Anne had had every intention of doting on her younger daughter. Really, she had. After all, the poor girl was losing out on the crown of Scotland just because she'd never been expected. Indeed, she'd been so unexpected that she and James had never even considered making any provision for her. The least she could expect in recompense was her mother's love.
But it was so hard to love Arabella. All the baby ever seemed to do was eat – which Anne couldn't help her with, having bound her breasts as all Queens did – and cry. And not just whimpers either, but full-scale roars of tyrannical displeasure that hammered at Anne's temple and shredded her nerves within minutes. Even if she tried to soothe Arabella, before long, the memories of those dark days at Ludlow, the days when she'd been Princes
