Until she’d considered it might be the hat, this had been her fear, though she had hoped no one else would make such a connection. She hated to think he might be right – blaming his hats would mean she could stop questioning if she, herself, was involved.

Because it was only a cake. Only a spiced pumpkin cake.

‘Of five judges,’ Hatta continued, ‘he was the only judge to sample your dessert. Naturally, people are beginning to wonder if it wasn’t your cake that resulted in his unfortunate change.’

Her heart thumped. ‘I’ve cooked dozens – hundreds of cakes and never has anything like this happened before.’

‘It only takes one.’ Picking up Cath’s letter, he started to shred it into linen strips, not even bothering to break the wax seal. Her jaw ached from clenching as she watched hours of careful planning ripped apart.

‘Besides,’ Hatta said, tossing the shredded paper back at her. It wisped and fluttered and clung to the fabric of her gown. ‘I have a personal rule about not entering into business with spineless creatures. No snakes. No slippery eels. And worst of all, no fickle women. Play coy all you like, Lady Pinkerton. Cling to your belief in your own innocence. You know as well as I that you’re going to break at least one heart before this is over, and I want nothing more to do with you.’

CHAPTER 32

CATHERINE TRUDGED THROUGH the back door, reeling with infuriation and insult. In the kitchen she nearly ran into Abigail as she bustled towards the stairs carrying a tray of cucumber sandwiches.

Abigail gasped. ‘Lady Catherine! Oh, thank heavens. Mary Ann was just called upstairs, and you’d best get up there, too, before the Marchioness works herself into a frenzy.’

‘Tea? This early?’

Abigail cocked her head, silently demanding that Catherine go on ahead, and fast.

Remembering her parents’ threat to release Mary Ann, Catherine hung up her shawl and took the stairs two at a time. Normally her father took his tea in the library, but when she stepped on to the landing she heard voices coming from the front parlour, which was only used for entertaining guests.

The thought of entertaining anyone made her bones shudder.

She considered jotting up to her room and pretending she wasn’t home, but before she could make a decision, her mother poked her head out of the room. Her face was contorted into a crazed grin. ‘Catherine! There you are! I thought I heard you come in, sweetest girl!’

Sweetest girl?

A new dread sank on to Catherine’s shoulders. ‘I didn’t think we were expecting guests. I’m not properly dressed for—’

Bustling forward, her mother smoothed back Cath’s hair and picked at her dress collar, then nudged her towards the parlour. ‘Don’t be silly, dear. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting . . .’

‘But—’

‘Here she is, Your Majesty!’ her mother bellowed, shoving Catherine through the doorway. ‘I found her loitering in the hallway, bashful thing!’

The King and the Marquess both jumped to their feet. Again, the King had brought with him the twitching White Rabbit, his guards, and Jest. Again Jest stood by the far window, his black motley and drooping hat silhouetted in the afternoon light. He stood at respectful attention, his hands linked behind his back, but this time he was pointedly staring at the wall rather than at her.

On the opposite side of the room, Mary Ann stopped pouring tea long enough to shoot Catherine a curious look. Cath couldn’t hold it, too ashamed of her recent failure with Hatta.

The King clapped, a solo applause for Catherine’s opportune entrance. ‘There she is, there she is!’ he said. ‘And here I am – surprise!’

Cath forced a wobbly smile. ‘Good day, Your Majesty. To what do we owe this honour?’

‘Ah, my beloved,’ said the King, beaming around the word and ignorant to Cath’s grimace, ‘there is to be a spectacle most extraordinary at the Lobe Theatre tonight – a special production of King Cheer, performed in my own honour! I was hoping . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I hoped, with the permission of the Marquess, that you might agree to accompany me, my . . . my sweet.’ His hands knotted themselves together and his coyness would have been endearing if Cath hadn’t been so reviled.

‘My, that sounds splendid, Your Majesty,’ said the Marchioness. ‘Doesn’t that sound splendid, Catherine?’

Her gaze darted to Jest, rather against her will, but his expression was as blank as an undisturbed pond.

‘I am flattered, Your Majesty, but I would require a chaperone for such an outing and I don’t know that we can spare—’

‘Take Mary Ann,’ said her mother. Mary Ann froze in the middle of pouring a spoonful of sugar into a cup. ‘Mary Ann, stop bothering with all that and go get changed. Snap, snap!’ Her mother punctuated the words with snapping fingers and, with hardly a surprised glance at Catherine, Mary Ann had scurried from the room and the Marchioness had taken over the tea. ‘You, too, Catherine. Go and make yourself presentable. The Lobe Theatre is very nice, if I recall, though it’s been years since Mr Pinkerton took me there, isn’t that right, Mr Pinkerton?’

The Marquess grinned at her, all swoony eyes. ‘Oh yes, my love, I remember it well. You were ravishing that night, and I do believe I spent more time watching you than the show. The Taming of the Stew, wasn’t it?’

The Marchioness tittered.

‘But, Mother,’ started Catherine, ‘what about the Jabberwock? Surely it isn’t yet safe to—’