”Hey, shh. Let’s grab a bite of lunch somewhere then change into our costumes and pick up your luggage. We only have a couple of hours before the Britannia Gate opens.”
Not even that prospect had the power to dispel the gloom that had settled over Margo. Just one other little consideration she hadn’t foreseen in becoming a time scout. To get what she wanted, Margo had to give up being pretty.
That blow, after all the other battles she’d fought through nearly seventeen miserable years of being made to feel stupid, unwanted, unloved, and a burden to everyone who knew her was nearly more than Margo could bear. The solitary, single thing that kept her from breaking down into hysterical tears was the knowledge that such a childish display would destroy her chances of scouting forever.
Her chin quivered despite her best efforts to keep it still, but she held it high. She was going to do this. No matter what it took, no matter how many obstacles Kit Carson threw in her path. She was going to scout or die trying.
And nothing was going to stand in her way.
Nothing.
* * *
CHAPTER TEN
Victoria Station hadn’t yet recovered from the damage of the unstable gate, but the worst debris had been hauled away and repairs had begun. Margo, palms sweating, clutched the handle of her frayed carpet bag. Malcolm smiled down at her, causing a sudden trip hammer lurch under her breastbone. Malcolm Moore, dressed as a wealthy Victorian gentleman, was enough to set Margo’s; pulse racing.
He grinned suddenly. “You look nervous.”