Catherine gripped her hands together. ‘You misunderstand, Mother. The King hasn’t proposed. He was speaking prematurely during the contest.’ The corner of her eye twitched. ‘To be honest, I’m irritated that he wasn’t more careful with keeping our courtship an intimate affair.’

Her mother frowned. ‘You aren’t engaged?’

‘No. I’m not.’ Cath perched herself on the edge of the wingback chair her mother had indicated. Its feathered wings tried to wrap around her but she shook them off. ‘There was something else I wished to discuss with you.’

Her mother still looked confused. ‘Something other than the King?’

‘I’m afraid the King does not occupy my thoughts nearly as much as he occupies yours, Mama.’

Her mother stiffened, and Cath felt guilty for her sass, but her father’s snort relieved it somewhat. He leaned forward, dwarfing his cordial glass in his enormous hands. ‘Go on, then. What’s on your mind?’

‘Well.’ She dug her fingertips into the material of her skirt to keep from fidgeting. ‘You know that Mary Ann and I entered a cake into the contest today. The pumpkin spice cake that the judges were sampling just before . . .’

‘Yes, we did notice,’ her mother said, eyes narrowing. ‘I understand the King is fond of your treats, but when will you realize it isn’t proper to spend all your time in the kitchen – and to enter the contest! The daughter of the Marquess, entering a contest at the Marquess’s own festival. Didn’t you stop to think how that would look?’

‘I wanted to win,’ she said. ‘I wanted the purse that was part of the grand prize.’

Her father raised one thick eyebrow. ‘Whatever for? If you need money—’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I do need money, because I . . . I want to open a bakery.’ She gulped, and spoke quieter when she realized that she was already getting flustered. ‘Mary Ann and I want to open a bakery.’

Her parents gaped at her. Both speechless, for once.

She ploughed on. ‘We’ve been talking about it for years. I know you don’t think it’s proper. I know you think it’s a silly hobby, and one you barely approve of at that. But baking is what I love to do and I know our bakery would be the best in the kingdom. Mary Ann will be the perfect partner – she’s good with numbers and she has wonderfully creative ideas for how to bring in customers. She calls it marketing. Plus, there’s a storefront opening up on Main Street soon. Where the cobbler is now, you know. It’s owned by the Duke, but I’m confident I can persuade him—’

‘A bakery!’ her mother roared, and Catherine jolted, wondering whether everything past her initial declaration had been wasted words. ‘Whatever do you want to open a bakery for? You’re going to be Queen, Catherine!’

Her shoulders tensed. ‘The King has not proposed to me, nor have I accepted him.’

Her mother tittered and flicked her fingers through the air. Appeased, just like that. Always halfway between irritation and amusement. ‘But he will. Besides, can you imagine? You, running a bakery? Why – you’d become an elephant! You can hardly control your sweet tooth as it is.’ She brushed her hands together, as if to clear them of such ludicrous talk. ‘Enough of that. Let’s go to bed. It’s late, and I think tomorrow will bring better things.’

Catherine’s chest was tightening. From her mother’s accusation. From her dismissal. From the doubtful voice in her head that wondered whether her mother was right.

But also from anger.

She shifted her whole body to face her father, fixing her gaze on him as if her mother hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m asking for your help. I never ask for anything, but I want this. I want this desperately. You don’t even need to give me the money. I can use my dowry, with your permission.’

‘What?’ Her mother again. ‘Your dowry! Absolutely not, I will never—’

The Marquess held up a hand and spoke, gently, ‘That is enough now, Idonia.’ To Cath’s surprise, her mother clamped her mouth shut.

A tickle of hope stirred in her, but it didn’t last long as her father’s gaze turned pitying. ‘I’m glad you came to us about this, Catherine. But I must agree with your mother.’

The Marchioness harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest with a sturdy nod.

‘But, Father—’

‘Ladies are not meant to own businesses, and the heir to Rock Turtle Cove has much greater things in store for her future than a lifetime of being elbow deep in eggs and flour.’

‘Greater things according to whom? It’s not my choice to become a wife. And it’s certainly not my choice to become a queen. Those things are Mother’s dreams, not mine.’

‘They are my dream too,’ said her father, and Cath flinched at the sternness in his tone. ‘They are our dream. For you. You’re young, dear, and whatever you think now, we have only your happiness in mind. We know what’s best.’

She could feel the threat of frustrated tears tickling her nose, but she bit them back. ‘No – you think you know best, but you’re wrong. This is what I want. This is what will make me happy.’

Her mother threw a hand into the air, complete with a disgusted sound from the back of her throat, but her father’s gaze was steady. In fact, Catherine could not remember her father ever looking so immovable. It was disconcerting, and her lip trembled at being the receiver of such a look.