The shorter one beamed at Gemma with open delight. The tall one —

"Sweet sheep on a hill," Jennie breathed beside her. "Look at that 'un! I'm mighty glad I've got my good frock on!"

Gemma was thankful that she'd changed from her old, stained smock, but not for the same reason.

All of them, from the beautiful man to the beautiful girl, had every ounce of their attention fixed upon her, Gemma, as if she held the secret answer to a sacred question.

"Where is my brother?" the girl demanded.

Oh. Well, it seemed that she did.

ONCE THEY HAD ALL been ushered politely into the manor, Button found himself alternately charmed and appalled by the shabby gentility of both the lady and her house. If he was not mistaken, the crumbling edges of the Palladian-style manor had driven its inhabitants to occupy only the center rooms!

It seemed that poor Lysander was actually in residence at Yew Manor. Furthermore, the stunning woman in the truly unfortunate gown was, in fact, some sort of local nurse. Button twitched with curiosity. Pollux, in Button's considered opinion, wasn't asking any of the interesting questions! Button assumed Lysander had a perfectly good reason to battle a sheep. He wanted to know if Lysander won! Also, how did Mrs. Oakes impart that luminous tint to her skin? Did Yorkshire have a good theater?

Were she and Lysander lovers?

In the cool shadowy parlor of the manor, he struggled to remain appropriately uninvolved in the conversation between Pollux and the charming widow. At a tug on his impeccable sleeve, Button blinked at the rather abundant woman who had pulled on his arm.

"My stars, a shearing shed?" He thought he must be mistaken, but as the woman explained in a hissing monologue in his ear, Button began to smile. Apparently, a surprise was in store for the Lady of the Dale and it was past time to set out. "Well, of course!"

Then his gaze slid to fix upon the charmingly appealing Mrs. Oakes. And the dress she was wearing. "But not just yet, I fear."

Then he turned to his little friend Miss Atalanta Worthington. "My dear, did you by chance pack the gown you were meant to wear tonight?"

Attie did not cease the deadly glare she'd been pummeling poor Mrs. Oakes with for the last several minutes, yet still managed to cast her reply back over one shoulder. "Of course. I keep my promises." Masterfully, she managed to expand the lance of her disgruntlement to include Pollux, who remained in quietly intense conversation with the delicious widow.

Button smiled angelically at Attie. "Excellent, my dear." He turned that same expression on Cabot, who — knowing him so well! — gazed back a bit warily.

"Cabot, please go fetch Miss Atalanta's bag. And mine. Oh yes, I shall need that as well."