Page 9 of Heartless

Handing his sceptre to the White Rabbit, the King of Hearts took Catherine’s hand and led her on to the dance floor. Cath told herself it was a mercy to be swept away from Margaret, but the King’s company wasn’t much of an improvement.

No, that wasn’t fair. The King was a sweet man. A simple man. Ahappyman, which was important, as a happy king made for a happy kingdom.

He simply wasn’t a clever man.

As they took the position of top couple on the dance floor, Cath was struck with a surge of dread. She was dancing with the King. All eyes would be upon them, and everyone would think she had chosen this dress for no other reason than to catch his eye.

‘You look lovely, Lady Pinkerton,’ said the King. He was speaking more to her bosom than her face – a result of his unfortunate height, not any sort of ungentlemanliness, and yet Catherine could not keep her cheeks from flushing.

Why, oh why, couldn’t she have fought against her mother’s wishes, just this once?

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ she said, her voice strained.

‘I am indeed fond of the colour red!’

‘Why . . . who isn’t, Your Majesty?’

He giggled his agreement and Cath was glad when the music began and they entered into the first figure. They turned away from each other to walk down the outside lines of couples, too far apart to speak. Catherine felt her corset pinching beneath her breasts and she pressed her palms against her skirt to keep from fidgeting with it.

‘This is a delightful ball,’ she said, joining the King at the end of the line. They took hands. His were soft and damp.

‘Do you think so?’ He beamed. ‘I always love the black-and-white balls. They’re so . . . so . . .’

‘Neutral?’ Catherine supplied.

‘Yes!’ He sighed dreamily, his eyes on Catherine’s face. ‘You always know just what I’m thinking, Lady Pinkerton.’

She looked away.

They ducked beneath the outstretched arms of the next couple and released hands to twirl around Mr and Mrs Badger.

‘I must ask,’ the King started as they clasped hands again. ‘I don’t suppose you may have . . . by chance . . . brought any treats with you this evening?’ He watched her with shining eyes, his curled moustache twitching hopefully.

Cath beamed as they raised their hands so the next couple could duck beneath. She knew the King was stretching up on his tiptoes but she respectfully did not look down. ‘In fact, I baked three lemon tarts this morning, and my maid was going to ensure they made it to your feasting table during the festivities. They might be there now.’

His face lit up and he twisted his head to eye the long, long table, but they were much too far away to pick out three little tarts.

‘Fantastic,’ he swooned, missing a couple of dance steps and forcing Catherine to stand awkwardly for a moment before he picked it up again.

‘I hope you’ll enjoy them.’

He returned his attention to her, shaking his head as if dazed. ‘Lady Pinkerton, you are a treasure.’

She stifled a grimace, embarrassed by the dreamy tone in his voice.

‘Though I must confess, I have a particular weakness for key lime tarts as much as lemon.’ His cheeks wobbled. ‘You know what they say – key lime is the key to a king’s heart!’

Cath had never heard that before, but she let her head bounce in agreement. ‘So they do!’

The King’s grin was effervescent.

By the end of the dance Catherine felt ready to collapse from the strain of appearing joyful and attentive, and she felt only relief as the King air-kissed the top of her hand and thanked her for the pleasure of the dance.

‘I must find these delectable tarts of yours, Lady Pinkerton, but I hope you’ll keep the final dance for me as well?’

‘With pleasure. You honour me so.’

He giggled, mad as hops as he adjusted his crown, then took off waltzing towards the feasting table.

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