In the Land of the Long White Cloud

with him. He was certain he could sell the pictures there. On the other hand, he might run the risk of spoiling his relationship with Gerald Warden. The old man clearly wanted nothing less than to have an artist in the family.
    The conversation that evening did not turn to art. Gerald monopolized the visitor from England the entire time, drinking a whole bottle of whiskey in the process, and seemed not to notice that Lucas had left early. Gwyneira had also fled at the earliest possible moment after the meal to tuck the child in. They did not employ a nanny, which George found strange. After all, Gerald Warden’s son had obviously had a proper English upbringing. Why would Gerald not do the same for his granddaughter? Did he not like the results it had produced before? Or did it have to do with Fleurette being “just” a girl?

    The next morning offered the opportunity for a much more thorough conversation with the young couple. Gerald did not come down for breakfast—at least not at the usual time. Bacchus demanded his tribute from the night before. Gwyneira and Lucas appeared much more relaxed. Lucas inquired about the cultural scene in London and was obviously overjoyed that George had more to say about it than “sublime” and “edifying.” Confronted with praise for his portraits, he seemed to swell with pride and invited their guest into his studio.
    “You’re welcome to come if you like. I know you’re taking a look at the farm this morning, but this afternoon…”
    George nodded uncertainly. Gerald had promised him a ride through the farm, and George was very interested in doing that. Ultimately all other business on the South Island would be measured against Kiward Station. But Gerald was nowhere in sight.
    “Oh, I can ride with you,” Gwyneira offered spontaneously after George made a cautious remark to this effect. “Lucas too, of course…but I didn’t make it out of the house at all yesterday. So if my presence would be acceptable to you…”
    “To whom would your presence
not
be acceptable?” George asked gallantly, though he did not expect much from a ride with the lady. He had been counting on informative commentary and a peek into the breeding and pasture management. He was therefore all the more astounded when he met Gwyneira in the stables a short while later.
    “Please saddle Morgaine for me, Mr. McKenzie,” she instructed the foreman. “She desperately needs training, but when Fleur’s around, I don’t like to take her. She’s too impetuous.”
    “Do you think the young man from London can handle your impetuosity, miss?” inquired the shepherd sarcastically.
    Gwyneira frowned. George wondered why she did not give the brazen churl a dressing down.
    “I hope so,” was all she said. “Otherwise, he’ll have to ride in back. He’s not going to fall off. Can I leave Cleo here with you? She won’t like it, but it will no doubt be a long ride, and she’s already pretty heavy.” The little dog that followed Gwyneira everywhere seemed to have understood her and tucked its tail between its legs.
    “These will be your last pups, Cleo, I promise,” Gwyneira comforted her. “I’m going to ride with Mr. Greenwood as far as the stone warriors. We’ll see if we catch sight of a few rams. Can I take care of anything on the way?”
    The young man seemed to make a pained face in response to one of her remarks. Or was he mocking her? Was that how he reacted to her offer to make herself useful with the farm work?
    Though the young man did not answer, another farmworker answered her question as he was passing by.
    “Oh yeah, miss, one of the little rams, the little charmer Mr. Warden promised to Mr. Beasley, keeps going off on his own. Runs around by the ewes and drives the whole flock crazy. Could you possibly herd him back? Or just bring along the two meant for Beasley; then we’ll have order up there. Does that sound good, James?”
    The foreman nodded. “They need to be gone by next week anyway. Do you want Daimon, miss?”
    When the word “Daimon” left his lips, a big black dog rose up.
    Gwyneira shook her head. “No, I’ll take Cassandra and Catriona. We’ll see how they do. We’ve certainly trained them long enough.”
    Both dogs looked like Cleo. Gwyneira introduced them to George as her daughters. Even her rather lively mare was the product of two horses she had brought from Great Britain. George noticed Gwyneira exchange looks with the foreman when he brought