“My uncle is a doctor,” Philippa found herself explaining. “I used to visit him and my aunt for a month at a time, and I always begged him to take me along on his rounds.”

“If you were a man, you’d be a doctor,” she said, nodding. “Sometimes I feel that, as women, we have the short end of the stick.”

“Exactly,” Philippa agreed. “If I were a man, I’d be a doctor, and no one could tell me what to do. I would choose—” She broke off.

“Oh, you did flee from someone awful,” the princess said, with evident delight. “Do you want to boil him in oil, or is it even worse than that?”

She was so charming that Philippa couldn’t help smiling back, but just then the princess gave a huge yawn.

“You really must sleep, Your Highness,” Philippa said. “Jonas is going to cry a great deal. Every time he’s fed, in fact, and much of the time in between, and that might go on for months. At the least, several more weeks, given his age. We must make certain that you eat and sleep sufficiently. I can hold Jonas, but I cannot feed him.”

“I’m Kate,” the princess said, yawning again.

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can,” she said. “I want to hear all about the troll of a man you’re fleeing, but I think I will go to sleep for a bit. What did you say your name was?”

“Miss Damson,” Philippa said desperately.

“Really, Miss Damson, you and I just stood shoulder to shoulder and examined my son’s nappy. I’m Kate, and you’re—”

“Philippa,” she said, defeated. “But it just doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“Nonsense. We’re all strange birds here in the castle. There’s Wick, of course, and I was something of a maid-of-all-work to my stepmother for years before Gabriel came along and tried to make me into a princess.”

“Tried?” Philippa asked, just stopping herself from inquiring what Kate meant by There’s Wick, of course. “By all indications, you are a princess,” she pointed out.

“It didn’t take,” Kate said, with another huge yawn. “Princesses swan about in satin-lined carriages. What’s more, everyone knows that when a princess has a child, it has a rosebud mouth and sunny blue eyes. Whereas I have birthed the ugliest baby in all Christendom.”

“He’s not that ugly,” Philippa said, feeling defensive on behalf of poor little Jonas.

“Yes, he is,” his mother said, leaning back over the cradle. She put a finger on his nose. “A little potato here.” His eyes. “Currants are bigger than his eyes.” His mouth. “Well, his mouth isn’t bad. But have you ever seen a baby open his mouth wider or make such a frightful noise?”

“Never,” Phillipa said truthfully. “You return to bed, and I’ll bring you the baby after your nap.”