To Wed a Wicked Prince

by Jane Feather

  Well, it had to stop.

  She was halfway down the stairs to the hall when an ecstatic frenzy of yapping came from the kitchen and then Tristan and Isolde burst into the hall. They hurled themselves at the stairs and raced up to her, nearly knocking her over. She sat on the stairs rather than risk falling and let them climb into her lap. They curled and licked in a frenzy of welcome.

  Alex heard the noise from the library and sighed. Tatarinov looked startled.

  “My wife’s dogs,” Alex explained. “They haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “Oh.” His visitor didn’t look as if he found the explanation reasonable. “Nevertheless, I must congratulate you on your arrangement.” He swept an arm in a gesture that encompassed the room. “A wife and such a house…and all so easily and expeditiously accomplished. It’s an honor to work with you, Prince Prokov. I have no doubt that we shall succeed in our endeavors.” Tatarinov rose from his chair. “I’ll be about our business, then. The others need to know that you’re back in town.”

  “Word will get around soon enough.” Alex got up from behind his desk. “But you might hasten it along.”

  “Of course. And your army contact will be easy to reach.”

  “Good. Have you sufficient funds for the present?”

  “For the present,” Tatarinov said.

  Alex nodded. “Come to me when you’re in need.” His role as paymaster was the easiest of his many roles in this hydra-headed business. He frowned suddenly. “What news of Arakcheyev’s surveillance? I’ll lay odds no one was watching me while I was in the country. Have they given up yet?”

  The other man shrugged. “As far as you’re concerned, yes. Michael Michaelovitch vouches for you.”

  Alex whistled softly. “I knew Michael was looking to make sure I was diligent in the czar’s service, but I didn’t think he would actually be in contact with Arakcheyev’s secret police.”

  Tatarinov nodded. “I don’t think he likes getting his soft white hands dirty with such company, quite frankly, but he’s under orders from the czar to cooperate with the police, and he’s nothing if not an obedient subject.” This last was accompanied by a derisive curl of his lip.

  Alex nodded. “That’s certainly true. I’ll keep him sweet, then. It’ll be easy enough to keep him convinced that I’m doing my assigned task for the czar. Are they watching any of the others?”

  Another shrug and Tatarinov said, “Sperskov interested them for a while. His fondness for the ladies is thought to be rather suspect, but I don’t think they seriously think he’s anything more than a libertine. And he’s certainly doing his best to reinforce that assumption. As for the others…they’re keeping an eye on them, but I don’t think there’s much to worry about, at least at the moment. But if that changes, you’ll be the first to know, Prince.”

  “That is indeed a comfort.” Alex pulled the bell rope for Boris.

  The dogs renewed their frantic barking as Boris escorted the visitor across the hall to the front door. Frowning, Alex went into the hall. Livia was sitting on the stairs halfway down, smothered in wriggling dogs. She was holding them securely, however, as they struggled to free themselves.

  “Livia, for God’s sake, get off the stairs. It’s so indecorous. And do try to quieten those damn dogs.”

  Livia stood up, tucking a terrier under each arm. “You and I need to talk, Alexander Prokov.”

  To Alex’s puzzlement she was radiating outrage as she came down the stairs, still clutching Tristan and Isolde. Her voice was cold and the soft contours of her countenance had hardened in some way. The sensual lover of the dawn was gone as surely as the night that had ushered it in.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” he asked.

  “You know quite well,” she declared. “Shall we go into the library or the parlor?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t mind in the least. Since I have no idea what this is all about, I’ll leave it to you to choose the most suitable venue.”

  Livia looked at him sharply. Could he genuinely be unaware of what was upsetting her? She turned to the parlor, opened the door, and sent the dogs into the room, closing the door firmly behind them. “We’ll talk in the library.”

  “As you please,” he said with a courteous bow. “Please…” He gestured she should precede him.

  Livia stalked into the room, the flounce of her green crepe morning gown swirling at her ankles. She turned to face him as he closed the door quietly. “I understood we had agreed to discuss the disposition of the staff,” she said without preamble. “And yet I find that on your instructions Boris has told my people that their services are no longer required. They’re too old to fit into the new regime.” Her voice shook a little as her outrage grew. “You didn’t have the elementary courtesy even to pretend to consult me.”

  “Oh, dear,” Alex murmured. “If Boris did indeed say such a thing to Morecombe, and I am by no means convinced he did, then he was exceeding my instructions. I assumed it would come much better from you.”

  “You expect me to turn off Sophia’s servants?” She stared at him. “But I explained to you, Alex, that I would not go against Sophia’s will.”

  He sighed. “I don’t expect you to turn them off, exactly. But I do expect you to find some satisfactory compromise that will enable them to stay on here if they wish but that will keep them from interfering in the work of my household.”

  “Your household?” She took a deep breath, trying to hold on to a temper that she rarely lost. “And what of mine, Alex? I am the mistress of this house.”

  “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.

  Chapter Seventeen

  LIVIA 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. I
t’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.