Page 103 of Heartless

She and the King sat in the front row while Mary Ann took a seat behind them. Jest and the Rabbit remained standing at the door. Cath locked her gaze on the stage and its closed curtain, eager for the show to begin so she could shut her eyes and imagine herself elsewhere.

‘Can you see all right, Lady Pinkerton?’ asked the King.

‘Perfectly,’ she said, resisting the urge to ask if he required an extra cushion to lift him up.

‘Do you want for anything? A glass of claret? Some cheese?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Your Majesty.’

‘Are you too warm? Here, Rabbit, take Lady Pinkerton’s shawl—’

‘No, thank you, Your Majesty.’

The King hesitated, his face eager to please, before slowly settling back. After a moment, he leaned forward so far off the railing that Cath had a strange urge to push him over, though the thought made her feel wretched. This man, she reminded herself, was not at fault for anything that had happened.

She wished he hadn’t made some assumptions, or made that mortifying announcement at the festival, but then, she was the one who had agreed to the courtship. She was the one who should never have let this carry on so long, not if she intended to reject him.

She had to reject him. She had to.

But thinking of it gave her a headache.

The King turned back to the Rabbit. ‘How long before the show begins?’

A rustling behind Catherine was followed by the ticking of a pocket watch – she wondered if it was the one Jest had given him at the ball, but she didn’t turn to look.

‘Five minutes, Your Majesty,’ came Mr Rabbit’s reply.

The King turned back, galloping his feet. ‘Jest, Lady Pinkerton and I are bored. Won’t you amuse us?’

Cath’s head snapped up. ‘That’s not necessary. I’m not bored at all, in fact.’

Jest looked at her – finally. She tried to smile, imagining they were accomplices in their understanding of the situation, but he flinched and turned away.

Withdrawing, Cath looked down at the mezzanine level. ‘I enjoy watching the people. Why – is that Mrs Quail? I heard she had a nestful of eggs a few months ago but it seems they’ve all hatched. What a darling little family they make.’

The King followed her gesture. ‘So it is!’ He clasped his hands beneath his chin. ‘I just love when they’re little, don’t you? The cute little cherubs, with their itty-bitty beaks and plump little bodies.’

He sighed and Catherine had to agree that the baby quails were adorable. She counted a baker’s dozen of them, taking up an entire theatre row.

‘How many do you want?’ asked the King, settling his elbows on the rail and dropping his chin into his palms.

She peered sideways at him. ‘Eggs? Or quails?’

‘Children.’ His face had gone ruby red, but his eyes were dreamy when he glanced at Catherine through his lashes. ‘I want a full suit of ten some day.’

Heat rushed up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. An impossible-to-ignore choking noise from Jest twisted like a knife in her stomach.

‘I . . . suppose I haven’t given it much thought,’ she said, followed by a painful gulp. It wasn’t entirely true. She thought it might be nice to have a family some day.

But not with him. Dear Hearts, not with him.

Jest thumped his sceptre so hard on the floor Cath felt it vibrating through her feet. Raven squawked and fluttered for a moment before settling down again.

Catherine and the King both turned.

‘Icould use some claret,’ Jest said, looking at the King as if he dared his sovereign to deny him such a request. ‘Can I bring the happy couple anything while I’m gone?’

Cath’s heart pattered. ‘You’re leaving?’

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