Heartless(102)

“Gratitude! What has he done to be grateful for?”

“He has preserved your honor, that’s what! Any other man would have called off the courtship immediately after hearing that you were carried off, twice, in the arms of another man. His Majesty is doing you a great kindness, Catherine. You will respect that, and when you see him tomorrow, I expect you to reward such generosity.”

“I do not want his generosity, or his kindness, or any other favors!”

Her mother sneered. “Then you are a fool.”

“Good. I’ve become rather fond of fools.”

“That is enough!” roared the Marquess.

Catherine clamped shut her lips, silenced by the rarity of her father’s temper. His face had gone flaming red, and though he was in the foyer looking up at Catherine, the look made her feel as inconsequential as a stomped bug.

He spoke slowly, each word carefully measured. “You will not disgrace this family any more than you already have.”

Tears stung at Catherine’s eyes, fierce with shame and guilt. Never had her father looked at her like that, spoken to her like that.

Never had she seen such disappointment.

“You will do as your mother says,” he continued. “You will do your duty as our only daughter. You will not embarrass us again. And should His Majesty ask for your hand, you will accept.”

She started to shake her head. “You can’t force me to.”

“Force you?” her mother cried. “What is wrong with you, child? This is a gift! Though you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You don’t understand,” Cath cried. “If you’d only met Jest under different circumstances … if you talked to him, you would see that he isn’t—”

Her father threw up his hands. “I will not listen to this. That boy has done enough harm for one night, and until you are thinking clearly and can begin to behave like the lady we raised you to be, this conversation is ended.” The Marquess tore off his coat and draped it on the rack beside the door. “You will do as we say, Catherine, or you will consider yourself no longer a member of this household.”

Catherine clenched her jaw, tears pooling. Her thoughts were thrashing inside her head, clawing at the inside of her skull, but she kept her mouth shut tight.

Jest’s confession had destroyed any credibility she might have had. There was nothing she could say to them now, no argument she could make to persuade them she was not under some enchantment—that Jest was not a villain.

That she loved him. She chose him.

Turning, she fled from the foyer before she dissolved into a tantrum-stricken child.

Rushing into her bedroom, she slammed the door and slumped against it. In the hallway, a painting fell off its hook and crashed to the floor with a muffled Ouch!

Leaning over, Cath gathered up her skirt, pressed her face into the fabric, and screamed as loud as she could.

“Catherine?”

She startled at the meek voice and peeled the skirt away. Mary Ann stood before her—her black-and-white uniform blurred in Cath’s vision.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, before Cath could gather herself.

Cath swiped her palms over her eyes. “You told them everything! How could you?”

“I had to. You don’t know him, Cath. Nobody knows him, and I was so scared—”

“I do know him! I trust him! But you’ve ruined it. He’s a wanted man now, a criminal. It’s all over, and it’s all because of you!”

“I thought you were in trouble. That sorcery he used to take you away from the theater—it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. We were all so frightened, but still, I wanted to believe he was taking you to the beach, and when it turned out you hadn’t gone there at all … I thought you were in danger. You’ve been gone for hours and the Jabberwock is still out there somewhere and I didn’t know…”

Cath pushed herself away from the door and yanked it open. “I don’t want to hear it. You had no right to tell them what you did.”

“Cath—”

“Get out!”

“Wait, please. Listen to me, Catherine. I think I saw … when we were at the theater, I could have sworn—”

“I don’t care!” Catherine shrieked. “I don’t care what you think or what you saw. We had a plan, Mary Ann. We had a future, and now you’ve ruined it!” Tears began to streak fast down her cheeks. “I never want to see you again. You can go be a scullery maid for all I care!”

Without waiting for Mary Ann to leave, she turned and stomped into the washroom and locked the door behind her. With a sob, she slid down onto the tile floor and hugged her knees close, pushing her face into the folds of her skirt. She tried to recapture the feeling of the meadow and the wildflowers and Jest’s arms and lips and how everything had felt so very, very right.

She couldn’t fathom how, so quickly, it had all become so very, very wrong.

*

WHEN CATHERINE AWOKE the next morning, a new shrub had sprouted from the posters of her bed. The room was scented with dirt and metal and sadness and she could see a blur of red blooms beyond her swollen eyelids.

The vines drooped along the canopy, the flowers dripped toward her quilts.

Hundreds and hundreds of small, delicate hearts surrounded her—all of them bleeding.