Gemma bit her lip and eyed the thing mistrustfully, but then nodded at the looming Yorkshireman. "Thank you, Mr. Orren. I'm entirely reassured."

At that point, the chamber seemed to burst into open activity, as if everyone had been waiting for Gemma's approval.

Jem Toms lifted his bow to his fiddle and the music began, a rousing country dance tune. Gemma stepped back and waited for someone to lead their lady onto the floor.

Then tall, handsome, somehow-suddenly-dashing Mr. Lysander Worthington moved toward her with his hand outstretched.

"May I have the honor?"

Gemma's breath caught in her throat and suddenly her hand was wrapped in his. So large. So warm.

And then she was dancing.

Someone was laughing, a delighted breathless sound. It was her, giggling and grinning like a giddy schoolgirl.

I don't care. I'm dancing!

The dance was a romping pattern with four couples, and soon the floor was filled with sets of dancers. Gemma caught glimpses of Shepherd Gosling doing the steps and carefully guiding Jennie, who moved like a ship under sail. Gosling's fair complexion had turned ruddy with the intensity of his concentration. He needn't have worried, for the crowd parted for Jennie and eased her way with a few affectionate pats to her ripe belly. Jennie looked serene and saintly, her cheeks pink and proud.

Gemma even caught a glimpse of Miss Atalanta Worthington dancing with Mr. Button. For all her gangling height, the girl moved with breathtaking grace. That and Mr. Button's vivid glee put well paid to their height difference and they were the most accomplished partners on the floor. Miss Worthington performed the reel with a bored sort of graceful style, theatrically weighed down with jaded ennui.

Really, what an odd girl.

The dance ended. Gemma fanned her face and accepted Lysander's offer to fetch her a cool drink. While she waited, she spotted handsome Mr. Pollux Worthington chatting up the two very pretty, if rather vapid, nieces of the village postmistress. The two young ladies gazed up at Lysander's brother with shining eyes while he told some tale requiring the use of both hands fanned out from his head like a set of horns.

"Oh dear," she murmured to herself.

The postmistress's nieces were renowned for their heartfelt, but swiftly forgotten passions. They always became enamored of the same fellow at the same time and the competition often shook the entire village.

"My dear Mrs. Oakes, do not fear for the ladies. Pollux is a rogue reformed. He's had his heart quite unavoidably broken, you see. He would never inflict that pain on another now."

Gemma turned to Mr. Button with a bemused shake of her head. "It is for Mr. Worthington — Lysander — that I fear. The village has only just forgiven him for his disastrous arrival. If the Lamb sisters take on a battle over Pollux, I fear the entire dale will resent Lysander for it."