To Attie, that spot had been a lovely place to sit and read or draw or just have a think, until she had grown regretfully too tall and her head began to bump into the crossbars of the easel. Iris had borne it far longer than she should have, but she was disturbing her mother's concentration as she dabbed at another marvelous portrait of Shakespeare, With Rooster, or Piglet, or sometimes With Pigeons.

Iris never breathed a word about the bump-induced flaws, the pigeon that had three legs or Shakespeare cross-eyed or how there would be no fixing the lopsidedness of the great man's mustache. But Attie respected her mother's innovative talent too much, so she'd bid goodbye to her favorite place.

Button's workroom felt like that place. It was terribly messy and outrageously cluttered, a constantly expanding explosion of talent. Sketches and watercolors and swatches of fabric and lengths of ribbon and patches of lace were pinned up on every wall and scattered across every surface. They were layered, year upon year, season upon season, lady after lady. The life's work of the foremost dressmaker in all of England.

"S' good!"

Attie slid her gaze toward her companion, who had his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk with teacakes. The slightly bushy eyebrows over his bright blue eyes wriggled up and down as he chewed with delight.

Of course, the cakes were good. Cabot had made them. Cabot did everything perfectly. Tall and soulfully beautiful, Button's screamingly glamorous assistant was the exact opposite of short, balding, puckish Button. Some people believed they were artist and model. Others believed they were genius and protégé.

Even Attie, who knew them as well as anyone except perhaps Iris, found their relationship intriguing and mysterious. She was fairly certain that Cabot would never wish to be parted from Button. She was also fairly certain that Button would quietly expire without Cabot.

Yet for a time in the past year they had separated while Cabot took on the important and prestigious honor of fashion consultant to the Prince Regent. Prinny was old and very chubby and probably ought to be thinking about more important things than the shape of his shoe buckles, but far be it from Attie to judge another free spirit.

Besides, Iris liked him. She smiled whenever he came up in conversation, and referred to him as "dear Georgie", although Attie didn't know why.

It annoyed Attie that some things were barred from her knowledge until she reached her full height, developed a bosom, and somehow obtained the key that opened the magical door of adulthood. Well, if no one would tell her, she would simply interfere and investigate and pry until she learned it for herself, the way she did everything.