Lysander blinked. Letter? Then he turned his gaze on Gemma, who met his gaze with no apology whatsoever.

"Well, but really," she murmured closely. "You did battle with a sheep! Hardly a sensible thing to do. I thought someone should know you were here."

Then they were surrounded. Exclamations were exclaimed. He was tentatively pummeled by a brotherly fist. Attie remained clasped to him like a limpet on a sea-washed rock. Then he looked for Gemma, who was smiling a little through anxious eyes. She began to step away, excusing herself from the reunion, polite and well-bred as always. Lysander kept one arm around Attie and made a long reach with the other to catch at Gemma's fingertips.

I need not choose.

He drew Gemma, smiling more broadly now, into the circle of flying questions that answered themselves and each other before Lysander ever spoke.

Of course. They would not expect words from him.

Gemma, however, did.

"Mr. Worthington, I have absolutely no notion of why we are all dressed up and standing on a hillside."

Lysander gazed at her warmly. The clever not-question. Poll and Button went quite still and stared at Gemma with a sort of embarrassed confusion. Cabot, who had been trying to peel Attie away from Lysander, swiveled his head around to peer at Gemma as well.

Gemma merely continued to gaze expectantly at him.

Attie lifted her head from where she'd tucked it into Lysander's cravat. "Zander made —"

Lysander calmly placed one hand over Attie's mouth. "Thank you, Attie. I can manage." He gazed back at Gemma. "We made a ball for you."

It was a simple version of events, true, but he managed to say all the words together in a sensible manner, even in the shock of visitors swarming around him.

Her beautiful eyes crinkled corners at the corners. Well done, the look said. "That sounds —"

"You're talking?" Attie interrupted, clawing his palm off her face and gaping up at him.

"Well, what else would he do, Miss Atalanta?" Cabot caught Attie by surprise and unwrapped her arms from around Lysander. "Bark?"

"Indeed, Cabot," Button said with pure delight rising in his eyes. "Indeed!"

Then the questions began to fly once more, but Lysander found himself the recipient this time. Part of him, the part that had expanded in the peace and clarity of the dales, began to shrink away again.

Gemma took his arm with a country woman's grip of her daintily gloved hands and steered him swiftly away.

"My apologies," she called back over her shoulder in a gaily unrepentant tone, "but Mr. Worthington owes me a ball and I intend to collect."

ONCE GEMMA AND LYSANDER had made their escape from the Worthington's clamor, Gemma slowed her determined pace and stared ahead in wonder. "My shearing shed looks as if a unicorn might emerge at any moment."