In the Land of the Long White Cloud

make her seating less secure, but more so. Accidents in the sidesaddle almost always resulted from the horse stumbling and the rider being unable to free herself from the seat and roll away. Such accidents often ended in death. But the mare, Vivian, was just as sure of foot as her mother—and Gwyneira had no intention of dying with her baby. Her last hope was the considerable jolting that came from trotting, which could not be easily avoided in a sidesaddle. After a half hour of riding at full speed, she could hardly stay on the horse for the pains it caused in her sides, but it did not seem to bother the baby a bit. It withstood the dangerous first three months without a problem, and Gwyneira wept with rage when she saw that her belly was beginning to swell. At first she tried to contain the telltale curves by pullingher laces tighter, but that would not work for long. In the end, she resigned herself to her fate and steeled herself against the inevitable torrent of best wishes. Who else could ever know how unwanted the little Warden was who was now growing within her womb?

    The women in Haldon naturally recognized Gwyneira’s pregnancy right away and immediately started turning the rumor mill. With Mrs. Warden pregnant and Mr. Warden absconded—wild speculation ensued. Gwyneira did not care. It horrified her, however, to think that Gerald would say something about it. But more than anything, she was afraid of James McKenzie’s reaction. Soon he wouldn’t be able to help noticing it or at least hearing about it. And she couldn’t tell him the truth. She had been avoiding him since Lucas’s disappearance because there were questions in his eyes. Now he would want answers. Gwyneira was ready for accusations and anger, but not for his honest reaction. It caught her completely off guard, when she ran into him one morning in the stables in his riding gear and raincoat—because it was drizzling again—and with his saddlebags packed. He was just tying a portmanteau to the back of his bony gray horse.
    “I’m going, Gwyn,” he said calmly when she looked at him questioningly. “You can imagine why.”
    “You’re going?” Gwyneira did not understand. “Where? What…”
    “I’m going away, Gwyneira. I’m leaving Kiward Station and looking for another job.” James turned his back to her.
    “You’re leaving me?” The words burst out before she could stop herself. But the anguish had come upon her so suddenly—the shock shook her to her core. How could he leave her alone? She needed him, more than ever.
    James broke out laughing, but he sounded more bitter than amused. “Does that surprise you? Did you think you had a claim to me?”
    “Of course not.” Gwyneira sought support from the stable door. “But I thought you…”
    “You can’t really be expecting declarations of love now, can you, Gwyn? Not after what you’ve done.” James continued securing his saddle as though he were having a casual conversation.
    “But I didn’t do anything!” Gwyneira said, defending herself, but she knew how wrong it sounded.
    “Oh no?” James turned around and looked her over with a cold gaze. “So that thing in there is a new edition of the immaculate conception.” He gestured toward her stomach. “Don’t tell tales, Gwyneira. I’d prefer to hear the truth. Who was the stallion? Did he come from better stables than me? With a better pedigree? Better opportunities? Perhaps a title of nobility?”
    “James, I never wanted…” Gwyneira did not know what to say. She would have loved to come clean with the truth, to unburden her soul. But then he’d do Gerald in. Then there would be dead men or at least injured ones, and afterward, all the world would know where Fleurette had come from.
    “It was that Greenwood, wasn’t it? A real gentleman. A good-looking fellow, educated, well-mannered, and no doubt very discreet. Shame that you didn’t know him back when we…”
    “It wasn’t George! What’s gotten into you? George came because of Helen. And now he has a wife in Christchurch. There was never any reason to be jealous.” Gwyneira hated the imploring tone in her voice.
    “So who was it, then?” James stepped closer to her almost threateningly. Fired up, he seized her upper arm as though he wanted to shake her. “Tell me, Gwyn! Someone in Christchurch? The young Lord Barrington? You like him, don’t you? Tell me, Gwyn. I have a right to know!”
    Gwyneira shook her head. “I can’t tell