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princesses?
    â€˜Will I suit him, do you think?’ she asked in tremulous tones.
    She was twenty-seven years old and eager for a husband and children of her own. If she loved him well, mayhap he would no longer feel the need for a mistress.
    As if reading his niece’s mind, and being of a kindly nature – if a little hectoring at times – the Grand Duke came to put his arms about her. ‘Any man would be a fool not to appreciate your youthful loveliness. You are a handsome young woman, never forget it.’
    Marie gave a wry smile. ‘Handsome? I’d sooner be a beauty.’ She did not see herself as beautiful. Her oval face she thought pale and unremarkable, the nose rather too long, the chin too pointed. But she was of reasonable height and slender, with a shapely figure. ‘How can I compete with the late Duchess of Beaufort for whom the King must still secretly mourn? And his new mistress, the Marchioness de Verneuil.’
    â€˜Remember that whatever affections have gone before in Henry’s life, you must ignore them. You are a Medici, and the daughter of the Archduchess Joan of Austria. Be proud of that.’
    She looked up at her uncle, all the pride she felt in her heritage and her Italian blood gleaming in her dark, shining eyes. Besides, she longed to please him as he had improved her life exponentially since his accession. ‘Oh, I am proud, I am.’ Even as a small child her beloved mother had taught her to lift her chin high and walk with assurance in every step.
    â€˜You will be queen, and therefore have no need to compete with anyone. You possess the proper dignity and presence, have inherited your dear mother’s pretty Hapsburg mouth, as well as her soft brown hair and porcelain complexion. And from your father, my wayward brother Francesco, his intelligence and confidence, though not his cold, unfeeling nature, praise God. Were your parents still with us, I believe they would be proud of you this day.’
    Marie smiled with warm affection, grateful for the care her uncle gave her, while privately acknowledging that her neglectful father had never shown the least pride in her. Following the death of her mother he’d dispatched her to the Pitti Palace in Florence, just days from her fifth birthday, where she’d spent a sad and lonely childhood. But it was surely true that her intellect was quick and cultivated, thanks to the excellent education she and her half-brother, Antonio, had been given by the formidable Donna Francesca. Marie had particularly loved the arts and poetry, and developed a gift for languages. She’d loved to walk in the Boboli Gardens, created by her grandfather, Cosimo. But if she did not suffer fools gladly, wasn’t that only right and proper in a royal princess?
    She became aware that the Grand Duke was still speaking, offering her his valuable counsel, as he so loved to do.
    â€˜You must remember to exercise restraint and learn to submit to the King’s will. Keep your thoughts private and your temper cool.’
    â€˜You know that I am not hot-tempered, Uncle, but I shall expect to be treated with respect, my opinions listened to.’
    Ferdinand gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘I’m sure that will be the case, so far as state affairs allow. I know that you are ambitious, my dear, which is a natural family trait and necessary in any would-be queen, but do not be impatient, or too impulsive, which can result in poor judgement.’
    Marie frowned. ‘I will not be his cipher by saying and doing nothing to displease him. I am as royal as Henry, and a true marriage should be a partnership.’
    â€˜Indeed, in an ideal world that would most certainly be the case. Sometimes life is not quite as perfect as we would like it to be. Henry is a good man with an easy nature, one who loves women but is also desirous of a pleasant domestic life. If you can but be tolerant of his flaws, you will do well