Also in her favor, she was perfectly at home at court. She had carried off her introduction to the king with impeccable grace, neither intimidated nor overbold, and His Majesty had clearly been pleased with her. A wife who was looked kindly upon by the king and was in the confidence of the dauphine would be a significant asset.
He decided to withhold judgment until he'd learned a little mote of her. When the royal party finally took themselves off to bed, he went over to his bride, who was talking with or rather listening to an elderly duchess in full monologue.
"If you'll excuse me, madame, I must take my wife away."
Cordelia looked up at the slightly nasal voice at her shoulder, and for a second her relief at this rescue was clear in her eyes. But immediately she dropped her gaze as relief at one rescue merely heralded the moment she'd been dreading all evening. What would happen now?
Would her husband expect some physical intimacies? The thought of as much as a kiss made her shudder.
"Ah, yes, I wouldn't keep you from your wife, Prince." The duchess unfurled her fan, saying with a malicious smile, "It's well known how a young bride can enliven the energies of a man a little… past his prime, shall we say?"
Prince Michael merely bowed, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "I bid you good night, madame."
Cordelia curtsied to the duchess and stepped back to take her husband's arm. "What a witch!" she said.
"What did you say?" Michael couldn't believe his ears. He looked around to see if the outrageous comment could have been overheard.
"I said she was a witch," Cordelia repeated, seemingly unaware of her husband's shock. "What a nasty, malicious thing to say… to both of us."
"Are you accustomed to using such language in Vienna?" he demanded frigidly.
"Oh." Cordelia realized her mistake. She seemed to have started on the wrong foot. "I do beg your pardon, sir. I'm afraid I tend to be somewhat outspoken." She offered him a rueful smile.
"That is a tendency you will learn to control, my dear," he stated, clearly unmoved by the smile. "And you will learn too that the duchess's malice is minor compared with most at Versailles. If you pay heed to it, you will be a laughingstock. I assure you I will not tolerate that in my wife."
This harshness was so unexpected, so severe, she couldn't keep the shock and dismay from her eyes as she continued to look up at him, the smile fading slowly from her face.
Michael watched her discomfiture with satisfaction, noting that her blue-gray eyes were actually quite lovely, made even more so by her distress. His loins stirred faintly.
In horror, Cordelia recognized the dawning of desire in her husband's eyes. It was an expression she had learned to distinguish in the last year, since her position at court had changed from child to debutante and she'd become the focus of attention for many a young courtier. But what she saw in her husband's suddenly desirous gaze gave her the shivers. There was a ruthlessness to this hunger.
"You understand me," he said.
Only too well. Cordelia nodded. "You make yourself very clear, my lord."
"Good. And so long as you hear me as clearly, then we shall get along very well. Come, I will escort you to our apartments." The prince took her hand and tucked it firmly beneath his arm. Cordelia wondered sickly if he was about to satisfy his sudden appetite.
"Will you be playing at cards tonight, my lord?" The noise from the card rooms flanking the salon indicated that the usual inveterate gamblers were settling in for the night.
"No, not tonight," he said curtly, parading her through the salon, nodding and smiling his asp's smile from side to side as he met familiar greetings. "Tomorrow will be a long day. The king has graciously suggested that we solemnize our marriage in the private chapel of the Hotel de Ville in Paris."
"I understood you to say it would be a very quiet ceremony." She would not let him detect the tremor in her voice as she fought to control her panic. She wasn't ready for her wedding night. Not tonight. She had prepared herself to endure it on the morrow, but she couldn't possibly face it unprepared.
"It will be. Just Viscount Kierston and a few close friends."
"And your daughters?"
"Good God, why should they be present?" He looked genuinely astonished at such a suggestion.
"I had thought it perhaps appropriate," Cordelia said. Obviously she'd made another error.
"Absolutely not," he stated with finality, opening the door to Cordelia's chamber. "They will be waiting at the house to pay their respects to you."
Cordelia pulled a wry face, averting her head as she stepped past him into the room. It didn't sound as if it would be a warm and encouraging moment of introduction. The prince moved inside after her, closing the door at his back. The wave of queasiness broke over her again. But surely he wouldn't do anything in front of Mathilde.
Mathilde rose from her chair, where she'd been mending a torn flounce on one of Cordelia's gowns, and curtsied to her new master.
"You're the princess's maid, I understand."
"Yes, my lord. Mathilde. I've looked after my lady since she was a babe." Mathilde was the picture of anxious subservience as she curtsied again. There was no sign in this humble maid of the assertive woman whom Viscount Kierston knew. But both she and Cordelia knew that if Mathilde didn't find favor with Prince Michael, he could cast her out of his household without compunction.
"Mathilde was my wet nurse."
Michael frowned. "You need an abigail well versed in the fashions of the court. An elderly wet nurse is hardly an appropriate attendant for the wife of the Prussian ambassador."
Cordelia thought quickly. "It must be as you please, my lord," she said, trying to sound softly submissive. "You know better than I, of course. But Mathilde was in great favor with the empress Maria Theresa. She has often attended the dauphine and was in the empress's confidence."
Michael considered this. While they were a long way from Vienna, it was well known that Maria Theresa had ears and eyes in every court. It wouldn't do for an ambassador to offend the empress of Austria even in such a slight matter as the disposition of an elderly maidservant. "Well, we shall see how she works out. If necessary, I will employ a proper abigail for you, and your nurse can work under her as laundress and seamstress."
Cordelia glanced at Mathilde, whose expression was completely impassive as she remained in a deep curtsy. "I'm sure you will find Mathilde is as well versed in the duties of a lady's maid as any other, sir."
Michael looked annoyed at this persistence. "I will be the best judge of that. I doubt either of you know exactly what's required of such a position at Versailles. How could you, indeed?" He gestured to Mathilde. "Put your mistress to bed, woman, and send me word when she's prepared."
Cordelia's palms dampened.
"Be quick about it," he instructed, then turned on his heels and stalked from the room.
"I'm not prepared tonight, Mathilde." Cordelia paced the room with agitated step. "I don't think I could bear him to touch me tonight."
"You'll bear what comes your way, like women before you and those that'll come after," Mathilde stated calmly. "But I don't believe the prince will take you tonight. He's a man who goes by the book." She began to unhook Cordelia's gown.
"How do you know that?" Cordelia stepped out of her petticoat.
Mathilde shrugged, her fingers busy with Cordelia's laces. "There's much I know, dearie, that doesn't need the telling. But I'll say this. I don't care for that man. There's something underneath that we'd best watch out for."
"Like what?" Cordelia reached up to unpin her hair. Mathilde was adept at sensing what people tried to conceal about themselves, and her intuitive insight was always enlightening.