Her mother tittered and flicked her fingers through the air. Appeased, just like that. Always halfway between irritation and amusement. ‘But he will. Besides, can you imagine? You, running a bakery? Why – you’d become an elephant! You can hardly control your sweet tooth as it is.’ She brushed her hands together, as if to clear them of such ludicrous talk. ‘Enough of that. Let’s go to bed. It’s late, and I think tomorrow will bring better things.’
Catherine’s chest was tightening. From her mother’s accusation. From her dismissal. From the doubtful voice in her head that wondered whether her mother was right.
But also from anger.
She shifted her whole body to face her father, fixing her gaze on him as if her mother hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m asking for your help. I never ask for anything, but I want this. I want this desperately. You don’t even need to give me the money. I can use my dowry, with your permission.’
‘What?’ Her mother again. ‘Your dowry! Absolutely not, I will never—’
The Marquess held up a hand and spoke, gently, ‘That is enough now, Idonia.’ To Cath’s surprise, her mother clamped her mouth shut.
A tickle of hope stirred in her, but it didn’t last long as her father’s gaze turned pitying. ‘I’m glad you came to us about this, Catherine. But I must agree with your mother.’
The Marchioness harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest with a sturdy nod.
‘But, Father—’
‘Ladies are not meant to own businesses, and the heir to Rock Turtle Cove has much greater things in store for her future than a lifetime of being elbow deep in eggs and flour.’
‘Greater things according to whom? It’s not my choice to become a wife. And it’s certainly not my choice to become a queen. Those things are Mother’s dreams, not mine.’
‘They are my dream too,’ said her father, and Cath flinched at the sternness in his tone. ‘They are our dream. For you. You’re young, dear, and whatever you think now, we have only your happiness in mind. We know what’s best.’
She could feel the threat of frustrated tears tickling her nose, but she bit them back. ‘No – you think you know best, but you’re wrong. This is what I want. This is what will make me happy.’
Her mother threw a hand into the air, complete with a disgusted sound from the back of her throat, but her father’s gaze was steady. In fact, Catherine could not remember her father ever looking so immovable. It was disconcerting, and her lip trembled at being the receiver of such a look.
‘You don’t understand what it is you’re asking for. A life of labour. Long hours, the endless struggles that come with being the proprietor of your own—’
‘How would you know?’ she cried, swinging her arms around at the library’s papered walls and collection of vintage books. ‘You were born into all of this. You know nothing about business ownership, whereas Mary Ann and I have been planning and researching for years. I know precisely what I’m asking. I don’t care about inheriting your title. I don’t care about being married off, to the King or anyone else. This is what I want, and it isn’t fair for you to think that you know my heart better than I do.’
‘The answer is no, Catherine.’ Her father set down his cordial glass. His knuckles had gone white. ‘I will give you no money and you shall not touch your dowry unless it is in the process of giving it to a husband that your mother and I have approved. That is the end of this discussion.’
Cath’s vision blurred. She launched to her feet. ‘You won’t even give me the courtesy of considering it?’
‘I believe I just answered that question. Should you bring it up to me again, I will be forced to let go of Mary Ann’s employment in this household.’
She staggered back. Again, the chair’s wings tried to comfort her and she blindly shoved them away. ‘What?’
‘She is a maid, Catherine. Not a friend. Not a partner. Clearly she’s been putting too many thoughts into your head and I will have none of it. Is that clear?’
She gawked at him, her jaw working but no words able to form.
‘You’re dismissed, Catherine.’
With a spark of resentment, she slammed her mouth shut and clenched her fists at her sides. ‘Mary Ann may be a servant, but I am not. I can dismiss myself, thank you.’
Turning on her heels, she marched from the room, slamming the door in her wake. Hot tears began to squeeze out of her eyes. Her thoughts screamed – a tirade of arguments, of insults, of childish tantrums pressing up against the inside of her skull.
In her head, she told her parents they were being unfair and old-fashioned. She told them she wasn’t a child and she would make her own decisions. She told them she would find another way, with or without their blessing.
She was courageous and indignant and angry . . . but angry with herself most of all. Hadn’t she known what they would say all along? Hadn’t she expected this from the start? Isn’t that why she’d avoided the conversation for so long?
She couldn’t pretend this hadn’t gone exactly as she’d expected, no matter how much she’d wished otherwise.
She was grateful to find her bedroom empty. She wasn’t ready to talk to Mary Ann about her failure. She couldn’t stand the idea of crushing her friend’s dreams, not when she was still so new to dreaming.
She needed a moment to compose herself. Maybe even to concoct a new plan. For this couldn’t be the end of everything they’d longed for.