“I’m afraid I’m used to being on display,” she said brightly. “In the village, my father and I were the only Europeans. My hair was considered to be a good-luck charm—”

She broke off as Mr. Dewland grabbed her arm. “Come along, Miss Jerningham.” He looked down at Phoebe, who still clutched Gabby’s bonnet. “Here, give me that.” He took the bonnet and plopped it on top of Gabby’s head. It looked absurd.

“Miss Jerningham.” His voice was a command.

Gabby gave a little shrug and took Phoebe’s hand. She could put up her hair in the carriage.

She climbed into Mr. Dewland’s vehicle, tucked Phoebe next to her, and then briskly wound her hair into a knot on the back of her head.

“That looks much nicer,” Phoebe said as Gabby stuck in a few extra pins for good luck.

Quill looked at her and couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d never seen a woman more in need of a lady’s maid in his life. She had taken all that mass of gorgeous hair and stuck it up on her head somehow, but even he could see that it was tilting to the right, and in a matter of two minutes it would start falling out of its coil.

And now that he looked at Gabby more closely, he could see that the overall impression of inelegance he caught on the wharf was due to her clothing as well as her hair. She wasn’t very tall, and she seemed to have a rather—well, plumpish figure.

Quill’s heart sank and he drove home in silence. His mood didn’t appear to bother Gabby. She and Phoebe chattered about every bit of London they could see from the carriage. Gabby’s voice matched her face. It was slightly husky, a beautiful, dark, deep voice that spoke of bedtime pleasures to Quill’s mind.

But Peter—what was Peter going to say? There was no way to wrap it up in white linen: Peter was engaged to marry a plump, untidy girl who seemed to have no ladylike graces at all. The women Peter appreciated were tall, graceful sylphs. They were cool and sophisticated, women whose personal taste made them a match for Peter’s exquisitely groomed person. They did not have sensuous mouths and voices that sounded provocative even when talking about the most innocent things.

Quill snuck another look at Gabby. Perhaps if they hired a maid—well, they had to hire a maid! But, no, it was impossible to imagine Gabby metamorphosing into a woman of distinction. Her hastily bundled hair had already drooped and fallen to the right side.

As soon as they reached the house he would send Gabby up to her room and instruct his mother’s maid to wait on her. Something had to be done about that hair before Peter returned.