Page 48 of Heartless

Cath licked her lips, and it sparked in her head that now was the time to tell them about the bakery. This very moment. She would have no better chance, not with both of them at her attention.

Now.

Ask them now.

She sat up straighter in her chair. ‘Actually, there is one prospect, Mama. One that I . . . I’ve been meaning to discuss with you both.’

Mary Ann stiffened, but Cath tried not to look at her. Her presence would only make her more nervous.

‘There is something I’ve been considering lately. Well, for quite some time, really. But I could use your assistance, and . . . support. And you did just say, Father, that I could do anything I put my mind to—’

‘Out with it, child,’ said her mother, ‘we haven’t got all evening.’

‘It . . . has to do with my hobby. My . . . baking.’

Her mother threw her hands into the air. ‘Oh – your baking! That’s what it is, you know. That’s why none of the men want anything to do with you. Who’s ever heard of a marquess’s daughter that bakes, when she should be practising embroidery or the pianoforte!’

Catherine cast a panicked look at Mary Ann, who had begun tying knots into her apron strings.

She turned back to her mother. ‘But . . . you just admitted this is half the reason the King liked me in the first place. He likes my desserts. Aren’t you glad I have something I’m good at?’

Her mother guffawed, but her father was nodding. ‘I enjoy your desserts,’ he said. ‘Remember that rum cake you made for my birthday? With the raisins in it? You should make one of those again.’

‘Thank you, Father. I would love to.’

‘Don’t encourage her.’

‘Mother, please. Listen for a moment, and . . . try not to cast hasty judgement.’

The Marquess leaned forward, curious. The Marchioness grunted and folded her arms, but gave Cath her attention, at least. Mary Ann stood in the corner, silently counting off the knots she’d tied.

‘You see,’ said Catherine, ‘there’s this storefront in town that’s set to become available. The cobbler’s store, you know, on Main Street. And, well, I’ve been thinking, and—’

‘Forgive the interruption, my lord.’

Cath paused, turning to see Mr Penguin, their butler, standing at the entrance to the dining room in his customary tuxedo.

‘We have a visitor,’ he said.

‘At this hour?’ said the Marchioness, aghast. ‘Tell them to come back tomorrow.’

‘But, my lady,’ said Mr Penguin, ‘it is the King.’

CHAPTER 15

THE DINING ROOMwas still for a beat, two beats, three – before Cath’s mother launched herself from the table.

‘Whealagig! What are you waiting for? Get out there and greet him!’

‘Er – right. Of course, darling.’ The Marquess tossed his napkin on to the table and followed Mr Penguin to the parlour.

‘We’ll be right there! Do not let him leave!’ The Marchioness rounded on Catherine, plucking some of her dark hair forward to hang in wavy locks over her shoulders. She pinched Cath’s cheeks. Dipped a napkin corner into the nearest water glass and scrubbed at Catherine’s mouth.

Catherine squirmed. ‘Stop it! What are you doing?’

‘Making you presentable! The King is here!’

‘Yes, but he hasn’t asked for an audience withme.’

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