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Well, this was a terrible thing, but what could Jack do but continue on his way? After walking for another day, he came to a magnificent city. When he entered the gates, people stared and laughed, and a little crowd of boys followed him, jeering at his long nose and curving chin.
Jack threw down his pack, placed tiny hands on hips, and yelled, “D’you think me a figure of fun?”
And then behind him came another laugh, but this one was soft and sweet. When Jack turned, he beheld the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with rich golden hair and rosy cheeks.
She bent down and said to him, “I think you the funniest little man I’ve ever seen. Will you come and be my fool?”
And that was how Jack becathe„me fool to the daughter of the king. . . .
—from LAUGHING JACK
Melisande was enjoying her usual coddled eggs and buns the next morning at the usual time—half past eight o’clock—when something unusual happened. Her husband entered the breakfast room.
Melisande paused with her cup halfway to her lips and darted a quick glance at the china clock that stood on the side table. She hadn’t mistaken the time. The clock read 8:32.
She took a sip of her chocolate and set the cup precisely back down on the saucer, glad that her hands didn’t tremble at his presence. “Good morning, my lord.”
Lord Vale smiled, those lines beside his mouth deepening in a way she’d always found devastatingly charming. “Good morning, my dearest wife.”
Mouse came out from under her skirts, and for a moment, man and dog eyed each other. Then Mouse wisely conceded the moment and retreated to his lair.
Her husband strolled to the sideboard and frowned. “There isn’t any bacon.”
“I know. I don’t usually eat it.” Melisande beckoned to the footman, standing by the door. “Have Cook prepare some bacon, eggs, a few buttered kidneys, toast, and a fresh pot of tea for Lord Vale. Oh, and make sure that Cook includes some of her good marmalade.”
The footman bowed and left the room.
Vale came to sit opposite her. “I am enchanted. You know what I like to eat in the morning.”
“Of course.” She’d been studying him for years, after all. “That is one of a wife’s responsibilities.”
“Responsibility,” he murmured as he slouched in his chair. His lips twisted a little as if he found the word distasteful. “And is it the responsibility of a husband to know what his wife eats?”
She frowned, but as she’d just put a forkful of egg into her mouth, she couldn’t reply.
He nodded. “I think it must be, so I shall take note. Soft coddled eggs, buttered buns, and hot chocolate. No jam or honey for your buns, I see.”
She swallowed. “No. Unlike you, I don’t much care for jam.”
He slouched farther into the chair, his turquoise eyes lazy. “I admit I have a sweet tooth. Jam and honey and even treacle syrup. Spread it on anything and I just might lick it off.”
“Would you?” She could feel her belly heat at just his words, wicked, wicked man.
“I would indeed. Would you like me to list the possible things I could spread treacle on?” he asked innocently.
“Not at the moment, thank you.”
“Pity.”
She eyed him. She was terribly pleased that he’d joined her, but what an odd mood he seemed to be in
“No.”
“I’ve never known you to rise before eleven of the clock.”
“True, but you’ve only been married to me less than a week. Perhaps I habitually rise before nine or even five, like a crowing cock.”
She felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. “Do you?”
