Heartless(104)

Cath lifted her chin and, for the first time, dared to imagine herself a queen.





CHAPTER 39

“PRESENTING THE MOST HONORABLE Whealagig T. Pinkerton, Marquess of Rock Turtle Cove,” announced the White Rabbit, “accompanied by his wife, Lady Idonia Pinkerton, Marchioness of Rock Turtle Cove, and daughter, Lady Cath—”

Cath stuffed a rosebud-embroidered handkerchief into the Rabbit’s mouth. He startled and peered up at her with wide eyes.

Already on the third step into the ballroom, her parents paused and glanced back. Cath flashed them a tight smile. “Go on,” she said. “I think it will be more fitting for me to be announced separately.” She turned her cool gaze back to the master of ceremonies. “As is befitting for the future Queen of Hearts, don’t you think?”

The Marquess and Marchioness exchanged surprised but pleased looks before descending down the rest of the steps.

The Rabbit pulled out the handkerchief. His expression flashed between irritation and complacency as he cleared his throat. “Of course, Lady Pinkerton, rightly so, indeed.” He puffed up his chest in an attempt to reclaim his dignity and blew into his trumpet again. “Presenting Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove!”

“Better,” she said, and swooped down toward the floor, her shoulders peeled back. Though she could imagine how collected she must appear on the outside, her mouth tasted of stale fruitcake.

She did not make eye contact with any of the guests, glad that the bejeweled masks made it easy to pretend she didn’t recognize the costumed guests surrounding her. A pair of skunks tried to approach her, and she suspected they were hoping to get into the good graces of their soon-to-be queen, toadeaters that they were, but she glided away before a greeting could be uttered. She would not pretend that she wanted or needed the approval of the noble sycophants.

“Catherine!” A damp hand grasped her elbow, spinning her around.

Margaret Mearle dipped into a curtsy. Her mouth was pinched in a smile, her nose hidden behind a pale pink snout. “Have you heard the wonderful news?”

Cath found it impossible to smile back, despite Margaret’s overjoyed expression. “I don’t believe I have,” she said, without much enthusiasm.

Margaret let out a dreamy sigh. “The Duke has asked for my father’s permission to begin a courtship. With me!”

“I can hardly believe it to be so.”

“And yet it is. We’re to have our first chaperoned visit tomorrow afternoon. Oh, Lady Catherine, I’m full plumped up with satisfaction.” Linking her arm with Cath’s, she waved a fan over her flushed face. “The moral of that, of course, is that ‘the caged canary does not eat from the hands of vipers.’”

Catherine tore her arm away and rounded on her. “Stuff and nonsense, Margaret.”

Margaret blinked. “Pardon?”

“What does that even mean? ‘The caged canary does not eat from the hands of vipers’? Vipers don’t have hands. And would a canary truly prefer to be caged than take a risk on someone who might seem dangerous, but—but maybe they aren’t dangerous at all. Maybe the viper only wants to share some birdseed! Did you think of that when you were concocting your ridiculous moral?”

Margaret stepped back. “Why—I don’t think you comprehend—”

“I comprehend well enough. Your so-called morals are nothing but an excuse to act better than the rest of us. To treat us as though we are not as clever or as righteous as you, when really, all you’re doing is trying to hide your own insecurities! It’s childish and contemptible and I’ve put up with it long enough.”

Margaret’s cheeks turned the same color as the strapped-on nose. “Why, I … that isn’t fair. I’ve never…” She huffed. “This is unacceptable, Lady Pinkerton. I hoped that you, more than anyone, would be happy for me, but I see now that you’ve been harboring too much envy to be mollified. I suppose it’s true that I’ve always held myself to a higher standard than you, but I’ve done my best to keep you in my good graces nevertheless. To try and raise you to my level, so you could see the error of your ways.”

“Please. Spare me.”

Margaret’s eyes darted past her and widened. “Ah! Fair evening, my lord.”

“To you as well, my lady.”

Catherine turned to Lord Warthog, who had joined them, his small ears trembling with joy. He was wearing a snout to match Margaret’s, though it hardly changed the look of his face at all.

She rolled her eyes in disgust.

“How do you do, Lady Pinkerton?” he asked.

“Not as well as some, it would seem.”

“Lady Pinkerton,” Margaret said through her teeth, “is out of sorts tonight.”

“I am most sorry to hear that. I actually wondered if I might have a word with you, although”—he cleared his throat, and his voice softened—“only after Lady Mearle tells me whether she might have any openings left on her dance card?”

“Something tells me you’ll have your pick of them,” Catherine grumbled, but her low insult went ignored as Margaret and the Duke flirted and flustered until Margaret made some comment about powdering her nose and bustled away. The draped fabric of her gown swayed behind her as she marched into the flurry of coattails and petticoats, and the Duke watched as dopey eyed as a flamingo.