To Wed a Wicked Prince (24 page)

“Certainly you are,” he agreed calmly. “But I am its master. And as such the head of this household.”

Livia closed her eyes on a shuddering breath. She forced herself to remember her father’s words…his warning, she now knew it to have been. Nothing would be gained by an undignified war of words. “Tell me,” she said after a moment, her voice deceptively calm. “Just so that I am prepared in future incidents. In your country is it customary for a husband to ride roughshod over his wife?”

A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes. “Well, actually, my love, it is both customary and expected. Indeed the Russian church itself lays down very explicit rules on how a man should chastise a recalcitrant wife.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said somewhat uncertainly.

“It’s true,” he averred, the amusement now open on his face. “But I am only half Russian so I’m only half inclined to follow such precepts.”

“I don’t find any of this amusing,” Livia stated. “I can’t imagine why you’re laughing.”

“I’m laughing because you’re so angry and I am very, very sure that it would do neither of us any good for me to become angry too.” He held out his hands to her. “Come, Livia, let’s see if we can’t find a compromise here.”

She hesitated, but a little voice of common sense told her that to refuse the olive branch would achieve nothing. She knew some things, wonderful things, about this man who was her husband, but there were still acres of ignorance to conquer before she could say she knew him well. It was inevitable that she would discover things about Alexander Prokov that didn’t sit well with her. But if she couldn’t change them, then she would have to learn to live with them. Or she wouldn’t be able to live with him. And quite apart from the fact that it was a little late for that, she couldn’t now imagine life without him.

“Come,” he repeated, still holding out his hands, his gaze quiet but resolved. “Cry peace, and we’ll see what we can do to sort this out.”

She took his hands. “Peace, then,” she agreed. “But on two conditions that are not negotiable. I’ll not accept that Morecombe and the twins have outlived their usefulness. And they have said they’ll not take orders from anyone but me. By which I believe they mean they won’t take orders from Boris.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Will they take orders from me?”

Livia shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably. But that’s not the issue.”

“No, it’s not.” He released her hands and steepled his fingers against his mouth, frowning at her. “I doubt my cook will share his kitchen.”

She gave a short laugh. “He won’t have to. Ada and Mavis are adamant that they’ll not share
theirs.
”

“I am having certain difficulty finding the spirit of compromise here,” he said, and now there was an edge to his voice. “I’m doing my best and you’re not helping me, Livia.”

She folded her arms, accepting that he spoke only the truth. Her tone was more moderate as she said, “We’re talking about people, Alex. People with feelings. It doesn’t seem right to discuss them as if they were mere pawns on a chessboard. Is that how you treat servants in Russia?”

“Our servants are serfs,” he said. “And I admit on occasion they are treated very badly. But I do accept that things run differently elsewhere. So, as a first step I suggest you talk to Morecombe and the twins and see if they have their own ideas as to how to manage this dilemma.”

“And if between us we can come up with a suitable compromise you’ll support it?” she asked cautiously.

“If indeed it
is
suitable for all concerned, then I will certainly do so.”

“And if Boris proves hard to convince?”

“If you can convince
me
that any objections he may have are unfounded, then of course I will support you.”

Livia considered this. He was putting the onus squarely on her shoulders, but at least he was willing to consider her point of view, something she’d seriously doubted at the beginning of this interview. “Very well,” she said, and then added her own olive branch. “I do hate to quarrel, Alex…with
anyone.
But it’s particularly unpleasant to quarrel with you.”

He inclined his head in acceptance of what could be construed as an apology. He smiled and drew her into his embrace. “I didn’t realize what a fiery creature you are.”

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m not really. Oh, dear, what a tangle. It would have been so much simpler if we’d moved into
your
house, then I wouldn’t feel torn in this way.”

Alex said nothing to this.

L
IVIA UNFURLED HER OSTRICH-FEATHER
fan that matched the ostrich feathers in her hair and sighed with boredom. The antechamber to the Great Drawing Room in St. James’s Palace was crowded and hot, the air so thick with perfume and sweltering bodies that it was almost impossible to take a deep breath. Outside it was a chilly February afternoon, but in here it was as hot as a tropical rain forest. Wheels of candles blazed from the frescoed, gilded ceiling, the long windows were all tight shut, and massive log fires blazed from the fireplaces at either end of the chamber.

Her overheated discomfort was augmented by her elaborate court gown of heavy embroidered cream damask, and the ridiculous coiffure of nodding ostrich feathers that such occasions dictated.

“It won’t be long now,” Alex said, but without too much conviction.

Livia grimaced, glancing longingly towards the great double doors to the Drawing Room itself. They were manned on either side by two flunkeys in gold livery. Every half hour the doors would open and the set of newly presented debutantes with their sponsors would emerge and a majordomo would call out the names of the next group due for presentation to the queen.

She was a little long in the tooth for this ritual, Livia reflected with another grimace. If her mother had lived, she would almost certainly have presented her daughter herself once she reached debutante age, but Lord Harford, while he would have cheerfully acceded to his wife’s demand for the ritual protocol, saw no reason to encourage Livia to have a coming-out season if she wasn’t particularly interested. And she hadn’t been. But now, newly married as she was, she had little choice but to go through the ceremony if she and her husband were to have any real social position in society. There were many important events in the social calendar that only a properly presented debutante could attend.

“It’s ridiculous,” Livia muttered. “I don’t know why you insisted we go through this, Alex. I don’t mind being excluded from the royal box.”

He looked at her, mild exasperation in his blue eyes. “You’re my wife.
I
do not wish to be excluded from anything simply because you choose not to do what everyone else has done. It’ll be over soon and you’ll never need to endure it again.”

Livia sighed again, but she could see his point. She glanced around. “Oh, there’s Nell, thank goodness for that.” She raised a fan, waving it vigorously above the heads around her.

“Careful,” Alex warned as she jumped a little, standing on tiptoe, waving at Nell above the crowd. Her three-foot train swirled around the pedestal of a little gilt table, and just in time Livia twitched it aside.

Alex seemed serene and untroubled, although he had to be as hot as she was, Livia thought. He looked particularly elegant in the formal court dress of black silk knee britches, white waistcoat, long-tailed black coat, and diamond-buckled shoes. His high, starched linen cravat was not even wilting the tiniest little bit despite the moist and heavy atmosphere. Like every other man in the antechamber, he wore a dress sword.

“Oh, here you are.” Cornelia, deftly maneuvering her own elaborate hooped gown through the crowd, finally arrived at her side. “Isn’t this positively ghastly?”

“Appalling,” Livia agreed, kissing her friend’s cheek. “I was beginning to think maybe you’d managed to find an excuse not to attend.”

“I’m your sponsor, remember? I have to be here.” Cornelia fanned herself vigorously. “Good afternoon, Alex.” She gave him a friendly smile.

He bowed, returning the smile. “Your servant, Lady Dagenham.”

“Where’s Harry?” Livia peered across the throng.

“He’s escorting his aunt.” Cornelia chuckled. “No easy feat. The duchess’s skirts must be six feet across…ah, there they are.” She waved her fan to attract her husband’s attention.

Harry eased his great aunt, the duchess of Gracechurch, through the crowd towards them. Livia’s eyes widened at the extraordinary sight. Her Grace was dressed in a vast hooped skirt with side panniers. Her towering coiffure was an elaborately curled and pomaded white wig from which four ostrich feathers waved precariously. A short and somewhat stoutish lady at the best of times, this afternoon she resembled a squat galleon under full sail.

She raised her lorgnette and subjected Livia to an intent scrutiny. “Can’t think why you weren’t presented at the proper time,” she stated. “Your mother married Harford, didn’t she? Perfectly respectable connection, in fact more than respectable. The Harfords came over with the Conqueror, I believe.” She shook her head and Livia and Cornelia held their breath, afraid the entire edifice would come tumbling down. Miraculously, it stayed put.

Livia started to protest that her mother had only failed to do her maternal duty because she’d died before she could, but the duchess swept aside her polite protestations. “Harford turned himself into a churchman, I heard. Strange thing to do…all very right and proper for a younger son, but he was the oldest, heir to the earldom…not at all the thing. If everyone went around ignoring their duty, the world would come to an end.” She nodded decisively.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Livia murmured. She had met Harry’s formidable aunt often enough to know it was better to let her say her piece. Defense and protestations got one nowhere.

“So, you’ve married some foreigner, I understand,” the duchess announced, raising her lorgnette again. “So where is he?”

“You’ll find me right here, ma’am.” Alex stepped forward and bowed low, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Prince Alexander Prokov at your service.” He regarded her calmly while she examined him.

Finally she dropped her lorgnette. “Russian, eh? Aren’t we at war with you?”

“Yes,” Alex agreed simply.

It seemed to throw the lady off course. She stared at him for another minute or so, then turned to Harry. “Fetch me some negus, nephew. I’m parched. It’s hot as Hades in here.”

“At once, ma’am.” Harry winked at Alex and turned to look for a footman bearing glasses of refreshment.

A stir went through the crowd as the double doors opened and a group of ladies and gentlemen came out of the Drawing Room, looking for the most part relieved that the ordeal was done. The majordomo read a list of names from a scroll. “Her Majesty will receive Princess Prokov and Viscountess Bonham,” he intoned towards the end of the list.

“Thank God for that,” Cornelia muttered. “Ready, Liv?”

“Yes,” Livia said. “I just hope I don’t trip over the train and fall flat on my face.”

“Of course you won’t,” Cornelia said bracingly.

Livia merely raised her eyebrows and cast a speaking look at her husband, who smiled and fell in behind her as she followed Cornelia to the double doors.

Queen Charlotte was enthroned at the far end of the Great Drawing Room, a seemingly endless expanse of carpet between the double doors and her throne. The Prince Regent sat beside his mother, looking bored, one leg crossed casually over the other, his plump and florid countenance resting on his hand, elbow propped on the gilded arm of his throne.

Livia concentrated on her steps as she approached the royal presence. She had to keep her head up, her eyes on the queen, her posture straight as a ramrod, even while she managed her flowing skirts and train. Cornelia walked just a little ahead of her, in exactly the same manner. When they reached the throne, Her Majesty was pleased to offer a small smile.

Cornelia curtsied low and said clearly as she straightened, “Your Majesty, may I present the Princess Alexander Prokov, the daughter of Lord and Lady Harford.”

“We shall be pleased to welcome the princess,” the queen declared regally. Cornelia stepped aside and Livia took the necessary three steps forward. She curtsied to her knees and remained thus until the queen rose from her throne and bent to kiss her forehead.

Only then was she free to rise, make her curtsy to Prinny, who acknowledged it with a nod. She curtsied once more deeply to the queen and then walked backwards out of the royal presence to join Cornelia, praying that she wouldn’t catch her foot on her train as she held it to one side, praying that the ostrich feathers wouldn’t droop over her eyes and blind her.

Once her backward journey was accomplished without disaster, she relaxed a little, watching Alex make his low bow to the queen. He’d already been formally presented at court some months earlier, but a man must support his wife. Men had it so much easier, she thought, in this as in so many other things. They might have to manage a ceremonial sword, but a bow was much simpler to accomplish than a full curtsy, and you could walk backwards in knee britches a lot more easily than with a three-foot train and a full skirt. But at least it was over.

In the antechamber she took a glass of negus from a footman. She would have preferred a glass of iced champagne to this warm wine and sugared water, but since the one was not on offer, she would have to make do.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Alex said, coming up behind her. “And now you’ll never have to do it again.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have had to do it at all,” she stated, but she was smiling.

“Oh, Livia, are
you
here?” Letitia Oglethorpe materialized in a purple sarcenet gown, dripping with diamonds. Livia, who was fairly well bedecked herself, blinked at the dazzle flashing off Letitia’s tiara.

“Oh, my dear, have you just been presented?” Letitia exclaimed, taking in the cool color of Livia’s gown, the color of a debutante. “Goodness me…how quaint to be presented at your age.”

“So what brings you to the Queen’s Drawing Room, Letitia?” Livia inquired, ignoring all the previous comments.

“Oh, I’m sponsoring Oglethorpe’s dear little niece,” Letitia said, gesturing to a small, pale, brown-haired girl, who looked utterly terrified, and far too young for her regalia. “Agnes, Lady Livia…oh, my goodness, I was forgetting. You’re married, aren’t you, my dear? A quiet wedding is so easy to forget…you didn’t invite
anyone.
” She tapped Livia’s arm reprovingly with her closed fan. “I won’t tell you how offended we all were. So where’s this husband of yours? He’s a foreigner, I gather.” Her eyes were sharp with curiosity now, mingling with the habitual malice.

“Allow me to present my husband, Prince Prokov.” Livia indicated Alex, who was standing just behind her. He bowed, his face expressionless as he murmured, “Your servant, ma’am.”

Livia knew that Letitia was perfectly well aware of whom she’d married, and was dying with curiosity.

“Oh, my goodness,” Letitia trilled, bowing to Alex. “A prince, no less. Why, Livia, you have done surprisingly well for yourself.” She simpered, fluttering her eyelashes at Alex. “Why, goodness me, my dear, you’ll take precedence over all of us.”

“I doubt that, Letitia,” Livia said smoothly. “I’m sure you’re aware that Russian princes are ten a penny in their own country. Isn’t that so, Alex?”

Cornelia was buried behind her handkerchief, her shoulders shaking.

Alex bowed again, this time to his wife. “As you say, madam wife. The title is a mere bagatelle.” His eyes were dancing. It was quite clear that Livia was more than a match for this odious woman and he was happy to offer what assistance he could to the performance.

“Yes, indeed,” Livia said with a negligent shrug. “And it is rather vulgar, I think, to make much of such things. I’m sure you agree, Letitia.”

Letitia’s eyes narrowed. “So, will we be losing you to the barbarous steppes then, my dear Livia?” She gave an artful little shudder. “I hear it’s a savage and barbaric country…is that not so, Prince Prokov?”

“In parts,” he agreed. “But you would find little difference in the manners and general conduct at the court of St. Petersburg from those here.”

“Oh, then you disappoint me,” Livia said swiftly. “I find the manners here sometimes quite tiresome.” She smiled at Letitia. “If you’ll excuse me, Letitia, I see Lady Sefton. I must pay my respects.”

“Allow me, my dear.” Alex offered his arm. “Cornelia, may I escort you to your husband?” He offered his other arm and the three of them left Letitia to her own reflections.

“What an unpleasant woman,” Alex observed.

“An understatement,” Cornelia said. “I can handle Harry’s aunt, for all that she’s abominably rude, but Letitia…it’s the malice, I think. The duchess isn’t at all malicious, she just speaks her mind.”

“I like to think that Sophia Lacey was rather similar,” Livia said with a little smile. “Not one to mince her words.”

“What makes you think that?” Alex inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know, really. Something about that portrait over the fireplace that gives me that impression…”

“Not to mention the dining room fresco and the jelly mold,” Cornelia said with a chuckle. “Oh, there’s Maria Lennox waving to us, Liv. I wanted to ask her about that orchestra she employed for her ball last season. I was thinking I might use them myself.”

“When are you giving a ball?” Livia asked with interest, as they weaved their way through the throng towards Maria and the small group of women around her.

“In April, probably,” her friend said. “Harry seems to think that since we didn’t invite anyone to our wedding we should throw some kind of introductory celebration.”

“Doesn’t sound like Harry at all,” Livia observed.

Cornelia laughed. “No, I know it doesn’t. I suspect his great-aunt has something to do with it. She said something about how we need to avoid giving the impression that our marriage was a hole-in-the-corner affair…in the light of the old scandal, you know.”

Livia nodded her understanding. Harry’s first wife had died in rather awkward circumstances and the scandal had hung over him for a long time. It was one reason why he and Nell had eloped…that and the need to present the earl of Markby with a fait accompli before he could interfere in Cornelia’s guardianship of her children.

They reached the small group of chattering women and Livia’s attention was immediately taken up with the kisses and exclamations of congratulation on her marriage. When she could extricate herself, she looked around for Alex. There was no sign of him anywhere. Perhaps he’d gone for some fresh air. She gave a mental shrug and returned her attention to the question she had just been asked.