Page 104 of Heartless

The rest of her question shrieked in her head. He was leaving her alone? Withhim?

She was surprised at how much it hurt. After all, Jest had told her he wouldn’t compete with the King for her affections. He would stay out of it until she’d made her decision.

Every moment spent in their mutual presence made her feel like a spineless coward, but that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want Jest to leave.

Coward, coward, coward.

The King started to bounce in his chair. ‘Aha! You see, Jest, she does wish for a spot of entertainment!’

‘Oh no, that wasn’t what I – heavens. It is rather warm in here, isn’t it?’

Some of the tension in Jest’s shoulders drained away. ‘Allow me,’ he said, swooping forward and assisting her out of her shawl before she could take a breath. His gloved fingertips were tender against her shoulders. She shivered.

‘I am of course happy to provide entertainment, if it pleases the lady,’ said Jest, hanging her shawl on a rack at the back of the theatre box. ‘Perhaps I shall offer poetic waxations on the lady’s buttercream frosting skin? Endless compliments on her hair like melted chocolate?’

Rather than be embarrassed at Jest quoting their ‘personal’ correspondence, the King happily kicked his heels. ‘That was from one of the letters I sent you, remember? Jest only had to help with that one a little bit.’ He straightened the crown on his head. ‘I was awful hungry after writing it.’

‘Fine literature does work up an appetite.’ Jest was no longer trying to hide his ironic tone, but he seemed in no danger of the King picking up on his mockery.

Catherine squeezed the arm of her seat, her body still rotated to face Jest. Mary Ann watched from the corner, pretending to be invisible. ‘To be honest, it wasn’t my favourite of the letters you sent. After all, I’m a lady, not a dessert.’

Jest’s cheek twitched. Cath didn’t bother to look at the King.

‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘poetry and gifts may have their place, but I find I’m more keen on those acts of courtship that retain an element of foolishness, and hint at impossibilities.’

A silence descended over their private booth. Jest’s lips thinned. He stared back at her and squeezed his sceptre. His eyes filled with quiet despair.

She’d said too much, and even if she’d said nothing at all, surely the truth of her emotions was scrawled across her face.

‘My sweet,’ the King whispered. She grimaced and braced herself for what must be the end of this night, this non-existent romance. She dared to face him, ready to accept his decision to call off their courtship. But she did not see a crushed spirit or annoyance or even confusion. She saw only joy in the King’s eyes.

He took her hand. She jumped, her back stiffening.

‘I feel the same way,’ he said, and looked as if he would cry. Her hand was a limp fish in his grip, but he held it like a precious gem.

‘Er – Your Majesty—’

Behind them, Jest yanked off his jester’s cap. The bells jingled. ‘I realize I haven’t yet offered my congratulations on your engagement,’ he said, bowing. ‘You seem a most perfect match, and I wish you both the joy of a most contented heart.’

Catherine tried to shake her head, her emotions in tatters.

The chandeliers dimmed and Jest settled his hat back on his head. ‘Enjoy the show. Your Majesty. Lady Pinkerton.’ He turned to the back row. ‘Miss Mary Ann.’

Cath squeezed the arm of her chair and tried to convey to him how much she wanted him to stay, how she would give anything to be at his side, not the King’s.

Jest tore his gaze away and swept from the theatre box, Raven still perched on his sceptre.

Miserable, she turned back to face the stage. Her hand was cold, but the King’s was hot and damp. He didn’t let go. She could catch glimpses of his pleased mug in the corner of her vision.

The curtain began to rise. An orchestra blared and the first act tumbled out on to the stage. The audience cheered, the King loudest of all.

CHAPTER 33

CATHERINE WAS WEARY, in her head, in her limbs, down to the toes pinched inside her finest boots. Her head was full of fantasies of going home and crawling beneath her covers and not coming out again until she’d achieved the longest sleep of her life. The wish was so powerful she wanted to weep from longing.

She could tell the performance was commendable, judging by the frequent gasps and cheers from the audience, but she could barely keep her stinging eyes open enough to enjoy the show, and the storyline muddled in her head by the second scene.

It was only when a fool appeared on the stage that she willed herself to pay attention. But it wasn’t Jest, only an actor, done up in familiar black motley, doing cartwheels across the stage and spouting bawdy jokes that left the audience in hysterics. He poked fun of the King, he peeked up the skirts of the passing actresses, he wagged his hat until the jingle of the bells was all Cath could hear inside her head.

---