She thought again of Sir Peter. Of the one devoured piece of pumpkin cake.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, and started gathering up the recipe books again. Gnawing on her cheek, she turned back to see that Mary Ann had laid her head down on her arms. Normally she was the model of productivity. It was odd to see weariness catch up with her. ‘Would I be a horrible person to inquire about the winner of the baking contest?’

Mary Ann wheezed into her elbow. ‘We can be horrible people together. I keep wondering, too, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask, even though I spotted Mr Rabbit while we were tearing down the grandstand.’ She lifted her head enough to meet Cath’s gaze. ‘They weren’t able to finish the judging, so I don’t see how they can award a winner. Probably the prize will go back into the treasury or be applied to some other celebration.’

‘I figured as much.’ Cath climbed on to the second stool, wishing she’d started a batch of bread rather than look up awful recipes. Kneading and pummelling the dough would have relaxed her.

Mary Ann’s eyes had shut. ‘They say Mr Caterpillar is almost moved out of his shop. It won’t be long now . . .’

She didn’t finish, nor did she have to. It wouldn’t be long before someone else took up residence in their storefront, if they weren’t ready to do it themselves.

‘All right,’ Cath whispered, gathering her courage. ‘No more stalling. I have to ask my parents for the money, or permission to sell off my dowry. There’s no other way around it.’

‘Oh, Cath.’ With a groan, Mary Ann peeled her head off her elbow again. ‘I adore your optimism, I always have, but they’re going to say no. You know it as well as I.’ Her mouth turned down and her thought seemed very far away as she added, ‘We’ll have no bakery without financing, and no financing without an investor, and who would ever invest in a poor maid and the daughter of a marquess? Maybe it’s time we realize this was never going to happen, and face our true destiny.’ She forced a smile in Catherine’s direction. ‘At least, to be the maid to a queen is more than I ever would have expected when I was a young girl, so it isn’t all that bad.’

Gnashing her teeth, Catherine grabbed the blue bonnet and thrust it on to Mary Ann’s head, cinching the yellow ribbon under her chin with a quick tug. ‘I won’t tolerate such nonsense. If ever there was a time for dreaming, this is it, Mary Ann. Now, I am going to march up there and demand a word with my parents, and I need to know I have your full support behind me. So do you want to start a bakery together or not?’

Mary Ann opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and seemed to mull over her thoughts for a moment. Her head began to sink between her shoulders, and her blue eyes misted with unshed tears. ‘I do, Cath. My head tells me it will never happen, but my heart—’

‘Sometimes your heart is the only thing worth listening to.’ Cath peeled her shoulders back, preparing herself. ‘Who knows? Maybe they’ll be so weary from the festival they’ll have no fight left in them.’

‘Your mother, without any fight left in her? I wish you luck, Catherine, I truly do, but I also fear this day has already reached its limit on impossible things.’

CHAPTER 30

THE MARQUESS AND MARCHIONESS were drinking cordials in the library when Cath tapped at the door frame. They looked as exhausted as Mary Ann had, and though Cath knew their day had been spent entertaining and mingling more than the sort of labour Mary Ann and the servants had done, she still had a great deal of sympathy for them.

The Turtle Days Festival had been trying for everyone.

Despite Mary Ann’s pessimism, Cath thought maybe her parents would be too upset to argue with her. Maybe they would be more receptive to her frightening new ideas when their long-held traditions had so recently collapsed around them.

She did feel guilty about hoping it was so.

‘Retiring early?’ her father asked when he saw her lingering in the doorway. ‘I don’t blame you, child. Come give me a goodnight kiss.’

Cath forced her lips to smile and came forward to give her father a kiss on his wrinkled brow. ‘Actually,’ she said, pulling back, ‘I hoped I might have a moment to speak with you.’ She glanced at her mother, reclined on the sofa. She was still wearing her gown from the festival – the hem was caked with drying sand. ‘With both of you.’

Her mother’s face lifted, clearing away some of her tiredness, and she sat up with a grin. ‘Oh, Catherine. Of course we’ll grant our consent – you needn’t look so worried. But do sit and tell us everything. We could use some joy to finish this awful day.’

Catherine’s eyes widened, and astounding joy was just about to bubble over when she realized, of course, her mother was speaking of the King. ‘Thank you, Mother, but I wasn’t . . .’

Her mother waved at the empty chair across from them. ‘Don’t be shy, dearest. Your father and I have been waiting seventeen years for such good news, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. We can hope that everyone will be so excited about the upcoming wedding they’ll forget all about today’s misfortune.’ She pressed a hand to her forehead, like trying to rub the memory out from her brow, before her eyes brightened again. ‘Did he propose during the quadrille? You looked so happy out there. Lovestruck, even, if I’m not mistaken. Naughty child, I can hardly believe you kept the secret from us for even a moment!’