‘Ah.’ If Jest questioned the Duke’s choice, there was no sign of it as he rocked back on his heels.
The Countess batted her lashes, flattered to have been included as a potential romantic conquest. ‘All you young men these days fancy yourselves such charmers,’ she said, clearly charmed. ‘But I assure you, I won’t be marrying again. Once in a lifetime was plenty enough for me.’
‘A loss to us all,’ said Jest, sweeping up the Countess’s hand and kissing the back of it. She swooned some more.
‘You must be the ever-wise Lady Mearle I’ve heard so much about,’ he said, giving a kiss to Margaret, and then – ‘And . . . the delightful Lady Pinkerton, if I’m not mistaken?’ His attention found her again. The leather of his glove was warm and supple beneath her fingertips, and the slight graze of his lips on her knuckle was hardly worthy of the heat that climbed up her neck and on to her ears. There was a joke behind his kohl-lined eyes. A secret passing between the two of them.
‘Enchanted, Mr Joker,’ said Cath, glad when her voice didn’t shake.
His grin brightened.
Lord Warthog straightened his waistcoat and squared his shoulders with renewed composure. ‘And what of you, Lady Mearle? I don’t recall I’ve yet heard of your having any, erm . . . proposals?’
Cath flinched. Though she knew the Duke’s intentions were anything but cruel, his sudden change of countenance made the hopeful question sound as though he were mocking her.
Which was, of course, precisely what Margaret heard.
Glowering, she snatched the battledore racket out of Catherine’s hands. ‘I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. Or anyone else’s for that matter. But if you must know, I consider myself above trivial matters such as courtships and flattery. I prefer to spend my hours improving my mind through an intense study of philosophy and stitching parables into the linings of my gowns. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my hummingbird.’ Adjusting the hat on her head, she marched off towards where the bird had fled, leaving a stricken Duke and oblivious Countess in her wake.
‘Think I can guess the answer to your question,’ said Jest, joking, but not unkind. He handed the Duke a gracious smile. ‘Better luck next time, chap.’
With a sigh, Lord Warthog tipped his hat to Catherine and led the Countess away, his interest in their conversation waning as soon as Margaret had gone.
‘I apologize to have interrupted,’ said Jest, though he spoke quietly and it was difficult to hear him over the sudden galloping of her heart.
‘You needn’t apologize,’ she said. ‘I fear I was doing a disservice to the Duke, though I’d meant to help.’
‘ ’Tis too often the way of good intentions. Is matchmaking a frequent hobby of yours, or is the Duke a rare and lucky beneficiary of your services?’
‘So far, I’m afraid my services have been neither lucky nor beneficial, but it is in fact my first attempt. The Duke fancies Lady Mearle, but isn’t adept at showing it, as you may have noticed. And so he and I are . . . trading favours.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘So you deal in favours. That’s good to know.’
He grinned.
She grinned back.
‘Speaking of favours,’ he said, with some hesitation, ‘I’d nearly forgotten. I was sent to summon you, Lady Pinkerton.’
‘Summon me?’
He clasped his hands behind his back in imitation of one of the royal squires. ‘His Majesty the King has requested a word with you.’
CHAPTER 12
CATHERINE FOLLOWED JEST with mounting trepidation. Her stomach was in knots over meeting the King, but she did her best to steel herself against what she assumed was his imminent proposal.
It was difficult to steel herself against it when she wasn’t sure what her answer would be. Every time she imagined how miserable she would be upon accepting his proposal, it was followed by a vision of how delighted her parents would be. How very proud. Oh, how her mother would brag . . .
Her seesaw emotions were not helped by the casual whistling of the Joker who walked a pace ahead of her, or the narrow cut of his shoulders, or his elegantly long strides that made her blood rush for reasons she couldn’t fathom.
Her head spun. Maybe she would faint again. She almost embraced the idea.
Jest led her into a courtyard that was surrounded by boxwoods and chiming bluebells. A fountain sat in its centre and the King was walking around its edge like a tightrope walker, his arms outstretched for balance.
Jest cleared his throat. ‘Your Majesty, may I present Lady Catherine Pinkerton.’
The King squealed with delight and hopped off the fountain.
Catherine curtsied, and cursed herself for not having fainted during the walk.
‘Thank you, Jest, thank you. That will be all!’ The King clapped his hands as Jest bowed once to him and once to Catherine. He seemed to hesitate as he met her eyes, as if he saw the pleading in her face. The chant of please, please don’t leave that was running loops in her head.
His brow creased.
Bracing herself, Catherine looked away.
‘I won’t be far,’ said Jest, ‘should my presence be wanted.’
Though it was said to the King, Catherine suspected he meant it for her. She did not look up again until she’d heard the faint thumping of his boots passing out of the courtyard.
She and the King were left alone in the romantic gardens. He was smiling at her like he’d just opened an unbirthday present and found it was precisely what he’d asked for.