My eyes follow Catherine as she walks around, my son drowsing in her arms. She coos and ahhs at the newborn babe, a side of her seldom seen taking over.

I've long since gotten used to the warmth that comes over Catherine when there's a baby in the castle. I can hardly remember the last time we fought when we didn't see eye to eye, but it was certainly before I fell pregnant for the third time.

"Oh Mary, he looks just like Francis when he was born," Catherine says fondly, running her fingers over the baby's cheek. And it's true, he may be only days old, but I can already see the resemblance. Clearly in his fair hair, but even this early I think I can see it there in his nose, his little lips. "Except he has your eyes. Oh, how delightful!" She looks down at the baby, who's awakening from his slumber.

"Stuart eyes, just like his sister," Catherine says. She seems oddly proud of me these days. And there's something new to our relationship, ever since James was born years ago. I suppose it's an understanding that only mothers can share.

"Look at those eyes, those are some dark eyes," she tells my boy, who starts to gurgle adorably. "Yes, they are. Yes, they are!" she coos.

I fight to repress a smile. It is oh so amusing to see this side of Catherine, smiling and making silly faces at my son. I only wish Francis was here to see it, but he's gone to retrieve James from his nanny; Anne should be here any moment now, too. I decided to wait a few days before seeing them. The birth had taken its toll on me and I did not wish for my children to see me like that.

It's no sooner than I've thought this that the door of my chamber bursts open and a lively, dark haired little girl comes barreling in, her hopeless nurse behind her.

"Maman!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me with delight.

"Anne." I laugh, and gasp a little as I pick her up, still tender from the birth.

"Missed you," she says, tightening her little arms around my neck.

"Oh I missed you too, sweetheart," I tell her, and then pull away to kiss both of her cheeks. "Now, would you like to meet your brother?" I ask her.

She nods, and I set her down, regaining my breath. I take a seat on the long chaise and pat the empty space beside me, urging her to sit down.

Her forehead is twisted in a serious expression as she appraises the bundled up baby Catherine holds.

Catherine hands me my child, his big dark eyes awake and looking around. I could just look at him for a hundred years and never get tired.

"Here he is," I tell Anne, lowering my arms so she can meet her baby brother, who looks all around, awake.

"Are you sure it's a boy?" Anne asks finally.

"What?" I ask, chuckling. I can hear Catherine trying not to laugh behind me.

"Are you sure it's a boy?" she asks me again, her little features completely serious.

"Yes, darling," I affirm. "His name is Francis."

"See? Francis is a girl's name!" she tells me right away.

"Your Father's name is Francis," I feel necessary to point out, trying not to laugh. Catherine does not succeed.

My little girl seems to mull over this answer when the door cracks open, my husband and my son appearing in the doorway.

"Mama!" James immediately runs to my arms and I hug him to my side, taking care not to jostle the baby.

"Be careful, I'm holding your little brother." James' eyes are wide as he takes in the baby in my arms.

"Papa is it true?" Anne asks him right away, as he says hello to his mother.

"I shall leave you know," Catherine says, squeezing Francis' shoulder. And I notice something that looks an awful lot like tears in her eyes as she closes the door after herself. James siddles up next to me, eyeing the baby.

"Papa," Anne insists, pulling at the lapels of his doublet.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asks, picking her up.

"Papa, is it true?"

"What is?"

"That your name is Francis, because it's a girl's name," I tell him, raising my eyebrows. I'm almost certain he remembers how I used to bully him with it when whe were children, and by the way he raises his eyes brows, he does.

He kisses my lips quickly before taking a seat next to me, Anne in his lap.

"Yes, it is," he tells her.

"Oh," Anne looks odly dissapointed, "can I still call you Papa?"

"Of course." Francis laughs.

"He's small," James tells me, is finger just so touching the baby's closed fist.

"You weren't that much bigger when you were born either," I tell him. And he, more brave now, touches the fat little cheeks of his brother.

"Look at her hair," Anne says, running one of the sparse, thin blonde strands between her little fingers.

"Be very gentle, darling," I remind her, putting my hand over hers to make sure she doesn't pull. "And it's his hair. It's your brother."

"Can I teach him how to fight?" James asks excitedly.

"In a few years, James," Francis tells him.

"Me too!" Anne exclaims, not one to be left behind in anything her older brother partakes in.

"Of course," I say, smiling.

"I wanted a sister, Papa," Anne says, jumping down from his lap. "Can we change him?" she asks Francis and I, her little face ever so serious. James laugh behind his hand.

"No, Anne," I can see Francis is having a hard time keeping a straight face, and I elbow him softly. He regains his composture. "I'm afraid we can't change your brother."

She doesn't seem very happy about this fact, and peers down at the baby like he's a little bug. He looks up at her, his eyes following her around, and when she brings down her hand to poke him, the baby grabs her fingers in his little fist.

"See, he loves his big sister," I tell her, nudging her. I can see the beginnings of a fond smile on her lips.

"I guess he's all right."

Me and Francis exchange looks over our children's heads, as they talk to their baby brother. His thumb softly touches my cheek, a look of pure adoration in his eyes that still makes me catch my breath.

"It's very late," I say, the baby now sleeping peacefully in my arms, and Anne yawning.

"No," James complains. "Mama!"

"Shhh, you'll wake your brother," Francis reminds him, and he's quieter the next time.

"Not yet," James begs "My bed is...too hot! Yes, I can't even sleep."

"There's fire in mine!" Anne supplies helpfully, and I laugh.

"Oh, is there?" I ask, and James drags his hand down his face with exasperation, but Anne just nods seriously.

"Well, we can't make them go back to that, Francis," I say, and he appraises our children's faces before speaking.

"Why, of course not," he says and Anne and James smile slowly. I still think it's amazing, to have this little people we made, that are so alike and at the same time so different from us.

"Are you feeling well?" Francis asks me quietly, kissing my cheek.

"Yes," I assure him, squeezing his hand.

"What do you say we all stay with maman tonight?" he proposes to our children then, and the following loudness wakes the baby up, who begins to fuss in displeasure.

"I'm sorry, Francis," Anne says, patting the baby's belly softly.

"It's all right," I tell her, getting up. "Why don't you both go change into your night clothes with your father while I put the baby to sleep?"

They nod, and after a few minutes file outside the room after Francis.

"Shhh, Mama is here," I soothe. He's dry and he fed only a little ago so I do my best to calm him. I mumble something from the back of my throat, the melody of a french lullaby my nurses sang to me but I've long since forgotten.

After a few minutes, his eyes begin to droop again and his plump little mouth opens in a perfect "o" of a yawn.

"My sweet boy," I tell him, running my finger down his cheek. He grabs my finger firmly in his fist, and I bring it up to my mouth to kiss it over and over.

It still takes me by surprise, how incredibly happy I am, after all the heartache and hardships. After thinking I would never get this feeling, that I'd never have a beautiful little baby in my arms that's part Francis and part me. Yet here I am, and it takes my breath away.

I'm laying a sleeping Francis on his crib when his Father enters the room again, our other children in tow.

I put my finger up to my lips to signal for them to keep quiet, and James nods. He helps Anne climb on to the bed and they settle against the pillows, while Francis comes over to me.

"He didn't give you any trouble?" he asks me, treading his arms around my waist and kissing my forehead.

"No," I tell him, "I think this one will be easier, nothing like those two," I nod towards the bed.

"Mama!" James exclaims.

We laugh and make our way toward the bed.

"If this family keeps growing we're going to need a bigger bed," Francis says, getting under the covers on the opposite side of me.

I climb in as well, Anne instantly cuddling closer to me, already half asleep. Her small hand is warm on my neck.

"Goodnight, my darlings."

I look at Francis, wondering if he can feel that everything is right in the world as well as I can, and by the look on his eyes I know he can. He reaches for my hand across our children, and I intertwine our fingers together.

That's how I fall asleep, Francis' hand in mine, his thumb tracing soft circles that lull me into sleep. Our two eldest children sleeping between us and our youngest in his crib. It's easily the best sleep I've ever had.