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“Richard, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can! Plenty of my comrades were maimed in the war. You won’t be the only invalid in the country. Be brave, man!”

Put in that context, Darcy realised how self-centred and prideful his thoughts had become. A tiny “Very well” escaped his lips.

Having gained his point, Richard continued pacing but sought to change the subject. “What of the princess?”

“She is here. She has signed the papers. The dowry is everything they said it would be. I have not seen her since I became ill.”

“And what is she like?” asked Richard, wishing every devilment upon his brother. “Is she as fat as an ox? As ugly as a toad?”

“Ohhhh!” said Darcy, becoming more animated, a small smile hovering on his lips. “I will not spoil the surprise. You must see her for yourself!”

“That bad, eh? Ha, ha! Robert is so richly deserving of his fate! I shall enjoy myself hugely at the wedding! In fact, I will bring my whole regiment!”

Darcy laughed, and on that happy note, Richard declared he would retire to clean himself before lunch and return as soon as he might.

Giving his cousin’s shoulder a squeeze, Colonel Fitzwilliam let himself out of the room and ran down the steps to seek out the concierge; to discover which room he had been lodged in. When a well-dressed lady appeared on the landing below him, he skirted to the right to let her pass. He touched his hat, which he had rammed back onto his head to cover his greasy hair, but he did not engage her eyes or give her more than a cursory glance. When that had been sufficient to establish that she was a very good-looking woman, Richard wisely decided not to draw attention to himself in his dishevelled state.

But the lady did not co-operate. She had immediately perceived a resemblance in the man she encountered coming down the stairs to the miniature she had been given. It was not great—something about the eyes—but miniatures were hardly known for their accuracy. Almost certain that she would likely be denied admittance to Mr Darcy’s apartments again, she decided to take a chance.

“Excuse me, are you Viscount Robert Fitzwilliam?”

Richard stopped dead in his tracks and stared into the woman’s grey eyes. She was very beautiful—so beautiful, that he had to tear his gaze away from hers. Then he appreciated that although their eyes were level, she was standing on the step below him. With the realisation that the woman who had detained him was gigantic, came the certainty that he was looking at his brother’s betrothed.

He could not help a smirk from forming on his lips, but he quickly changed it to a smile of pleasant affability.

“Do I have the pleasure of addressing Princess Brunhilda von Wolfbach?”

“Yes,” said Hilda, returning his smile with warmth. Her eyes had quickly taken in the colonel’s slightly grubby uniform and greasy hair before settling on his unremarkable face. In an instant she had assessed his character. No truly bad person could have such a careworn crease on his brow, nor transform his face instantly into such a genuine smile. She was saved! The viscount, whatever his faults, had a soul!

“Then, forgive me for my dishevelled state,” Richard said, taking the princess’s gloved hand. He marvelled at its size—almost as large as his own—before bestowing a light kiss on the back of it. “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the viscount’s younger brother.”

The hope that had swelled in the princess’s heart quickly evaporated.

“Oh!” said Hilda, unable to completely hide her disappointment.

Chapter 26: All is fair

Having weighed the various constraints, Richard and Darcy had agreed to leave Vienna as soon as practicable. Against his continued weakness and the fact that the staples remained in his head, Darcy considered Georgiana’s potential anxiety the deciding factor. Although the earl had undertaken to keep news of Darcy’s illness from his niece, Richard knew his father was hopeless at subterfuge. Having never had the need for concealment—the earl did what he liked when he liked—his father was likely to let the cat out of the bag the first time he was questioned. Georgiana expected her brother back from Europe around Christmas.

On the other hand, Dr Freud could give no timetable for Darcy’s recovery or even assurances that he would ever do so. Richard had every reason to expedite the trip—while ignorant of the details of his father’s financial affairs, he knew some exigency demanded early receipt of the princess’s dowry. Besides, he needed to get back to his regiment. He was already likely to face his major-general’s wrath. So, with Dr Freud’s consent, it was decided they would return to England by water, retracing Darcy’s original voyage, which mode of transport would afford Darcy the most comfort.

The journey started well enough when Mr Trevor was able to engage the Baden once more for the trip up the Danube. The captain was glad to have Mr Trevor’s custom a third time, expressing his sympathies that their party had been split by illness when Darcy was spirited aboard on a stretcher. He naturally assumed that the cold that kept Darcy cabin-bound on the forward voyage had descended to his lungs, and nobody disabused him of this notion. The captain knew Princess Brunhilda by reputation. When she was escorted aboard by a robust English colonel with an enviable moustache, the master of the Baden quite understandably concluded that the princess was finally about to get hitched. Awed by her dimensions, which he had thought must be exaggerated by common repute, the diminutive captain went off to the wheelhouse muttering that she was a ‘verdammt feine Frau!’ He would not have refused to marry her, even though she towered over him by a good foot!

The admiration of the crew for Brunhilda as they boarded did not escape Richard, who pulled himself erect and enjoyed every moment being the satellite of their attention. Darcy’s valet had washed Richard’s hair and cleaned his uniform. With his sword by his side, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt himself a worthy escort for the princess. He was, of course, aided in inches by his hat and by the princess’s habit of favouring flat shoes and veils rather than the towering, feathered hats beloved by the fashionable Bingley sisters.

Thus, they set off up the Danube. Although they had taken along the wheeled chair that Dr Freud had procured, Darcy was unable to sit for long on deck, spending most of the trip in his cabin. Wheeled to the stern deck twice a day to take the air, Darcy could not endure much more than half an hour sitting there before retiring exhausted. In his cabin, he tried sitting up in his bed for spells, being hauled to that position every second hour by Finn and Mr Trevor. In between times, Finn massaged Darcy’s legs and tried to get his master to push against his hands as the doctor had suggested, while Mr Trevor read aloud from the newspaper. Mr Trevor was relieved that Darcy’s fits of temper had abated since leaving the hotel, believing the earl’s nephew had accepted his infirmity and was glad to be returning to England. But Finn took no comfort in his master’s subdued demeanour, correctly ascribing Darcy’s quietness to despondency.

With Finn and Mr Trevor spending much of their time attending Darcy, Richard found himself frequently in company with the princess, with only her maid, hovering at a discreet distance, to act as chaperone. The colonel soon discovered his future sister-in-law had spent her childhood following her father across the battlefields of Europe. They fell to exchanging reminiscences of their experiences: his, of the Peninsula War; and hers of the Italian campaign against France, followed by Napoleon’s Ulm Campaign and the Battle of Austerlitz where her father had fallen. Richard was intensely interested in any details of the battles she could share, listening attentively to everything Hilda said. Of course, his interest was most intent on Austerlitz, considered to be the most tactically brilliant battle of Napoleon’s career. Although he was unwilling to question her on such a sensitive topic, Hilda talked willingly enough once she detected Richard’s curiosity. She only had fond memories of her childhood, moving about constantly with her father and his troops in Italy. Her last memory was of him riding out confidently in the morning before the shambles of the allied defeat. His troops had been cut off from the main forces; his coffin closed at the service in Vienna. A part of her had always appreciated that he might not return one day, even though, as a commander, he was not generally in the thick of it. Six years had been enough to assuage the grief of her loss. For Napoleon, she only had a soldier’s admiration. Her father had talked of him frequently. She had travelled with Tilly to the signing of the treaty in Pressberg in the hope of seeing the great man himself. But only Talleyrand had appeared.

By the third day of their voyage, Richard had begun to have his own health problems. Although most of the saddle sores on his inner thighs had resolved, some on his backside had not, and he feared they were getting worse. He deeply regretted leaving England without pulling on a pair of buckskin breeches under the trousers of his uniform. When the princess noticed his hesitancy in seating himself on the deckchair that morning, she was so bold as to enquire as to the source of his discomfort. When he shamefacedly admitted his ailment, Hilda was quick to chastise him.

“This will not do at all! You must do everything possible to get rid of them before they fester!”

“I have had them many times before and they have gone away eventually.”

“Nonsense. They should be treated immediately. I will make you a poultice. How large is the area?”