“Which is ridiculous, because there’s no way anyone could mistake me for a man,” she muttered, glancing down to where her front was quite obviously not that of a male. “I think they’re getting bigger.”

Julia considered the offending bosom. “I don’t think so, dear. They look just the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re around them all the time.” Dagmar gave her front one last dark look. “But my green gown is going to have to be let out again, else I’ll pop out of the bodice. Where was I? Oh, yes, the Bible. Well, it may not be in there, but it should be.”

“I’m sure you’re correct. Did you not hear me mention that there was a drunkard in the garden?”

“Yes, I heard you.”

A slight pause followed, ending when Julia said, in a flustered, breathless manner, “Do you not think anything of this?”

“Not particularly. Well, to be honest my first thought was to answer, ‘When wasn’t there a drunkard in the garden’ but I realized that we haven’t been blighted with over-many garden drunkards in years past, so I decided to keep it to myself.”

“But…but…” Julia waved a hand in one of her vague gestures of mild distress.

Dagmar took pity on her. “Is this man doing any harm?”

“No, but he’s lying right out in the open, where anyone who ventures into the garden might see him.”

Dagmar dismissed him from her thoughts. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have more pressing concerns than some silly man who had imbibed too much and stumbled into their garden. “Don’t let it distress you. He’s probably sleeping off a night at the tavern and will leave once he wakes up.”

“But he might be injured or worse!”

“What’s worse than injured?” Dagmar asked absently, wondering how best to put her situation before her blighter of a cousin.

“Dead!”

“Ah. Excellent point. Why don’t you go check and see if he’s dead while I finish this?”

A blissful silence followed Julia’s departure. Dagmar dipped her quill and continued.

—destitute and orphaned cousins who are due your protection, but if you want to spurn God right to his face and damn your eternal soul, then that’s your choice. I, as an innocent and did I mention destitute and orphaned young princess of your own blood, albeit one that is somewhat distant relationship-wise if Dearest Papa’s genealogical chart is correct, will simply have to throw myself on the mercy of the king, your father, our beloved monarch and supreme ruler. I’m sure he will not turn his back on his own family and throw me out of the only home I’ve ever known, especially since I am still in mourning for Dearest Papa.

All too quickly, Julia was back. “He’s not dead.”

“Good, good.”

“He refuses to wake up, however.”

“Ah.”

Julia wrung her hands for a few seconds. “Oughtn’t you to come see him for yourself?”

“I’ve never really found high entertainment value in gazing upon insensible drunkards, so I believe I will stay here and finish this. How do you spell misanthrope?”