No, there was no danger of Miss Atalanta Worthington developing a latent sense of decorum. "I couldn't agree more. But if it is the only way I can be with him, then it will have to be enough."

"No, I mean about the age difference. You are a thousand years old," she informed him archly. "It's in your eyes. You are like the melancholy angels painted on the cathedral walls. Button, on the other hand, is five minutes younger than I am. Why else do you think we are such great friends?"

Melancholy angel? Monk, perhaps. Cabot nodded grimly. "Tell him that. He is the one who needs to hear it."

Attie shrugged. "No. You are both being very boring and I don't want to play."

"Don't want to play at what?" Button emerged from the crush and handed Attie an earthen cup and watched her drink down the cool water held therein.

Cabot gazed at Attie with deadly warning. "I was just telling Miss Atalanta that I shall never be as successful as you because I cannot make everyone like me as you can."

Button frowned. "Oh nonsense. That's not accurate!"

Cabot shrugged. "They think I am cold."

Button sputtered, appalled. "But — but that is untrue! You are never cold!"

I burn for you. Does it show?

Button's gaze flicked away. Cabot allowed him to retreat, as always.

Attie, however, eyed Cabot for a moment. "You aren't cold. I should know. You are …" Her sharp green eyes narrowed in thought. "You are private."

Button turned to Attie, intrigued. "Why do you say that?"

Attie shrugged and gazed indifferently out upon the dance floor. "He's private because he doesn't believe that everything in his thoughts needs to be said out loud. It's no one's business, is it? And he's too honest to be insincere, so he simply says nothing at all."

Button turned to Cabot and gazed at him in surprise. "Yes, that is precisely the right word. You know, I've always wanted the right word for Cabot."

Cabot was not unhappy with the depiction either. He nodded at Attie, who nodded back and then abruptly walked off, dusting her hands as if to say, "there's a job done."

Button watched her go. "I do believe I am truly worried about that child."

Cabot picked up his tankard and drank deeply. If Button felt the need to worry, perhaps it was the rest of the world he should fret about.

GEMMA SHUT THE DOOR on her little bedchamber, leaving the occupants in darkness for she had only the one candle. The Goslings quite frankly didn't care. Jennie, too breathless and exhausted to argue taking over the lady's chamber, was tucked with her three eldest children into Gemma's bed. The littlest had been left at the farmhouse with Jennie's mother-in-law, which was a good thing. Gemma's few remaining usable bedchambers were chockablock with guests.