Heartless(24)

“Oh, indeed, I only meant for the neighborhood, you know. One always hates to lose an established business, but I’m sure you’re looking forward to, er … retirement, is it?”

He stared at her for so long she wondered that he would answer at all, or if she had offended him, when finally he said, “I have purchased a small plot of land in the forest, where I shall finally have quiet and solitude.”

Cath waited for him to go on, but that seemed to be the end of it. “I see,” she finally said. “That sounds lovely.” She cleared her throat, still tickling from the smoke. “Are you the owner of this building as well?”

“No,” said Mr. Caterpillar. “The Duke has long been my landlord.”

“The Duke! You mean Lord Warthog?”

“The same, that bore.” He yawned, as if growing bored by their conversation. “I like him well enough, though. He’s aloof-like. Not so nosy like the rest of you.”

Cath tried to disguise her frown, not only at the unjustified insult, but also because she’d been hoping the building’s owner would be someone she had no association with. Someone who wouldn’t be apt to discuss her business with the rest of the gentry, or her parents, until things were settled. She still hadn’t had the brazenness to ask her father about a loan to start up her bakery—or permission to use her dowry for the funds.

At least Mr. Caterpillar was right about one thing. Lord Warthog didn’t seem the nosy sort, so perhaps she could trust him not to gossip about her plans.

Mary Ann stepped closer. “Do you know if there’s been much interest in someone leasing out the space once you’re gone?”

Mr. Caterpillar slowly shifted his gaze to her. “Who are you?”

Mary Ann folded her hands in front of her skirt. “I’m Mary Ann.”

The Caterpillar yawned again. “Whosoever leases this space will be the Duke’s concern, not mine.”

“I see,” said Mary Ann. “But … would you happen to think that a bakery would do well here? Say, the most wondrous bakery in all of Hearts?”

The Caterpillar scratched at his cheek with the end of the hookah, pushing the skin around like overstretched marzipan. “Only if this bakery should serve clootie dumplings, which I prefer to all other dumplings.”

“Oh, we would,” said Cath. “I’d hunt down the treacle well, even, to ensure it’s the best clootie dumpling this side of the Looking Glass.”

She beamed, but the Caterpillar only turned his solemn gaze back to her and said, without humor, “The treacle well is naught but a myth.”

Cath deflated. “Yes. Naturally. I meant it as a joke.”

It was an old myth—that drinking from the treacle well could heal a person’s wounds or age them in reverse. Only problem was, no one had the faintest idea where to find the treacle well. Some said the well was in the Looking Glass maze, but moved around so that you would only get more and more lost if you ever tried to find it. Some said that only the most desperate of souls could ever find the treacle well. But most, like the cobbler, said it didn’t exist at all.

The Caterpillar grunted. “Your joke was not charming.”

“I wasn’t meaning to be.”

“What did you mean?”

Cath hesitated. “Only that … yes, we would have clootie dumplings?”

The Caterpillar peered at her a long, long moment, before sticking the hookah back into his mouth.

“Right,” she muttered. “Thank you for all of your help.”

Turning, she grabbed Mary Ann’s elbow and dragged her back outside, exiting to the sound of a few sleepy snorts from the bell.

Mary Ann was tying knots into her bonnet strings before they’d gone a dozen steps. “It’s rather a miracle he’s stayed in business this long, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said Cath, but she was already forgetting about the grumpy old cobbler. “Do you suppose the Duke would entertain the idea of leasing the building to us?”

“It’s difficult to say,” said Mary Ann. “I hope he would make the decision as a businessman should, based on our solid business plan and financial projections.”

Cath shook her head. “No one thinks like that other than you, Mary Ann. I do think the Duke likes me well enough, as much as he likes anyone. But he also knows that I’m a nobleman’s daughter who is supposed to be looking for a husband, not looking into storefronts. He might think it’s a conflict of values to enter into a business arrangement with me.” She cast her eyes upward, finding it too easy to imagine the Duke’s haughty snort.

“Unless we have your father’s permission.”

“Yes. Unless that.”

Nerves twisted in Cath’s stomach, as they did every time she thought of broaching the subject with her parents. That was where the dream and reality refused to mix, as distinct as oil and water. No matter how many times she tried to imagine the conversation with her parents and what she would say to persuade them that her bakery was worth investing in, or at the least, worth giving permission for … they never said yes. Not even in her fantasies.

She was still the daughter of a marquess.

But she could push forward without them for now, for a little while longer still.

“We’ll have our answer soon enough, though.” She popped open the parasol as they headed back toward their carriage. “We’re going to call on the Duke this afternoon.”