‘That’s right,’ he murmured. ‘You’re the daughter of the Marquess.’

As if he’d forgotten.

‘It’s tradition that I start the dancing. I’ll be dancing the lobster quadrille. I expect . . . I expect I’ll be dancing with the King.’ She stuck out her tongue in distaste.

Jest’s expression brightened. ‘As I expect I’ll be performing for him.’

He stuck his tongue out to mimic her.

One of her embarrassing snorts escaped, unwilled, and Catherine buried her face in her hands.

‘What if . . .’ Jest started.

She lowered her hands. He had taken a step closer to her.

‘You dance your lobster quadrille, and I’ll juggle some clams, and we’ll both pretend to be hidden away in a secret sea cave, where we don’t have to think about courtships or royal missions or anything but ourselves.’

‘That does sound lovely,’ she said, struggling to remember why this was a bad idea. Everything about him was a bad idea, and yet . . .

‘Then I will see you at the festival?’

She started to shake her head, to be firm in her stance that this, whatever this was, could not continue past this night, this morning, this very moment. ‘Jest . . .’

His eyebrows lifted and he looked pleased at the intimacy of his name. No Misters, no Sirs.

‘You should go,’ she stammered.

As if she’d summoned them, footsteps sounded outside her door.

Cath spun around. The knob jiggled.

There was a soft thump behind her and the crackle of leaves.

She glanced back and Jest was gone.

CHAPTER 22

THE DOOR OPENED and Mary Ann was there, her maid uniform silhouetted in the hallway light, along with a pail filled with kindling and long fireplace matches.

Mary Ann took two steps inside, heading for the fireplace on her silent servant’s feet – until she spotted Catherine standing in the light of the open window.

Mary Ann screamed.

The pail dropped to the floor and toppled over with a clamour, matches scattering across the carpet.

‘It’s all right! It’s just me!’ Catherine rushed forward, waving her arms.

Mary Ann placed a hand against her mouth and stumbled against the door frame. ‘Cath! Goodness! What are you – good heavens, my bones jumped right out of my skin! I thought you were the Jabberwock, climbing in through the window!’

Cath shuddered as memories of the monster cascaded over her. She tried to shake them off.

‘Do I look like a monster to you?’ Scurrying past her, Cath glanced down the hallway and, seeing that no alarm had yet been raised from her parents’ rooms, shut the door.

‘What were you doing by the window?’ Mary Ann said, her voice warbling. ‘It’s freezing in here. You’ll catch your death! And . . . what are you wearing? Are you dressed?’

‘Hush, Mary Ann. You’ll wake the whole house, if you haven’t already.’

Dropping to the floor, Mary Ann started scooping up the fallen contents of her pail, while Cath bustled back to the nightstand and lit an oil lamp.

Even after righting the pail, Mary Ann stayed on her knees with her hand pressed to her chest. Cath felt bad for scaring her, but also glad that she hadn’t been Abigail.

‘What are you doing out of bed at this hour?’ Mary Ann finally asked, the hysteria gone from her voice.

‘I was – I thought I heard something. Outside.’

Mary Ann’s eyes widened again. She stood and crossed to the window. ‘And you act like I’m a frightened child. It really might have been the Jabberwock, you know.’ She stuck her head outside and scanned the shadowed trees. ‘Or maybe a raccoon bandit – sneaky little things.’

‘Perhaps,’ Catherine muttered, wondering whether Jest was still out there, sneaking.

Mary Ann shut the window, then turned and eyed Catherine’s dress. It was the same she’d worn to the King’s garden party the day before, but the hem was now stained with tea and wet with dew and her knees were muddied where she’d scrambled through the brush to try to save the Turtle. Glancing down, Cath noticed a waxy leaf caught in the lace cuff of her sleeve. She plucked it off. Chewed her lip. Met Mary Ann’s stare again.

‘You heard something?’ Mary Ann drawled, suddenly sceptical. ‘Perhaps you were having another dream.’

‘Perhaps?’

Mary Ann crossed her arms.

Starting to shiver, Cath hugged herself tight. ‘It really is quite crisp in here . . .’

It was another long, awkward moment before Mary Ann drew herself up to full height and walked with agonizing slowness towards the fireplace. Her suspicious gaze lingered on Catherine the whole time.

Cath swallowed. ‘Thank you, Mary Ann.’

She picked at the climbing roses, listening as Mary Ann removed the fireplace grate and set up the kindling. Within minutes, a fire had sparked and taken hold.

Cath spotted the single long-stemmed rose that Jest had left on her windowsill, now forgotten on the floor. The petals were already fading. She wondered whether Mary Ann had noticed it too, and whether she’d written it off as another figment from one of Cath’s dreams.

Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she looked back at her dearest friend. The fire’s orange-gold glow flickered over Mary Ann’s face. Her jaw was set in annoyance, and Cath felt a twinge of guilt.

She padded to the hearth and knelt down beside Mary Ann.

‘I lied,’ she said.