In the Land of the Long White Cloud

private tutor from England after another…Sometimes I think, we…ahem, overdid it. Lucas is…well, society is charmed by him at any rate. And you’ll like Kiward Station just as much. The house is built after English models. It’s not one of the usual wood huts, but rather, a manor house built from gray sandstone. Nothing but the best! And I had the furniture sent from London, made by the best joiners. I even entrusted a decorator with the selection so as not to do anything wrong. You won’t miss a thing, my lady. Naturally, the help is not as well trained as your maids here, but our Maori are willing and ready to learn. We could add a rose garden on quite easily, if you want…”
    He stopped short when Gwyneira made a face. The rose garden seemed to scare her off.
    “Could I bring Cleo along?” the girl asked. The little dog had been lying under the table but raised her head when she heard her name. With that adoring collie gaze that Gerald was by now familiar with, she looked up at Gwyneira.
    “And Igraine too?”
    Gerald Warden had to think a moment before he realized Gwyneira was talking about her mare.
    “Gwyneira, not the horse too,” her father interrupted moodily. “You’re acting like a child. Here we’re talking about your future, and you can only think of your toys!”
    “You think my pets are toys?” Gwyneira snapped, visibly hurt by her father’s remark. “A sheepdog that wins every competition and the best hunting horse in Powys?”
    Gerald Warden saw his chance. “My lady, you can bring along anything you want,” he said, appeasing her by taking her side. “Your mare will be the jewel of my stables. We need only think about acquiring a suitable stallion. And the dog…well, you know I already expressed my interest in her yesterday.”
    Gwyneira still seemed angry at her father’s comment, but she steeled herself and even managed a joke.
    “So that’s what you’re up to,” she said with a mischievous grin, but rather cold eyes. “This whole proposal is really only aimed at wrangling away my father’s prize-winning sheepdog. Now I get it. But I will nevertheless consider your offer in a positive light. I’m probably worth more to you than to my father. At the very least, Mr. Warden, you seem able to tell a riding horse from a toy. Now allow me please to withdraw. And I must ask that you excuse me likewise, Father. I must give this all some thought. We’ll see each other at tea, I think.”

    Gwyneira swept out of the room, still filled with a vague but glowing rage. Her eyes filled with tears, but she would not let anyone see that.As always, when she was angry and hatching schemes of revenge, she sent her maids away and curled up in the farthest corner of her canopy bed, pulling the curtains closed. Cleo made sure that the servants had really gone. Then she slipped through a fold and snuggled up to her mistress consolingly.
    “Now at least we know what my father thinks of us,” Gwyneira said, scratching Cleo’s soft fur. “You’re just a toy, and I’m a blackjack bet.”
    Before, when her father had admitted what had transpired over cards, she hadn’t thought the bet was all that bad. It was even amusing that her father had gone wild like that, and surely the proposal wasn’t something to be taken seriously. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have been a good thing for Terence Silkham’s honor if Gwyneira had refused outright to consider Warden’s suggestion. Then there was the fact that her father had gamed away her future; after all, Warden had won the sheep with or without Gwyneira. And the revenue from the flock was supposed to have been her dowry. Now Gwyneira didn’t have a shot at a marriage. Then again, she was fond of Silkham Manor and would have liked best to take over the farm one day. She would undoubtedly handle it better than her brother, who, when it came to country living, was interested only in hunting and the occasional race. As a child, Gwyneira had painted herself a brightly colored future: she would live on the farm with her brother and take care of everything while John Henry pursued his pleasures. At the time, both children had thought it a good plan.
    “I’ll be a jockey!” John Henry had declared. “And breed horses!”
    “And I’ll take care of the sheep and ponies!” Gwyneira had revealed to their father.
    As long as the children were little, their father had laughed and called his daughter “my little forewoman.” But as the