Mr. Button, however, was a dear man. A fashion tyrant and a persistent style bully, but a darling sort of bully. He had shoehorned her into a shimmering silk gown in a refreshing pale green, which she had to admit looked very fine against her sun-warmed complexion. The fact that Mr. Button had personally arranged her bosom inside the bodice had been shocking, yet somehow all right. A dressmaker was rather like a doctor, she thought. They did not carry tales about the people they helped.

Astonishingly, the fine gown possessed two very deep pockets hidden cleverly in the side seams. Gemma approved wholeheartedly.

Then Mr. Cabot had made free with her hair, curling it with an iron produced from somewhere and heated on her stove. He'd tumbled it all into a perfectly casual pile on top of her head that looked abundantly natural and simultaneously as if it had taken two hours and three maidservants to arrange.

Her mother's pearls were declared "dainty perfection" and replaced about her throat.

She'd not even had a moment to see herself in the tall mirror before Miss Worthington scrambled off the bed, grabbed Gemma's hand and dragged her out to the largest carriage.

Apparently, Jennie and Mr. Pollux Worthington had gone ahead in order to take the road slowly for Jennie's sake.

And after all that, Gemma still hadn't the faintest idea where they were going.

There was nothing up this hill. It was all rock-walled pastures and sheep, sheep, and more sheep. The only time she had ventured up here was during the shearing, where she spent the days making meals and toting water to the tireless men with the shears.

She couldn't even peek through the carriage windows, for Mr. Cabot and Mr. Button had pulled down all the shades. It was frustrating — and yet she could not deny the little thrill of suspense.

At last the carriage halted. Mr. Cabot disembarked and held out one hand to Gemma. Eagerly she followed him, only to find herself standing between the two carriages. Pollux Worthington was only just then helping an awkward Jennie Gosling down the steps.

Gemma ran to take her friend's elbow. Jennie looked more than a little green.

"Aye, and I'll be walking back down on me own feet, thank you!" Jennie turned to Gemma and examined her narrowly, then nodded in satisfaction. "Well! Those London laddies know what they're about, I'll say they do!"

Gemma shook her head with a small smile. "I feel silly in this dress."

Jennie patted Gemma's hand. "You look like t' lady you are."

Jennie's face was flushed yet her hands felt a little clammy. Gemma frowned. Then her attention was distracted when both carriages began to move. As they rattled rapidly away, Gemma's thoughts froze in shock.

"Zander!" It was Miss Atalanta, stepping forward from their group with a glad cry. Pollux Worthington put a hand on her arm to hold her back.