‘I am indeed!’ He jigged in place, his face all joyful anticipation. ‘It’s all very good fun. Just what the kingdom needed, I daresay.’

She inclined her head. ‘It is nice to have some merriment during these dark times. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Jabberwock attacks have continued.’ A shiver caught hold of her shoulders as she thought of the little carousel pony in the pumpkin patch. ‘And his latest victim, a courageous Lion—’

The King held up his hands, backing away as if she were the monster. ‘Please, I beg of you, my darling, let’s not speak of it. I break out in hives every time that horrid creature is mentioned.’ He pulled away the collar of his cloak to reveal a newly developing rash.

Cath frowned. ‘But you are doing something about it, aren’t you? I’ve thought that perhaps you should hire a knight or a monster slayer. In the stories, there was always some brave soul that volunteered to slay the Jabberwock, and that seemed to go rather well, judging from all the ballads that came out of it. Well, I suppose it didn’t go very well for the Jabberwock, but all things considered—’

‘Oh, oh!’ The King clapped. ‘The lobster quadrille is about to begin! I’ve been eager for it all morning!’

Cath paused. ‘Yes, any moment now, I suspect.’

The King was sweating profusely, not meeting her eyes. She recognized shame in his expression, but it only annoyed her. Silly or not, clever or not, he was the King of Hearts. He should be doing something about the Jabberwock, shouldn’t he?

She sighed. ‘I take it you’ll be watching the quadrille, Your Majesty?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ he said, only too happy to look at her now that she wasn’t pressuring him about the attacks. His eyes glittered.

She envied the ostriches, wishing she could bury her head beneath the sand.

When she didn’t say anything more, the King’s expression turned halfway pleading. ‘Have you yet . . . chosen a dance partner? For the quadrille?’

Guilt scratched at her. Cath felt as heavy with it as if her dress had been soaked through with seawater. Jest’s presence lingered in the corner of her eyes, as tempting as fresh vanilla ice cream, but she did her best to ignore him.

‘Not yet, Your Majesty.’

His eyes brightened again.

And for a moment – just a moment – Catherine imagined turning to Jest and holding her hand out to him and asking if he would do her the honour of dancing the lobster quadrille.

She pictured her parents’ baffled expressions, the surprised murmur of the crowd, Jest’s sure hands on her waist, and she bit her tongue against a burble of glee.

‘Your Majesty, good day! What a profound pleasure this is.’

The fantasy crumbled away as her mother nudged in between her and the King.

She recoiled.

‘Good day, Lady Pinkerton!’

They shared the requisite greetings, her mother’s curtsy far grander than Catherine’s had been. Catherine inspected her own feet, knowing that to look up would be to look at Jest – his magnetism was stronger by the moment.

‘My darling Catherine, we are ready for the dancing to begin.’

She peered up at her mother’s fervent, impatient face.

‘Have you chosen a partner, my sweet daughter?’

She shook her head. ‘No, Mother. Not yet.’

‘Well then.’ Her mother’s eyes were sharp. ‘We’d better make a choice, hadn’t we? We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.’ The Marchioness clasped her fingers beneath her bosom while Catherine worked her fists into the heavy wool of her skirt. Her mother’s eyes widened at her, lacking subtlety.

Catherine inhaled and met the gaze of the King. His hopefulness was painful to look at, though, and her eyes skipped upward to Jest.

Jest. The court joker. Who seemed to be laughing at her.

Well – not literally, but his lips were pressed in an attempt to contain the laughter that was so very obvious behind his twitching mouth.

Indignation flared behind her sternum. Jest knew that the King desperately wanted to be asked. He knew that the Marchioness desperately wanted Cath to ask him. He knew that Cath was equally as desperate not to.

Once again, it seemed her palpable discomfort was a source of amusement to him.

Lifting her chin, Cath turned back to the King, then promptly lowered her chin once more to meet his eye. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said, ‘would you do me the great honour of being my dancing partner for the lobster quadrille?’

The King squealed. ‘Oh, yes, yes, I would be delighted, Lady Catherine. I do enjoy a quadrille, I must say!’

With some relief at the decision being made, for what it was worth, she threaded her arm through the King’s elbow.

Before they could leave the platform, Jest craned his head towards her and whispered, ‘He means well, Lady Pinkerton.’

She stared at him, long enough to see that his amusement had vanished, taking his confidence with it. In that moment, he looked vulnerable and maybe even disappointed, though he tried to smile. Tried to be encouraging.

‘Enjoy your quadrille,’ he said, with a tip of his hat.

Her gut sank.

Once again, she had chosen the King. It was her choice. It may not have felt that way, but it was.

There was no taking it back, but . . .

‘Oh, I won’t be dancing the lobster quadrille,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m going to be in a secret sea cave. Remember?’