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was a conversation repeated every morning.
    Small wonder she is so bored.
    When the Baroness reached fifty, she stopped brushing to knead her arthritic fingers.
    Liza reached out. “Baroness, I can help.”
    The Baroness struck Liza’s hand hard with the back of the brush. “I am the only one who brushes the Princess’s hair.”
    Rubbing her stinging hand, Liza choked on her indignation. Never in all her life had she been struck. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. This girl, with sad, green eyes and red cheeks like splashes of paint on her pale skin, was a stranger.
    Victoria gave Liza a small sympathetic smile. To her own surprise, Liza’s spirits rose.
    The Princess’s morning toilette complete, the Baroness led the way to the schoolroom, where she had interviewed Liza the day before.
    At the top of the narrow stairs, the Princess stopped and held out her arm.
    Liza paused, unsure what to do. “Your Highness?” she asked.
    “Take my arm,” the Princess said, her face scarlet with mortification. “I’m not permitted to walk down the stairs alone.”
    Sixteen years old and not permitted to descend stairs alone?
    “Victoria, you cannot take the slightest risk,” the Baroness said over her shoulder.
    Liza took the Princess’s arm, trying to convey her support and sympathy with her eyes.
    A solitary breakfast sat waiting for Victoria on the school table. While the Princess wolfed down her eggs and sausages, Liza stood in the corner trying not to think about food.
    “Victoria, don’t gobble your breakfast,” the Baroness said, sipping her second cup of unsweetened tea.
    “But it’s delicious.” Victoria shoved another sausage through her cupid’s bow lips.
    “Princesses should not be greedy. It reflects badly on their upbringing—and on their waistline.”
    The Princess put down her last sausage, gazing at it longingly. Liza stared too; her breakfast had been flavorless porridge and lukewarm tea. Her stomach made a long growling sound. The Princess giggled.
    “Liza, why don’t you have the sausage?” Liza stepped forward, only to be stopped short by the Baroness’s scandalized expression.
    “Victoria, what are you thinking? Your maid cannot eat with you!”
    Liza slunk back to the corner.
    “I don’t see why I can’t give away my own breakfast,” the Princess muttered.
    Click-clack. The Duchess arrived, dressed in an elaborate morning gown of mauves and pinks in a riotous bouquet of bows and silk flowers.
    “Good morning, Victoria.”
    “Good morning, Mama.”
    “I expect to hear good reports from your tutors. What are you doing today?” The Duchess looked at Baroness Lehzen who answered quickly.
    “The customary schedule, Your Grace. At half past nine, geography, at half past ten, history, and the rites of the Church of England at half past eleven.”
    The Princess sighed. “I hate the Kensington System. It is the bane of my existence. Why can’t Sir John ever let me rest?”
    The Duchess frowned. “Sir John and I have designed the Kensington System to prepare you for your destiny. Parliament and the bishops think very highly of it.”
    “But, Mama,” the Princess wailed, “I never have any time to myself. I never have any fun.”
    “Time enough to have fun when you are grown, with the responsibilities of the nation on your shoulders.”
    Liza noted the Princess accepted the Duchess’s ridiculous reasoning without question.
    “Mama, you get to visit friends and go into town. Why can’t I? I’m sixteen!”
    “Victoria, your ingratitude pierces my heart. After all the sacrifices I’ve made for you!” The Duchess waited, tapping her foot, but the Princess only sighed. Finally, the Duchess nodded to Lehzen to continue the schedule.
    “At two o’clock,” the Baroness said in a monotone, “arithmetic, and at three o’clock, languages: Greek and Latin, followed by an hour of conversation in French.”
    “Excellent. Work hard, my dear. I must dress to visit the