‘Well, mostly right.’ Cath rose up on to one elbow. ‘The Joker gathered everyone in the great hall?’
Mary Ann nodded. ‘He was very calm about it, while the King was . . . well, you know how he is.’ Her lips stretched into a smile. ‘Or shall we say, your sweetheart?’
‘We certainly shall not.’ She collapsed backward again. ‘I’m exhausted thinking about it.’
Mary Ann laughed. ‘Oh yes. It must be tiresome, being a favourite of the King himself.’
‘Are we speaking of the same man? The short one with the funny curled beard? The one who never stops wiggling?’
Mary Ann settled on to the bed beside Catherine. ‘Don’t be mean. To think, if you had been trapped in the castle with the rest of us, the King would have had to protect you from that beast. Or, at the least, he would have ordered the Clubs to protect you, as is much more practical, given the circumstances. It’s very nearly romantic. Why, we would be discussing your engagement right now.’ She lay down beside Catherine, fluffing a pillow beneath her head.
Catherine pried open one eye. ‘You can’t mean it.’
‘Mean what?’
Shoving away the blankets, Catherine flopped off the mattress. ‘Have you met the King?’ she asked, adjusting her nightgown. ‘Practical? Romantic? Rubbish! I can’t marry him!’
Mary Ann sat up, eyes wide. ‘Why not? You would be the Queen.’
‘I don’t want to be the Queen! I want . . . I don’t know. If ever I get married, I want there to be romance, and passion. I want to fall in love.’ Cath poured some tea into a cup, annoyed at how her hands shook. She was flushed – from talk of the King, from news of the Jabberwock . . . but mostly, she knew, from the dream.
Romance. Passion. Love.
She had never experienced them before, but she imagined they would leave her feeling like that dream had. Like the Joker did, with his quick smiles and witty remarks. She felt like she could talk to him for hours, for days and months and years, and never tire of it.
But . . .
He was a court joker. He was an impossibility.
She gulped, hard, and tried to tether her emotions back to the ground.
‘None of that matters anyway,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Marry the King – bah! What I want is to open our bakery. That’s what I’ve always wanted.’
Mary Ann scooted to the edge of the bed. ‘I want that too, of course,’ she said. ‘But . . . Cath. The bakery, much as we’ve talked of it, has always been, well . . . something of a silly dream, don’t you think?’
Cath spun to face her, surprised at the jolt of betrayal the words caused. ‘Silly?’
Mary Ann held up her hands in defence. ‘Not like that. It’s a good dream. A lovely thought, truly. But we’ve been discussing it for years, and yet we’re no closer to having any money, not without selling off your dowry. We don’t have any support. No one will think we’re capable of it.’
‘I refuse to accept that. I am the best baker in all of Hearts, and everyone who has tasted my pastries knows it.’
‘I don’t think you understand.’
Cath set down the cup without taking a drink. ‘What don’t I understand?’
‘You’re the daughter of a marquess. Look around. Look at the things you have, the life you’re accustomed to. You don’t know what it’s like to work every day so you can feed yourself and keep a roof over your head. You don’t know what it’s like to be poor. To be a servant.’
‘We’ll be businesswomen, not servants.’
‘Or,’ said Mary Ann, ‘you could be a queen.’
Cath inhaled a sharp breath.
‘I can run any amount of calculations, consider every angle of profits and losses, but our little, insignificant bakery will never come close to providing what the King could offer you. The clothes, the food, the security . . .’ Mary Ann’s eyes glazed over and though her words struck Cath as boringly practical, she could see this was not the first time Mary Ann had considered what life must be like for someone who was more than a maid.
‘Yes,’ said Cath, ‘but I would be married to the King, and I can hardly stand to be near him for a five-minute waltz. How could I stand an entire lifetime?’
Mary Ann looked like she meant to defend His Majesty, but she hesitated. ‘He is ridiculous, isn’t he?’
‘The worst.’
‘You don’t think there’s any hope of you coming to love him?’
Cath thought of the King – squat and impish and flighty as a butterfly. She tried to imagine being wed to him. Stooping down to kiss him, her mouth tickled by his curled moustache. Listening to his giggles as they bounced through the castle corridors. Watching his childish, gleeful expressions every time he won a round of croquet.
She shuddered. ‘I’m sure that I couldn’t.’
Slipping off the bed, Mary Ann poured a cup of tea for herself. ‘Well, you have three days to think on it. Perhaps your heart will soften in that time.’
Cath shut her eyes, glad that Mary Ann was ending the conversation. She never wanted to think about it again, but she knew she would have to. In three days her mother expected her to bring a gift of rose macarons to afternoon tea at the castle. In three days she would have to face His Majesty.
‘You came home by yourself last night?’ Mary Ann asked, heaping each cup with sugar.