My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,74

sleep.

“Do you still believe he will be all right?” his mother asked, bending over to tuck the blanket just under the baby’s chin.

“You saw his nappy. It was perfectly normal, with no blood. He’ll be fine. He’s a fighter. It hurts so much, and yet he kept on trying to tell us, so we can make the pain stop. He hasn’t given up.”

“That’s true,” the princess said, brightening a little despite her fatigue. Then she added, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this worn-out in my life.”

“You must go to bed,” Philippa said. “Jonas will sleep for a few hours. And if he wakes up, I’ll give him some water. He still needs more water.”

There was a moment of silence. Then: “What was that you sang to him?” the princess asked.

“It’s an Italian song,” Philippa said. “Something about sunshine and courting and all that nonsense. Mother made me—” She stopped.

“You’re no nursemaid,” the princess stated. “You’re a lady. You sing in Italian, your mother prepared you for a debut, and your dress is quite nice—even though I think that shade of green isn’t quite right with your hair, which is beautiful, by the way.”

“I am a nursemaid,” Philippa said, feeling a pulse of desperation. “My family’s come down in the world, that’s all.”

“If that’s the case, why are you wearing a pearl pendant?”

“It was a gift from my mother,” Philippa said firmly. Her voice didn’t wobble because that, at least, was the truth.

“It must be a very recent family downfall. Because your shoes are lovely and not in the least worn-out. I have some just like them, and they’re made of Italian leather.”

Philippa looked down at her slippers. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be betrayed by the condition of her footwear.

She looked back up to find the princess grinning at her. “You’ve run away, likely from a loathsome marriage. Or no—you’re too young for that. A loathsome suitor. And, of course, you ran away to the castle. I’m sorry to say that the prince is already married to me, because otherwise you could have married him yourself, which would have been rather romantic.”

“Yes, it would have been,” Philippa said uncertainly. Then she added: “You should take a good rest now, Your Highness.”

“I suppose I could return to the south tower. I left my husband sleeping.” She bent over the cradle again. “Do you really believe that Jonas will get better? How on earth did you gain all this knowledge about babies? Has your family truly come down in the world?”

“I’d—well—”

“Whatever you tell me, I won’t be in the least shocked,” the princess said, with such a sweet smile that Philippa swallowed hard. “After my father died, my stepmother treated me abominably, so I gained all sorts of knowledge that I mightn’t otherwise have.”

“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