure approaching her across the red-and-blue Persian carpet. Her younger granddaughter was attired in a simple white muslin dress with a blue ribbon under her high young breasts and another tying back her long brown hair. Her cheeks were flushed with healthy color and her large golden-brown eyes sparkled with curiosity.

I am perfectly fine, Charity, the princess replied in German to the only member of her English-born family who had bothered to learn the language of her birth. Then she frowned. What is that you have got on your dress?

Charity looked at the yellowish smudge on her skirt and said unconcernedly, I took Hero for a walk and he must have slobbered on me.

The princess sighed. You had better change before your mother sees you. You know how she feels about that dog of yours.

Charity made a face. Then she noticed the pages resting on her grandmother’s lap. Is that a letter? Who is it from? Is it from Augustus, perhaps?

It is indeed from Augustus, the princess returned, her fingers caressing the paper she had just been reading.

Oh, good. Unbidden, Charity came to seat herself next to her grandmother. What did he say? Did he tell you about the battle? I read in the Dispatches that he and the men from Jura were especially commended by Wellington for bravery. Did he tell you what he did?

The princess looked into her granddaughter’s eager face and said repressively, He did no such thing. Augustus is far too modest to boast of his own exploits, Charity.

Charity looked disappointed. "What did he say then?"

The princess looked once more at the pages in her lap. He is worried that Austria will try to pressure Jura into joining the empire.

They can’t do that! Charity cried. Even though Napoleon occupied Jura, Augustus never gave up! His father may have spent the war years here in England, but Augustus stayed in Jura to fight the French from the mountains. And he fought at Waterloo! Austria has no grounds for annexing Jura. Even the Congress of Vienna saw that!

Let us hope you are right, my dear, the princess replied. She began to fold up the letter.

Aren’t you going to read it to me? Charity asked in surprise.

It is very short and you have already heard the gist of it, the princess replied.

Grandmama!

Never mind, Charity. Tell me, is your mother in the house?

Charity shook her head. She and Lydia went to pay a call upon the Marchioness of Langton in Grosvenor Square. They have not yet returned.

The princess stiffened. Good heavens. Does this mean that Lydia is going to accept Langton?

Charity sighed and slid down on her back. It looks that way. Mama says that since there aren’t any dukes available on the marriage mart this season, Langton is the best catch, even if he is only a marquis.

Sit up, Charity, the princess ordered. Then, when her granddaughter had obeyed, she said, Why are you looking so glum? I should think that you would be delighted to see your sister marry and move away. You and she rub against each other all the time.

Charity made a face. I know, but once Lydia marries, Mama will turn her attention to me. I will have to make my come out and go to boring parties and boring dances and boring old Almack’s and Mama will want to find me a husband.

You are seventeen years old, my dear, the princess said. It is time you were thinking of a husband.

Charity scowled. I’m perfectly happy the way I am. I wish Mama would just leave me alone. I don’t know why she insisted on dragging me to London. It’s summer and I want to be at home in the country.

You can’t remain a child forever, my dear, the princess replied absently, still staring at the letter in her lap.

What are you thinking, Grandmama? Charity asked curiously.

The princess’s lips tightened, deepening the lines in the fine skin around the sides of her mouth. I am thinking, my dear, that there may indeed be someone on the marriage mart of a higher degree than either a marquis or a duke. When they return from their call, I must have a little chat with your mother and Lydia.

*

Three women, representing three generations of the Debritts, sat in the Countess of Beaufort’s newly decorated Chinese Drawing Room and discussed the Prince of Jura’s marriage proposition.

Speaking in faintly accented English, Princess Mariana said, I think Augustus has made a very clever and statesmanlike proposal. He has been the prince since the death of his father two years ago, and clearly it is his duty to marry. His wife will be a Crowned Princess. Here she looked directly at her elder granddaughter. There are few positions in all of Europe that are higher.

Lydia was seated across the table from her grandmother in a Chinese-style Chippendale chair. Read me the letter again, she said.

The princess complied, translating her great-nephew’s letter into English as she read. When she had concluded, Lydia and her mother looked at each other across the black lacquered Chinese table that divided them. Your grandmother is right, the countess murmured. Jura may not be a very large or very important country, but it is always something to be a Crowned Princess.

Jura is not small, the princess snapped in annoyance. And Austria certainly thinks we are important.

The countess ignored her mother-in-law and continued to address her daughter. Italy is just across the Adriatic from Jura, Lydia. You could visit Rome and Venice easily. And now that the Bourbons have been restored, Paris will once more be a great cultural and fashion center. As a visiting Royal Princess, you could virtually rule the salons there. There would be no need for you to spend all your time in Jura. Her lips tightened in disapproval. Caterina certainly didn’t.

The princess said, I do not think that Augustus is looking for a wife to follow his mother’s example, Sophia. He will want a wife who cares more for Jura than Caterina ever did.

Lydia looked thoughtful as she gazed at the slender, elegant hands that lay loosely clasped in her figured French muslin lap. Slowly she raised her beautiful long-lashed green eyes and fixed them on her grandmother. What does Augustus look like, Grandmama? Have you ever met him?

I met him only once, when he was ten years of age and he visited here with his father. He was a nice-looking boy and I am certain he has grown into a nice-looking man. The princess looked down her still-impressive nose. The Adamovs have always been a good-looking family. My nephew, the late prince, was a handsome man, and Augustus’s mother certainly qualifies as a beauty.

At this last accolade, the countess stiffened. Princess Caterina was probably the only woman in London who was even prouder and vainer than Lady Beaufort.

The princess saw her daughter-in-law’s reaction and went on: You won’t have to worry about Caterina. Now that Ivan is dead, she will most certainly return to her family in Venice. After all, she lived in Venice most of the time even when he was alive.

Lydia, whose upright spine had never once touched the bamboo-style back of her chair, inclined her swanlike neck in a gesture that was infinitely graceful. It is an interesting proposition, she conceded.

Your son will be the Prince of Jura, her mother said. Think of that, Lydia.

I am thinking of it, Mama. The faintest trace of irritation showed in her throaty voice. She turned back to the princess. What is the Prince’s residence like, Grandmama?

The Pfalz is beautiful, Mariana replied promptly. It was designed by the same architects who built Schönnbrun for the Empress Maria Theresa. It is smaller than Schönnbrun, of course, but it is far more impressive—and tasteful—than the Regent’s Pavilion at Brighton.

If only Jura was a little more important, Lydia fretted.

The princess lifted her Adamov nose. If you do not wish to marry Augustus, Lydia, you have only to say so. I would never wish to push you into a marriage you do not like. I have several other girls in mind who I am certain would be interested in becoming the Princess of Jura if you decide to decline the honor.

What other girls? Lydia demanded.

Lady Mary Bolton, the princess replied promptly.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. The angelically fair Lady Mary was her only serious rival for the crown of beauty of the season.

The princess and Lady Beaufort prudently allowed time for the image of Lady Mary wearing the crown of Jura to settle in Lydia’s brain. Then the countess said to her mother-in-law, Have you spoken to Beaufort about this matter?

Not yet, the princess replied. I thought I would make the offer to Lydia first. You can be certain that Henry will have ideas of his own about whom Augustus should marry.

Lydia gave her grandmother a suspicious look. Don’t you think Papa would want me to marry Augustus?

One never knows, the princess said delicately. Henry is such a political creature. He takes his position as secretary of the treasury very seriously. And you must admit, Lydia, that politics has never been one of your interests.

I doubt that it’s an interest of Lady Mary Bolton’s either, Lydia shot back.

The princess gave a very European shrug.

A slight frown creased Lydia’s brow. What if I married Augustus and Austria annexed Jura anyway. What would happen to me then?

Nothing would happen to you, Lydia, her grandmother assured her. Austria has no wish to replace the Adamovs as the ruling family of Jura; it just wishes to make Jura part of its empire.

But why? Lydia asked.

Because, the princess replied in a tone of voice she might have employed to speak to a child, Austria would like to have complete access to Seista, which is one of the premier ports on the Adriatic.

Why doesn’t Augustus want to let Austria use Seista? Lydia asked. After all, he is willing to allow Britain to use it.

Britain does not desire to impinge upon Jura’s independence, the princess said shortly.

Lydia looked puzzled but before she could ask another question the countess said, Well, Lydia. What do you think? Are you interested in becoming a Royal Princess or not?

You may tell Papa that I am ready to accept Augustus’s offer, Lydia said grandly.

The princess said to her daughter-in-law, What about Langton? Charity said that Lydia was on the verge of accepting him.

A marquis is one thing, but a reigning prince is something else, Lady Beaufort said dismissively. Langton will have to look elsewhere for a wife.

Lydia laughed.

At least she will make Augustus a beautiful wife, the princess thought with resignation. He could do much worse than Lydia. And Beaufort has Castlereagh’s ear. He will be able to arrange this treaty, of that I am certain.

I shall talk to Beaufort tonight, Lady Sophia said.

Remember, the princess cautioned. Not a word of this should reach Caterina until Augustus arrives.

The countess shuddered. I see Caterina as little as I possibly can, ma’am. You don’t have to worry about my giving away the secret.

Why doesn’t Augustus want his mother to know about his plan? Lydia asked.

Caterina has been plotting for years to marry him to one of her Venetian cousins, the princess said. She will be sure to make a scene when she learns he is looking elsewhere.

Lady Beaufort turned to her daughter. Are you quite certain you wish to do this, Lydia? Once your father begins the political negotiations, your marriage will become a state matter and it will be impossible for you to back out.

I have never found Langton to be particularly attractive, Lydia said coolly. I rather think I will like Augustus better.

I am sure you will, her grandmother said. I have always found Langton to be a bore.

He is, rather, returned the girl who had been perfectly prepared to marry him for his title. And, as Mama said, it is far better to be a princess than a mere marchioness. She gave her grandmother her most enchanting smile. Why, as the wife of the ruling prince, I believe I would even go in to dinner before you, Grandmama.

So you would, Lydia, the princess replied evenly.

The countess rubbed her hands together, a gesture that the princess found deplorably bourgeois. Very well, she said. Tonight I will talk to Beaufort.

2

Charity entered the back door of Beaufort House and smiled at the young freckle-faced footman whom she met in the hallway. Good morning, John. What a glorious day.

The footman smiled back. Did you have a pleasant ride, Lady Charity?

Yes, I did. I’m starving, though. Is breakfast set out in the dining room?

Yes, my lady. His lordship is already there.

Oh good, Charity said, and, pulling off her leather riding gloves, she went along to join her father.

The long, narrow dining room of Beaufort House had not been designed by Robert Adam, but it was decorated in the neoclassical style so favored by the great man. In contrast to the vividness of the Chinese Drawing Room, the dining room was cool in shades of cream, pale green, and gold. The ceiling was patterned with octagons enclosing colored circles of green and gold, and the long mahogany table was surrounded by Chippendale chairs upholstered in pale green silk. An immense gilt mirror hung on the wall facing the mahogany sideboard, and a portrait of one of Charity’s ancestors wearing a wig occupied the space over the marble fireplace.

The Earl of Beaufort was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper when Charity came in. Good morning, Papa, she said. You are up early today.

The earl looked over his spectacles at his daughter, who was wearing an old brown riding habit and polished but obviously worn boots. A black velvet ribbon was tied around her long brown hair, which hung halfway down her back in a braid. Ah, Charity, he said. Have you been out riding?

Yes. She moved to the sideboard to survey the array of heavy silver serving dishes set out upon it. I went for a nice long gallop in the park.

Lord Beaufort regarded his younger daughter’s back as she filled her plate. Wasn’t your brother with you?

No. He was supposed to come but he got foxed last night and couldn’t get out of bed this morning.

The earl frowned and his voice took on a sharper edge. You didn’t go alone, I hope? London is not the same as the country. It is not safe for young girls to go out alone in London.

She carried her plate to the table, where she took the seat at her father’s left hand. No, Papa, she said soothingly. I did not go alone. I took a groom.

That’s all right then, he said and went back to his paper.

Comfortable silence reigned in the dining room as the earl continued to read and Charity worked her way through the food on her plate. When she had finished the last of the poached eggs, she refilled her teacup and regarded her father over its rim.

Papa, she said, what is going on with Lydia?

He didn’t look up from his paper. Your mother has said nothing to you?

Charity let out her breath in a puff of exasperation. Please, Papa. Mama never tells me anything. She thinks I am a simpleton.

At that, the earl folded his paper and put it down next to his plate. He looked at her over the top of his spectacles and said mildly, Stay just the way you are, my dear. If you ever turn into a fashion plate like Lydia, I shall disown you.

Charity chuckled. Small chance of that ever happening, Papa.

He smiled faintly and nodded.

Charity swallowed some tea and put down her cup with a definitive clink. You haven’t answered my question. What is the mystery about Lydia? Is she going to marry Langton?

The earl removed his spectacles, folded them, and put them in the pocket of his blue morning coat. I suppose there is no harm in your knowing now, he said slowly. The arrangements are almost completed. He raised his eyebrows slightly and said, Your sister is going to marry the Prince of Jura.

Charity’s mouth dropped open.

Ignoring her expression, he went on; Jura and Britain are on the brink of signing a treaty that would give our navy access to the port of Seista. In return for this privilege, Britain will guarantee to support Jura’s right to be a free and independent nation.

Charity shut her mouth. What does such a treaty have to do with Lydia? she demanded.

You will be able to answer that question for yourself if you think about it, my dear, the earl replied. Treaties between nations are often cemented by marriages.

They are cemented by marriages between royal families, Charity said. "Lydia is not royalty. Why should she marry Augustus? Why not Princess Charlotte?"

The earl pointed to his folded paper. The Prince of Coburg is to marry Princess Charlotte, and that is not an arrangement Augustus wishes to disturb. Lydia may not be a Royal Princess, but her grandfather on her mother’s side is an English duke, and her grandmother on her father’s side is a Royal Princess of Jura.

Grandmama, Charity said hollowly.

He nodded gravely. Add it all up, and Lydia is the obvious choice.

Charity’s eyes had turned more gold than brown, the way they did when her emotions were stirred. She said passionately, Lydia doesn’t care about Jura, Papa! She can’t even speak German. All she cares about is looking beautiful and impressing people. She will make a terrible wife for Augustus.

I doubt that Augustus is looking for a soul mate, my dear, the earl said drily. This marriage is a matter of state, not of personal preference.

Does this mean Lydia will go to Jura to live?

Of course. If she is to be Jura’s princess, and Augustus’s wife, then she must reside there.

Poor Jura, Charity muttered.

The treaty and the marriage are a statesmanlike solution to the very difficult situation in which Jura finds itself, the earl returned briskly. I applaud Augustus for his astuteness. Both our countries will gain from this marriage. England will get a port on the Adriatic, and Jura will get a Great Power to guarantee its independence. What could be better?

Charity scowled but had no reply.

The following week saw more letters pass between London and Brussels, and then came the news that everyone had been waiting for. Augustus wrote that he was coming to England to sign the treaty and meet his bride. He recommended that the Debritts prepare to make the journey to Jura for the wedding.

Lydia was furious when she learned that he expected them to be married in Jura, not England. She and her mother had already planned the triumphant ceremony in St. George’s, the beautiful church that was only a few doors away from Beaufort House on Hanover Square.

I want to be married in London, Papa.

The earl, who had not yet finished reading aloud Augustus’s letter, looked up at his elder daughter. Augustus clearly expects the marriage to take place in Jura, he replied.

I don’t know anybody in Jura, Lydia said. It is cruel to expect me to marry a stranger in the midst of strangers.

Were you listening to this letter at all? the earl asked impatiently. Your entire family will be accompanying you—your mother, your father, your grandmother, your brother, your sister—we will all be going to Jura for the wedding.

The earl, his wife, and his elder daughter were gathered in the library of Beaufort House. Usually the only other member of the family to use this room besides the earl was Charity, and the elegant duo of the countess and Lydia looked strangely out of place in the dark-paneled, book-lined, leather-smelling chamber.

Mama, Lydia said now, turning to her mother, who sat beside her on the old velvet sofa facing the chestnut wood fireplace. You know how we have planned this wedding. Tell Papa that I must be married in London.

The countess’s cold green eyes regarded her husband, who was standing in front of the chimneypiece. Is it really necessary for them to be married in Jura, Henry?

Yes, it is, the earl replied firmly. Jura suffered under French occupation for years, and the wedding of their prince will be a symbol to its people that a new day has truly dawned for the country.

A wedding in England will symbolize a new day just as much as a wedding in Jura will, Lydia said stubbornly.

The earl looked at his wife for help. Will you explain it to her, Sophia?

Are we to understand that the wedding in Jura will be a state occasion? the countess replied.

Beaufort held out the letter in his hand. Of course it will be a state occasion. They will be married in the cathedral in Julia, the streets will be lined with cheering people, and the whole country will celebrate. He turned his eyes to his daughter, whose beautiful mouth was looking distinctly sulky. I can assure you, Lydia, that it will be a far bigger production than anything you and your mother could possibly stage here in England.

For one of the few times in their marriage, Lady Beaufort agreed with her husband. Your father is right, Lydia. You are not marrying a member of minor royalty. You are marrying a head of state. I am afraid that it must be Jura.

The image of herself in a magnificent wedding gown, waving to adoring crowds of admiring peasants, was working its magic on Lydia. She said, If the wedding is to be in Jura, I will need a different wedding dress, Mama. The one we chose might be suitable for London, but it is not grand enough for a state marriage.

Out of long practice, the earl’s face remained immobile and he said nothing.

You are absolutely right, my love, the countess said. We should go to Fanchon’s immediately.

As the ladies appeared to be on the point of rising from the sofa, the earl said hastily, Augustus also writes that he should be in London within the week, and he is bringing his cousin Franz with him.

Franz? The countess subsided back onto the sofa, a puzzled frown upon her face. Who is Franz?

Paola’s son. He and Augustus have always been good friends.

If he’s Paola’s son he will stay with Caterina along with Augustus, not here with us. Having dismissed Franz, she got briskly to her feet. Come along, Lydia. We have to cancel the wedding dress that we ordered and choose something grander.

Lady Beaufort’s belief that she would not be called upon to house her prospective son-in-law was put to the test several days later, when the Princess Caterina paid a very unusual visit to Beaufort House. Charity was in the Chinese Drawing Room retrieving a book she had left behind the previous night, when the butler escorted the princess into the room and said that he would inform Lady Beaufort of her arrival.

As Evans melted away, the princess regarded Charity speculatively. Augustus’s mother had the dark gold hair of so many Venetian beauties, as well as the voluptuous figure. She would be fifty on her next birthday, but she looked ten years younger.

So, she said in a voice that, after a decade in England as a refugee from Napoleon, still had a heavy Italian accent. It is the little sister.

Charity curtseyed and came across the brilliant red-and-blue carpet to stand in front of her. I am happy to see you, Princess, she said politely. I hope you are well.

The magnificent hazel eyes flashed. I am not pleased with this arrangement Augustus makes to marry your sister, she announced.

Charity had spent more time with Princess Caterina than any other member of her family, and she had always found the princess’s colossal egotism to be amusing—a sentiment she was careful to keep to herself. I am sorry you are not pleased, Princess, she replied, now gravely.

The princess opened her reticule and extracted a sheet of paper. I hear from him this morning that he is coming to England to sign a treaty and take Lydia back to Jura for a wedding. She waved the paper dangerously close to Charity’s nose.

Charity made an indistinct murmur and stepped back out of the reach of the snapping missive. The princess followed her. This morning I hear! Did he consult me? Did he ask the advice of his mama who has only his interests in her heart? Did he do these things?

Charity, who knew the answer to these questions, prudently did not reply.

He did not. The princess glared at Charity as if the Prince’s slight of his mother had been her fault. He did not!

Charity clicked her tongue and shook her head.

Augustus is just like his father, Princess Caterina said darkly. She stuffed the letter back in her reticule.

My father seems to think that Augustus has behaved in a very statesmanlike fashion, Charity volunteered unwisely.

The princess looked forbiddingly into Charity’s face. She was so close that Charity could see how lovely her skin still was. Augustus is not a good son, she announced.

Charity dropped her eyes and went back to saying nothing.

The princess turned away and crossed the room