Mr. Button's eyes widened. "Heavens, it's as fascinating as summer court at the palace! What fun!" Then, with a wink at Gemma, he stepped away to speak to Mr. Cabot.

Mr. Cabot gazed down at his friend with absolutely no change of demeanor, yet Gemma had the impression of a severe lack of enthusiasm for whatever Mr. Button suggested.

Mr. Button returned to Gemma's side as they watched Mr. Cabot move smoothly to the trio, gain an introduction by way of Pollux, and sweep the taller of the Lamb sisters away for a dance. Pollux, perforce, did the same. The two young ladies had to settle for glaring at each other over their partner's shoulders, each jealous of the other's conquest.

Gemma snickered. The Lambs were fine people, but the entire community would be relieved when those two were settled in homes of their own.

"Poor Cabot."

Gemma blinked. The Lamb sisters were exceedingly silly, but they were both considered to be quite beautiful. Yet Mr. Cabot, unlike Pollux, seemed entirely unaffected. In fact, Mr. Cabot appeared oblivious to everyone except for one silver-eyed glance at Mr. Button.

"Ah." She hadn't realized. "Swans."

Mr. Button turned to her politely. "I apologize. I didn't catch that."

Gemma smiled at him gently. "Swans. They pair up for life, don't they? Not always male and female, either. Cambridge University is absolutely puffy with swans."

Mr. Button sputtered and lost his composure for the merest fraction of a second. Gemma bent to kiss his cheek quickly. "Thank you for helping me dress. I do feel quite fearless in this gown."

Lysander returned with an earthen cup of something for Gemma. Mr. Button made a quick bow and stepped away. Lysander moved into his friend's place next to Gemma.

"Lemonade." He peered into his own cup. "Or possibly not."

Gemma raised her brows at the very purple liquid in her vessel, then she gave it a sniff. "Bilberry juice," she announced. "Perfectly safe." With a glance around the room at the many thirsty partakers, she added, "Nor shall I see a case of gallstones for the next year. Still, you should take care. It can impart the most vivid purple —"

She looked at Lysander, who even then had his head tilted back to drain his cup. "Mouth stain."

Oh dear. Gemma bit her lip but the impending giggle won out. Mr. Worthington looked down at her, bemusement etched on his handsome, manly, bilberry–stained features.

For a moment, a mischievous part of Gemma toyed with the notion of not telling him. After all, nearly everyone else in the improvised ballroom drank the "muckle–mouth" juice with relish. However, there was a trick to it, sipping small and swallowing fast. Mr. Worthington had guzzled his. Not very gentlemanly, that.