Mission: Make-Over. PENNY JORDAN

home, farmers and farmers’ wives needed their sleep.

      She had spent the afternoon with her father. Following his retirement he had moved to a village twenty-odd miles away where he now lived with his widowed elder sister, and Lucianna had promised several days earlier that she would service their ancient Hillman for them. Her mind hadn’t really been on the Hillman, though; it had been on Jake Carlisle and his extraordinary challenge, his declaration that he could teach her how to be a woman, the kind of woman men like him—and, according to him, all men—really wanted.

      Jake, as Lucianna already knew, could be a formidable adversary. It had been Jake, after all, who had persuaded her father to retire when David had given up on ever being allowed to take over and modernise the farm, and Jake who had added the weight of his confidence to her youngest brother Adam’s pleas to be allowed to spend time back-packing around the world instead of settling down in a job as her father had wished. Adam was presently working in Australia at a holiday resort on the Barrier Reef.

      Dick, the brother between Lewis and Adam in age, was working abroad in China, supervising the building of a new dam, and Lewis was in New York.

      What would they make of Jake’s plan to turn her into a proper woman, the kind of woman John simply couldn’t resist? Did she really need to ask herself? First they would roar with laughter and then they would no doubt point out that the task he had taken on was too formidable, too impossible even for his fabled talents.

      She wasn’t the complete fool her family seemed to think she was, Lucianna assured herself irritably. She knew perfectly well that other young women of her age appeared to have an almost magical ability when it came to attracting the opposite sex that she simply didn’t possess, but she refused to believe it was simply a matter of wearing different clothes and adopting the kind of simpering, idiotic manner she suspected that Jake was going to advise her to attempt.

      There had been other boys, young men she had dated before she met John, brief friendships which had petered out amicably on both sides, but with John it was different; with John she’d found herself thinking for the first time about a shared future, marriage…children…But, although John always seemed to enjoy her company, so far their relationship had not progressed beyond the odd relatively chaste kiss or affectionate hug.

      She had tried to tell herself that John was a gentleman and that he simply didn’t want to rush her and she had staunchly held onto that belief until last weekend.

      Quietly she let herself into the house and made her way upstairs, pausing on the landing as she heard voices from her brother and sister-in-law’s room and then tensing when she realised that she was the subject of their conversation.

      She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, she told herself as she recognised that they were discussing the conversation which had taken place in the farmhouse kitchen earlier in the day, but for some reason it was impossible for her to walk away.

      ‘Do you really think Jake’s going to be able to teach Lucianna to be more feminine?’ she heard Janey asking her husband.

      ‘Not a hope in hell,’ she heard David responding cheerfully whilst she held her breath. ‘Luce is my sister but, much as I love her, I have to admit that when it comes to sex appeal the poor kid just doesn’t have what it takes…’

      ‘Oh, David, that’s a bit unkind and unfair,’ Janey protested. ‘She’s got a lovely figure, even if she does hide it behind those dreadful dungarees, and if she paid a little more attention to herself she could be quite stunning. It’s not her fault, you know, if all of you treated her like another brother when she was growing up—’

      ‘It doesn’t matter what she does,’ David interrupted her disparagingly, ‘Luce just isn’t a man’s woman, and not even Jake, despite his experience with the female sex, is going to be able to change that. We might as well face up to the fact that we’ve got her here on our hands for life…’

      Hot tears filled Lucianna’s eyes as she crept silently past their bedroom door. Even her own brother thought she was unappealing as a woman. Well, she would show him, she decided angrily. She would show them all, and if that meant eating humble pie and taking orders from someone as tirelessly autocratic and bossy as Jake, then despite all the run-ins she had had with him in the past, all the times she had objected to him taking a far too older-brotherly and interfering interest in her life, so be it.

      And, loath though she was to admit it, even in the privacy of her own thoughts, she could certainly have no better tutor. She had, after all, had ample opportunity over the years to witness for herself just exactly what effect Jake had on the susceptible and, it had to be admitted, not so susceptible members of her own sex, and, puzzlingly, so far as she could discern, without him apparently having to make any obvious attempts to engage their besotted adoration.

      Personally, she couldn’t fathom just what it was they saw in him that reduced normally intelligent, witty, independent women to drooling, speechless wrecks; she had never found anything remotely attractive in his black-browed, autocratic and, in her eyes, often censorious maleness. She preferred men like John—fair-haired, kind-eyed men who looked more like cuddly teddy bears than something reminiscent of an adman’s image of a truly awesomely male hunk.

      She was under no illusions about how unpleasant and unpalatable she was likely to find the entire exercise, nor how much amusement Jake was all too likely to derive from it—at her expense. But enough was enough, and she had had enough and more. Determinedly she brushed away her tears and told herself a second time that it would all be worth it to have John standing lovingly at her side, his ring on her finger.

      Five minutes later, in her own room, she paused in the automatic act of getting undressed and walked hesitantly across the room to stand in front of her bedroom mirror.

      Only this afternoon her aunt had commented on how like her mother she looked. Her mother had been considered something of a beauty, but wasn’t beauty supposed to be in the eyes of the beholder? And she had seen the way John had winced when he had called round unexpectedly earlier in the week, a look of distaste crossing his face as he’d looked at her oil-stained hands and short nails. But John had thought her attractive enough when they had first met and he had been glad enough of her mechanical expertise then too, even proud of it, boasting to his friends about her skill.

      It had been later that he had stopped telling others how she earned her living and then, latterly, cautioned her against doing so herself, growing both uncomfortable and irritated with her when she had asked him why.

      She knew she was different from the girlfriends and wives of John’s friends, and on the thankfully rare occasions when she had been alone with them she had discovered that they very quickly ran out of things to talk about. But what had been even worse, even more humiliating than their silence, had been the laughter she had heard and which had been quickly stifled as she’d walked back into the room after leaving it for a few minutes. She had been in no doubt that they had been talking about her, laughing about her, and that knowledge had hurt even though she had vowed not to let them know it.

      At school she had been popular enough and had had plenty of friends, although it was true that once she had reached her teens she had tended to disdain the giggly, boy-focused discussions of her fellow females and spent more time instead with the boys, preferring tomboyish pursuits to long discussions about the latest pop groups or clothes fad.

      She had tried, though, with John, really tried. At his suggestion she had bought a new dress for his firm’s annual do and she had even gone along with his insistence that she take one of his female colleagues from work along with her to choose it.

      And, although she had felt too upset at the time to tell him so, the dress she had so unhappily and unsuccessfully worn had not been her choice but Felicity’s. And she still couldn’t understand why Felicity had so determinedly and blatantly lied about that fact, insisting in the face of John’s disapproval that she, Lucianna, had overridden her advice and chosen her dress herself.

      Her eyes filled with fresh tears now—widely spaced, thick-lashed, pretty silvery green eyes which recently had held a far more sombre expression