Cheshire scratched a gob of earwax from an ear with one claw. ‘I was worried you might say that. It isn’t as good a story, you know, though I shall continue to be amused as all the King’s horses and all the King’s men scramble to find him again.’

‘They never will,’ she said, believing it a little less every time she said it.

After all, Hearts was not a large kingdom. Where could he go? Back to Chess?

Maybe so, but it was little consolation. It meant she would never see him again.

‘His Majesty is beside himself with anxiety,’ Cheshire continued. ‘I don’t think he has the faintest idea what to do with all this madness, between the Jabberwock and the Joker and a plot to steal the heart of his future queen . . . He is not accustomed to real treachery, is he?’

‘All the more reason he should not be wasting his efforts on an innocent man, and what for? Because his pride has been wounded?’

‘What pride?’ Cheshire folded his paws. ‘Our King is an ignoble idiot.’

A weak smile flittered over her lips. ‘So he is.’

‘Of course, ignoble idiocy seems to be an epidemic around these parts.’ Cheshire began to fade away. ‘So he shall not be alone.’

He vanished at the same moment a tap came at her bedroom door. Abigail poked her head inside. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Catherine, but it’s time to dress for the masquerade.’ She crept into the room like a timid mouse.

Catherine sighed and slid from her bed without argument.

The night was inevitable.

She made no fuss as her cheeks were pinched to bring back some of their colour, and Abigail made no comment on how her complexion was drawn tight from all her crying.

‘Oh, Lady Catherine,’ Abigail murmured. ‘It’ll be all right. The King’s a good man. You’ll see.’

Cath scowled and said nothing.

She was stuffed into a white crêpe dress striped with wide bands of burgundy, and a fine ivory mask covered in rhinestones. As Abigail went about tidying the discarded underpinnings, Catherine caught her own reflection in the mirror. She looked like a doll ready to be put on a shelf.

Then Abigail handed her the final touch.

A tiara, all diamonds and rubies. As it was settled on to her head, Catherine no longer thought she looked like a doll.

She looked like a queen.

Her lips parted, her breath escaping her.

She had promised Jest that she would reject the King. She had promised.

But that promise had been made by a girl who was still going to open a bakery with her best friend. That promise had been made by a girl who didn’t care if she was a part of the gentry, so long as she could live out her days with the man she loved.

That promise had been made by a girl with a different fate altogether.

Her eyes narrowed and she reached up to adjust the tiara on her head.

Mary Ann had betrayed her secret. Jest had condemned himself forever.

But maybe it wasn’t all for naught.

Cath lifted her chin and, for the first time, dared to imagine herself a queen.

CHAPTER 39

‘PRESENTING THE MOST HONOURABLE Whealagig T. Pinkerton, Marquess of Rock Turtle Cove,’ announced the White Rabbit, ‘accompanied by his wife, Lady Idonia Pinkerton, Marchioness of Rock Turtle Cove, and daughter, Lady Cath—’

Cath stuffed a rosebud-embroidered handkerchief into the Rabbit’s mouth. He startled and peered up at her with wide eyes.

Already on the third step into the ballroom, her parents paused and glanced back. Cath flashed them a tight smile. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I think it will be more fitting for me to be announced separately.’ She turned her cool gaze back to the master of ceremonies. ‘As is befitting for the future Queen of Hearts, don’t you think?’

The Marquess and Marchioness exchanged surprised but pleased looks before descending down the rest of the steps.

The Rabbit pulled out the handkerchief. His expression flashed between irritation and complacency as he cleared his throat. ‘Of course, Lady Pinkerton, rightly so, indeed.’ He puffed up his chest in an attempt to reclaim his dignity and blew into his trumpet again. ‘Presenting Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove!’

‘Better,’ she said, and swooped down towards the floor, her shoulders peeled back. Though she could imagine how collected she must appear on the outside, her mouth tasted of stale fruitcake.

She did not make eye contact with any of the guests, glad that the bejewelled masks made it easy to pretend she didn’t recognize the costumed guests surrounding her. A pair of skunks tried to approach her, and she suspected they were hoping to get into the good graces of their soon-to-be queen, toadeaters that they were, but she glided away before a greeting could be uttered. She would not pretend that she wanted or needed the approval of the noble sycophants.

‘Catherine!’ A damp hand grasped her elbow, spinning her around.

Margaret Mearle dipped into a curtsy. Her mouth was pinched in a smile, her nose hidden behind a pale pink snout. ‘Have you heard the wonderful news?’

Cath found it impossible to smile back, despite Margaret’s overjoyed expression. ‘I don’t believe I have,’ she said, without much enthusiasm.

Margaret let out a dreamy sigh. ‘The Duke has asked for my father’s permission to begin a courtship. With me!’

‘I can hardly believe it to be so.’

‘And yet it is. We’re to have our first chaperoned visit tomorrow afternoon. Oh, Lady Catherine, I’m full plumped up with satisfaction.’ Linking her arm with Cath’s, she waved a fan over her flushed face. ‘The moral of that, of course, is that “the caged canary does not eat from the hands of vipers.” ’