Jennie set down her half-empty glass and smiled at Gemma with a twinkle of friendly mischief in her eyes. "Well, you're dressed to muck out that evil pony's stall. Best be changin' or we'll both be late!"

Gemma drew back. "I was working. Wait, what shall we be late for?"

Jennie waved a hand. "That's no matter now. All you need to do is change that gown and do up your hair and you'll be the prettiest lass there."

"Where?" Gemma narrowed her gaze at her friend. "Jennie, you can order me about all afternoon and it will get you nowhere if you do not disclose the facts of the matter."

"Don't be a stick in the mud. For once, won't you let folks give you a surprise?" Jennie gulped from her glass, and pointed up the stairs with one finger.

Gemma pursed her lips. "Fine. I will be but a moment."

Upstairs, she wasn't sure whether to don her black silk (funerals), or the less fine but more cheerful ocher dotted-Swiss muslin (weddings and christenings).

Since she was certain she would've heard if there was a passing in the village, she quickly stripped and put on the muslin, which had the added advantage of being easier to clean.

A yellow ribbon pinned around the severe bun she created would do. Thinking of Jennie's proudly worn coral, Gemma fished in her meager jewelry collection for her mother's pearls. They were small but very fine, and she doubled the strand about her throat instead of letting it dangle.

A quick glance in the tall mirror declared her fit enough for any Yorkshire occasion, no matter that everyone in the village had seen her ocher muslin a hundred times and again. It was hardly mended at all, just the hem turned a few times.

As she ran lightly down the stairs, she could not deny the eagerness bubbling up inside her. She'd once loved surprises, a fact she'd forgotten in a life where unexpected events were invariably tragic ones.

ON THE ROAD NORTH…

OVER THE COURSE OF the two day journey — which would've been longer but they'd kept both carriages light with two occupants each and minimal luggage (even Button!) — the very excellent borrowed horses had made superior time. Attie had abruptly and for no apparent reason decided to speak to Poll as if nothing had happened.

Now she rode half outside the carriage, with her knees on the seat and her elbows on the window ledge, lifting her face to the breeze like a pet.

Poll had gauged the slimness of his sister against the narrow window and decided that since he had a high possibility of catching her sash if she tumbled out, there was no point in starting another argument over it.