Page 6 of A Problem Princess

The two ladies curtsied and left the room.

Cordelia let out a long sigh. She’d never been comfortable with all the fuss and bother her ladies-in-waiting and staff paid her, and lately they reminded her of a swarm of bothersome gnats.

“You look beautiful,” Marie, Comtesse de Marseille, assured Cordelia as she came up behind her. The comtesse looked past Cordelia’s shoulder at their joint reflections in the mirror, then swept a critical gaze over her from toes to tiara.

Cordelia nodded at the empty compliment, unable to summon a smile in return.

Marie placed her hands on Cordelia’s shoulders and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “You will win the hearts of everyone in attendance!”

It wasn’t hearts that mattered tonight. Not when it came to the royal dukes anyway. For those three men, it was a different body part entirely. With them, it was pen—

She bit her lip. Penance.

The comtesse lowered her mouth to Cordelia’s ear and murmured, as if sharing a deep secret, “I am so very proud of you and the woman you have become. Your dear parents would certainly have felt the same.”

Grief panged in Cordelia’s chest. Yet she smiled because it was expected, and she always did as expected. Her life was nothing if not bound by duty.

Oh, she liked Marie. Well…she liked her well enough. Marie’s mother had been Cordelia’s mother’s companion and most trusted friend. Marie was only a few years older than Cordelia, and the two had practically grown up together within the castle’s walls. Always kind, Marie had guided her through the pitfalls of life at the palace, and through the years she had become the closest thing to a sister Cordelia had. Cordelia had even served as maid of honor at Marie’s wedding when she married the Comte de Marseille.

Yet Cordelia never forgot the truth. For all Marie’s affections and concerns, the comtesse wasnother sister, and she remained at court only because Uncle Ernest allowed it. As such, Marie could never be completely trusted.

“You look so much like your mother,” the comtesse murmured. “The same fine bones, the same hair…” Her eyes softened as she rested her cheek against Cordelia’s as if they were both seeing her mother’s reflection instead of their own. “You even have the same little flecks of gold and green in your eyes.” She smiled at the memory. “When Prince Reginald met your mother, her eyes were the very first thing he noticed. He wanted to stare into them, but the only way he’d be able to do that was if he danced with her. So he asked her for a waltz. By the time the orchestra finished playing, the two of them were hopelessly in love.”

Cordelia’s chest ached at the familiar fairy-tale story. She missed her parents so much! She’d been only fourteen when they both died in a shipwreck, and their deaths came so unexpectedly that the entire country had been plunged into shock. Thank goodness she’d had Uncle Ernest and Aunt Wilhelmina to become her guardians. They loved her as if she were their own and showed her how to behave at court. At fourteen, what had she known about being a princess?

Attwenty-four, how little she still knew.

“Theirs was a true fairy tale,” Marie continued. “And who knows what life has in store for you, hmm?” She straightened one of Cordelia’s chestnut curls and smiled conspiratorially at her in the mirror. “Perhaps your heart’s prince will ask you to dance at the ball, too.”

Dread pinched Cordelia’s stomach. Oh, she was certain she’d be asked to dance by a prince, all right.Threeof them. Just as she was certain that her heart wouldn’t be in any of those waltzes.

“Try to enjoy yourself this evening.” Marie fussed with Cordelia’s necklace. “And remember that the British royals are your family.”

“Distantfamily.” So distant, in fact, that she’d had to consult the historical record to find their connection—and to discover if there might be any impediments to marrying one of them. Any possible impediments at all.

Unfortunately, her hopes at finding any had been dashed.

“Family is family,” a deep voice scolded gently from across the room. “Best to remember that while we’re here.”

Uncle Ernest entered without announcement or knocking. His gold chain of office bounced against his bright white waistcoat with each step he took. The gold medals pinned to the left side of his black jacket shimmered beneath the chandeliers and flapped in time with both his chain and jacket tails.

Good heavens…he looked like a jeweler in mourning. How had she never noticed before how grossly inappropriate those medals were when her uncle hadn’t served a single day in Monrovia’s military the way her father had? Before he inherited the crown, Uncle Ernest had been appointed secretary of war, but only because Cordelia’s father had been too busy running the country to also handle the day-to-day needs of the military. Her uncle had never been close to any battle, army or navy.

“Given our own family history,” he reminded her as he approached, “I would hate to think, in a time of grief, that any family member might draw such petty lines of demarcation.”

The comtesse smiled at his arrival and curtsied deeply.

Keeping her face carefully neutral at his chastisement, Cordelia rose slowly to her feet and turned toward her uncle. She folded her hands deferentially in front of her and nodded respectfully. “Uncle Ernest.”

“Uncle Monrovia.” He smiled with that mild correction. “While we are in England, you must address me formally.”

Cordelia parted her lips to question that, but after a sideways glance at the comtesse, who faintly shook her head, she knew not to argue. “Of course.”

“I came to check on you.” He rested his hands on Cordelia’s shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was the same gesture he’d done since she was a child.

She wished she could ask him to stop. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake! But she also knew how much Uncle Ernest cared for her and how hurt he would be if she did.

He took her chin in his fingers to tilt her head slightly from left to right as he inspected her. “Are you well?”