Princess in Love (24 page)

Nevertheless, as she sat down to pour herself a cup of tea, her hands trembled as
she brought the cup to her lips.

*   *   *

Leopold paced back and forth in the prison cell and considered all the information
that King Randolph had just relayed to him.

Austria was marching to the Rhine to fight Murat, while Russia was still in Poland.
British and Prussian forces had gathered in Belgium, and Napoleon was preparing to
march.

“He will try to split up their armies and defeat them one at a time,” Leopold said.
“Divide and conquer. That has always been his strategy.”

“This is why we need you in Belgium,” Randolph said. “You have fought him before,
while Wellington has not yet faced him in battle. At least not until now. We must
send our best troops to support the coalition. Wellington will value your experience
with Bonaparte.”

“Are you forgetting that I am a convicted criminal,” Leopold asked, “sentenced to
a twenty-year imprisonment?”

Randolph strode to the chair—which had been replaced for the king’s visit—and sat
down. “No, I have not forgotten, which is why I have come. To offer you a temporary
parole for as long as the campaign lasts, in exchange for your loyalty and service
as an officer of the crown.”

Leopold regarded Randolph shrewdly. “At what rank?”

“General, as before. Cavalry division. In fact, you would be leading many of the same
men.”

“You believe they would respect my authority, knowing that I have been disgraced?”

“That would be for you to foster their allegiance,” Randolph said. “But I would not
offer this post if I did not believe you would be as effective as you ever were. You
always ran a tight ship and…” He paused. “There are many who believe you were wrongly
convicted.”

Leopold frowned. “How so?”

“Some feel your father was the guilty party, not you. That you could not be held accountable
for your upbringing. That your Royalist beliefs were a thing of the past and that
as a hero of the war, you should have been awarded some leniency from the court.”

Leopold inclined his head. “What do
you
believe?”

Randolph leaned back in the chair—until the front legs lifted off the floor. “I believe
I must support the decisions of my magistrates and the jury. I also believe, however,
that if you had known of your father’s plot to commit murder, you would have come
forward and exposed him for what he was. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that
there can be no proof of that. It is my own speculation, nothing more, and it is a
question that will never be answered, for we cannot turn back the clock.”

Leopold sat down on the cot. “But how I wish I could.”

They regarded each other intently in the dim candlelight of the cold prison cell until
Randolph leaned forward again and rested his elbows on his knees. “Will you do it?
Will you accept this commission?”

Leopold was both intrigued and motivated, but he needed further clarification. “It
is a parole, not a pardon.”

“That is correct, and your time away will count as time served.”

Leopold chuckled softly. “I am sure you and your court ministers are well aware that
my chances of coming home alive to finish out my sentence are slim. It is going to
be a bloody, vicious battle if I know Bonaparte.”

“I am sure you are right about that, but I do hope you will return safely, sir, with
as few casualties as possible.”

“I will do my best.”

“Does this mean you will accept?”

Leopold nodded and stood. “I’d be a fool not to, for how could I resist a chance to
walk out of this cell, return to the field of battle, and lead a full cavalry charge
upon Europe’s worst enemy?”

Randolph reached out to shake his hand. “Excellent. I will send a man to release you
within the hour. He will escort you to your new post.”

“But I have no property,” Leopold said. “No home. Where will I stay?”

“At the barracks until it is time to march. That will not be long from now. The sooner
you leave Petersbourg the better, for there is little time to spare.”

Randolph started for the door.

“Wait…” Leopold stepped forward to ask one more question—the question that was still
burning like a raging inferno in his brain. “You did not mention Rose. Where is she?
How
is she?”

He needed to know, because if he was going to get out of here …

Randolph paused. “She is in Vienna with her husband, and she is very well.”

“Joseph is not leading the Austrian army to Naples?”

“No.”

“Will she be in Brussels?”

Randolph would give him no more information than that. He turned and walked out of
the cell, leaving Leopold to refoster his resolve and prepare himself for one more
charge.

Chapter Twenty-five

Brussels

It was with a whisper of uncertainty that the Duchess of Richmond went ahead with
her ball on the evening of June 15, when rumors abounded that Napoleon was marching
toward the city. An assurance from the Duke of Wellington, however, put her at ease
and guaranteed a strong attendance from the illustrious list of invited guests.

Rose and Joseph had arrived in Brussels a few days prior to act as ambassadors. They
were to send frequent reports to Joseph’s father, Emperor Francis, about the status
of the allied armies. Naturally, at the last minute, they had been added to the duchess’s
guest list and looked forward to an evening of stimulating conversation and merriment.

Rose dressed for the ball with a reliable sense of calm, as if it were any other event
on her social calendar, until the unthinkable happened. A knock sounded at her door
and her husband—it still felt strange to call him that—entered to request a private
moment alone before they departed. She immediately dismissed her maid.

“I am not sure how to tell you this,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed
in their hotel room, “but it is something I felt you should know.”

Fastening a dangling sapphire earring to her lobe, Rose swiveled around on the dressing
table stool to face him. “Good heavens, it sounds serious. The hotel is not about
to be pummeled with grapeshot, is it? Please tell me before I imagine the worst.”

He usually chuckled when she spoke in jest, but not so this evening. “There is someone
on the guest list whom I doubt you are expecting to see,” he said with concern.

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Who is it?”

“Leopold Hunt.”

At the mere mention of the name, the hotel might as well have been pummeled with grapeshot
after all, for she was stunned to the point of speechlessness.

Leopold? Here? In Brussels?

She drew back in surprise while astonishment fluttered through her. Then immediately
she forced herself to feign indifference. “What in the world is he doing here? Has
he escaped prison? The last I heard he was sentenced to twenty years. No one has written
to tell me otherwise.”

“I apologize,” Joseph explained. “Perhaps I should not have kept it from you, but
I felt it best to let you get on with your life. It’s what you said you wanted when
we agreed to marry. You said you never wanted to see that man, or hear his name spoken,
ever again.”

Her stomach was careening. This couldn’t be happening. “But you knew he was released?”
she asked. “
How
did you know?”

“Your brother Nicholas wrote to me in April and informed me of the situation. He explained
that Lord Cavanaugh—” Joseph stopped himself. “Pardon me. He is Mr. Hunt now. Or rather
General Hunt. Your brother offered him a temporary parole to serve in the cavalry
and lead the Petersbourg troops into battle. He has accepted the commission and is
here in Brussels.”

Rose stared at her husband in disbelief while her vision clouded over. She never imagined
she would ever see Leopold again. She had tried so hard to put all that behind her,
but suddenly now she had to prepare to meet him this very night. At a ball.

A part of her wanted to shout at Joseph from across the room—wasn’t it customary to
shoot the messenger in times of war?—but instead she cleared her throat and reached
for her other earring.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” she coolly said. “I am not sure what I shall
say to him if we rub shoulders. To be honest, I am surprised the duchess invited him
to her ball. He is disgraced, after all.”

“I will be at your side the entire time,” Joseph assured her. “Unless you would prefer
not to go. I would understand, you know. It is a rather awkward situation, isn’t it?”

“That is putting it mildly.” She rose from the dressing table stool and tried not
to reveal the depths of her anxiety. Joseph had been so good to her, so forgiving
for everything. He had come to her rescue when scandal had threatened to ruin her
family. He had taken her back even when he knew she had genuinely loved another. And
he had been very patient, waiting for her to recover from that heartbreak.

Even on their wedding night.

Now that man she once loved was
here,
threatening everything Joseph wanted from her.

She felt a critical need to reassure him. Her honor demanded it. “I am not thrilled
at the notion of seeing the man who once tried to seize my brother’s throne,” she
said. She was intensely aware of Joseph’s uneasy gaze watching her as she crossed
to the wardrobe and began searching for a different pair of gloves, for she did not
like the ones her maid had selected, and she had to do something to appear in control
of her emotions. She feared if she stopped and stood still long enough to consider
the tidal wave that was about to come crashing over her world that very evening, her
true feelings would be exposed.

What were they, exactly? She could barely understand them herself. She cared for Joseph
deeply and could never have survived the past few months without his constant devotion
and unwavering understanding. He had done everything possible to ease her sorrows
and help her feel happy again.

She could not bear to hurt him. No, she would never do that. Not in a thousand years
would she throw him over again for the sake of a passionate affair that had been cursed
from the beginning.

At the same time, her heart was racing with both terror and uncertainty, for against
all odds, she was about to see Leopold Hunt again—when she had expected him to live
only in her memories for the rest of her life.

She was pulling on a new set of gloves when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder
and soft words in her ear. “Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps we shouldn’t go.
I will stay here with you if you prefer.”

Rose faced her husband. “That will not be necessary. I am over him, truly. It will
be awkward, that is all. We came here to represent Austria, and we must be present
at the duchess’s ball. Perhaps General Hunt will not even attend.”

She felt Joseph’s concerned gaze follow her as she strode purposefully to the door.

*   *   *

Rose and Joseph arrived at the ball just as a regiment of Scottish Highlanders took
to the floor to dance a reel to the traditional music of the bagpipes.

Afterward, Rose joined her husband in a waltz and tried not to be distracted by all
the scarlet uniforms of the British officers and the slightly darker crimson uniforms
of the Petersbourg army.

As her husband led her around the room, she resisted every temptation to look left
or right when they swirled past the crimson colors, for any one of those brave men
could have been Leopold.

When the dance ended, they each enjoyed a glass of champagne while the duchess addressed
the rumors that Napoleon had marched his army into Belgium that very night. According
to their hostess, they were not rumors, but facts. She was not even certain if Wellington
would arrive at the ball, though he had promised to attend.

Tension simmered in the air, as if at any moment cannon fire would erupt in the streets.
Each time a dance came to an end, half the guests expected the officers to draw their
swords and dash out the door.

Despite all that—or perhaps because of it—Joseph was exceedingly attentive the entire
night. For that reason, Rose had to sneak any wayward glances in the direction of
the officers from Petersbourg. She did not wish her husband to catch her searching
for General Hunt, but how could it be helped? They were on the brink of war and many
of these brave soldiers would soon be facing the famous French Imperial Guard and
the terror of oncoming mounted lancers.

Leopold
 … If she encountered him tonight, what would she say to him?

As the evening wore on, however, she began to relax, for there had been no sign of
him. Perhaps he knew she and Joseph were invited and did not wish to interfere in
her new life.

Or perhaps he was busy with his troops preparing for what lay ahead in the coming
days.

It was midnight when the Duke of Wellington finally strode through the doors, appearing
relaxed and confident, as if it were any other evening. His calm presence helped to
alleviate the tension in the room, but the exhale was short-lived, for not long after
the guests filed into the dining room, a messenger arrived to inform the duke that
Bonaparte had advanced on the nearby village of Charleroi and the Prussians had been
engaged in a skirmish.

A number of officers and dignitaries departed the ball soon afterward. Wellington
followed the Duke of Richmond into his study to inspect a map of the region.

By that time a low hum of panic had engulfed the ballroom and the guests began to
quickly clear out.

Rose found herself comforting Lady Brent, a woman she had just met that night. She
was the mother of a young officer who had dashed out of the ballroom in high spirits,
eager to meet Napoleon on the battlefield. In his excitement he had forgotten to say
good-bye to her.

“He is no doubt a very brave young man,” Rose said as she dug into her reticule to
offer the woman a handkerchief. “You have every reason to be proud.”