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Jest looked away. The connection snapped and Catherine dragged in a long breath, grateful to be rescued from her own lack of subtlety.

The look had been just long enough to fan the flames of her curiosity, and short enough to put none of them out .

His audience was growing fast. Even some of the Spade gardeners had stopped working to listen to the Joker’s music. Catherine realized with a jolt that her mother was among them, beaming as large as anyone.

The song ended, the notes reaching Catherine over the expanse of lawn, followed by the delighted cooing and clapping of the crowd.

Jest tucked the mandolin against his side and bowed. The Raven took flight again, soaring off in the direction of the herb garden.

“Catherine! You look like a buffoon. What are you staring at?”

“Oh—oh!” She faced Margaret again, clawing her fingernails into the racket’s netting. “I was distracted by… by the Raven. Did you see it? It appears that the, uh—the Joker is over… Oh, my. Margaret, what is happening to your hat?”

Margaret’s face lit up and she reached tentative fingers toward her fascinator. “What is it doing? Tell me.”

“It’s… blooming,” said Cath, as the rosebud that was as big as Margaret’s head began to open—the yellow petals curling open to reveal a lush flower, the hue deepening to rich gold at its center.

The edges of the petals glimmered, as if dipped in sugar crystals, and the softest, most wonderful fragrance drifted toward Cath’s nose.

“My, that is a fine hat you’re wearing, Lady Margaret.”

They spun to see the Countess, who had spoken, and the Duke, who was blushing at his hooves, standing not far away.

Margaret’s enthusiasm fizzled as she stuck her nose into the air. “Thank you,” she said, rather unkindly.

“Did you by chance get it at that new hat shop outside the Crossroads?” the Countess asked.

“I’ve heard much about it these past weeks and have been meaning to make a trip there myself, though with my old age it’s hard to get around much unless I have a strapping young man to assist me.

” She grinned, as if she’d said something wicked, and curled her fingers into the crook of the Duke’s elbow .

“That is indeed where I got it.” The confession seemed strained.

Margaret’s shoulders stiffened beside her ear.

“That is to say… naturally, that pride and… the sin of arrogance… it requires willpower to… to doff the vanity that such attention-grabbing-ness might… otherwise… prevail upon oneself…” She gulped. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Cath, the Duke, and the Countess recited.

Cath cleared her throat. “I believe what Lady Margaret means to say is that ‘Once a goldfish, forever a goldfish.’”

The Duke dared to glance up, his small dark eyes captivated by Margaret and her unfurled hat. Despite her haughtiness and upturned nose, with Lord Warthog ogling her in such a way and her hat sitting aromatically atop her head, it once again became possible to imagine her as not-unattractive.

“Forever a goldfish,” breathed the Duke. “I could not agree more.”

“It’s nice to see young ladies taking up their exercise,” said the Countess, gesturing her cane toward the battledore rackets.

“I was just telling the Duke that this tea party is already much improved over the black-and-white ball. I should like to see the King maintain such high standards of guests. None of that—riffraff that was about before.”

“Oh yes,” Margaret said. “Like that awful Cheshire Cat. What is a feline like that doing at a royal ball, with all the vanishing and unvanishing and sitting on people’s heads. It isn’t natural.”

“Such is an insult to proper ladies and gentlemen.” The Countess planted her cane back into the grass. “Not to mention Mr. and Mrs. Peter.” She made a face akin to a child trying their first bite of cooked spinach. “Dreadful folk. I’ll be pleased to never cross their paths again.”

“What we can be grateful for,” interrupted Catherine, folding her hands over the battledore racket, “is that you were present, Your Grace. Margaret was just telling me about your courageous sacrifice—throwing yourself in between her and the Jabberwock in order to protect a fair maiden! And I see you still bear the wound to prove it.” She gestured at the bandage peeking above the Duke’s cravat, then held the racket against her chest. “It’s like something from a story.

So romantic! Margaret, don’t you think the Duke was very brave? ”

She was met with a brooding glare from Margaret and was glad the Duke was too busy blushing again to notice.

A new voice intruded into their circle, deep and witty and tumbling with laughter. “I certainly hope,” said the Joker, “that this won’t be the standard of romance by which all men in the Kingdom of Hearts shall be held to.”

Catherine whipped her head so quickly to the side she near gave herself a neck crick. The Joker was tipping his bell-tinged hat to the Duke. “You run a difficult competition, Lord Duke.”

“Well, I wouldn’t…,” the Duke stammered, his snout twitching. “Th-that is to say, any man would have… Lady Mearle was in danger, and I… it wasn’t anything spectacular, I assure you…”

“He’s humble too?” said Jest, raising an eyebrow and looking at Catherine, Margaret, and the Countess in turn. “Which of you three ladies is he trying so hard to impress?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Catherine subtly nodded toward Margaret.

“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 onto 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 toward 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 favors.” She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“So you deal in favors. That’s good to know.”

He grinned.

She grinned back.

“Speaking of favors,” 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.”