Maggie was staring wide-eyed at the spectacle of women in dresses that showed not only their legs but their shoulders and most of their bosoms as well. In a doorway a man and woman embraced, the man’s hand thrust boldly inside the woman’s blouse, cupping her breast.

The sight was disgusting, of course, but it also gave Maggie an odd feeling that made her squirm on the streetcar’s hard seat, remembering the shameful dreams of Reeve McKenna she’d had the night before. Dreams? They’d been nightmares, and when Maggie had been jolted awake by sheer shock, she’d have sworn that the scent of shaving lotion tinged the air….

The car made several stops, taking on passengers—housewives and clerks and chattering maids—and then reached the wide street where merchants sold fresh fish, mutton, and vegetables from open stalls. Susan patted Maggie’s hand in a reassuring fashion and left the car, swinging her basket at her side.

Maggie smiled as she watched the girl go; she couldn’t help liking her.

Downtown Sydney was as daunting as before, with crowds of people streaming in and out of shops and business buildings and the bells of streetcars clanging as if to drown each other out. Skittish horses pulled wagons and carriages and buggies, and women as well as men pedaled past on bicycles.

Taking refuge in the archway of a bank, Maggie got out the careful list Mr. Kirk had provided. Frowning, she read it for the fourth time since it had been given to her at breakfast by a stony-faced Mrs. Lavendar.

Morning dresses, afternoon dresses, evening dresses. Shoes and slippers. Wrappers and nightgowns, skirts and shirtwaists.

Maggie swallowed hard and folded the list, tucking it carefully into her worn handbag. She was sweltering in a dark green woolen dress that she’d bought secondhand from a stall in the streets of London. Though she longed to be rid of it, she wondered if Mr. Kirk expected more of her than was proper. What man bought nightgowns and wrappers and evening gowns for his children’s governess?

Just as she braved the crowded sidewalk again, Maggie felt a strong hand take hold of her arm and before she could voice a protest or even get a look at her assailant’s face, she was thrust into the cool, leathery interior of a carriage. Her abductor was none other than Mr. Reeve McKenna, wearing a broad and insolent grin on his deplorably handsome face.

More infuriated than frightened, Maggie lunged for the carriage window, fully intending to put her head out and scream for assistance. When she moved to do this, two iron hands caught her at the hips and wrenched her back, and the carriage seat came up hard against her bottom.

“How dare you?” she hissed, glaring.