In the Land of the Long White Cloud

Igraine’s stall when I went back. Maybe she sensed something? Dogs can be so perceptive.”
    The lord remembered the navy-blue velvet dress that Gwyneira had worn to lunch. If she had taken Cleo to the stables in that and crouched down to give her commands, plenty of dog hair might have stuck to it, enough to put the poor woman out of commission for three weeks.
    “We’ll discuss this later,” Terence remarked, hoping that his wife would take on the role of judge and prosecutor. He didn’t want to cross-examine Gwyneira further in front of his visitor. “How do you like the sheep, Warden? Are they everything you imagined they’d be?”
    Gerald Warden knew that he should, at least as a matter of form, go from animal to animal and confirm the quality of their wool, build, and feeding. However, he entertained no doubts about the first-class quality of the ewes. All of them were large and appeared healthy and well fed, and it appeared that their wool grew right back after being shorn. Above all, he knew that Terence Silkham’s sense of honor would not allow him under any circumstances to betray an overseas buyer. He would rather offer him his best sheep to secure his name as a top breeder, even in New Zealand. For that reason, Gerald’s gaze remained fixed on Terence Silkham’s extraordinary daughter. She was far more interesting to him than the breeding animals.
    Gwyneira had by then slid from her saddle without any assistance. A spirited rider like her could probably also climb into the saddle without any help. Gerald wondered why she had even chosena sidesaddle; likely she preferred to ride in the male position. But he guessed that might be too much for her father—the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. He appeared unenthusiastic about seeing the girl, and her behavior toward the French governess seemed anything but ladylike.
    Gerald, however, liked the girl. He observed Gwyneira’s figure with pleasure, noting that it was petite but filled out in all the right places. Although she was quite young, surely no older than seventeen, the girl looked to be fully grown. However, she still seemed rather childlike; grown women generally did not display such an interest in horses and dogs. In any case, Gwyneira’s rapport with the animals was a far cry from mere feminine sentimentality. Laughing, she pushed the horse away, which had just been attempting to nuzzle her shoulder expressively with its head. The mare was markedly smaller than Terence Silkham’s horse, Hunter, and extremely stocky, but still elegant. Her rounded throat and short back reminded Gerald of the Spanish and Neapolitan horses that he had occasionally been offered on his travels through the continent. He had found most of the horses he’d ridden on his travels altogether too big and maybe even too sensitive for Kiward Station. He wouldn’t even have trusted them to make the Bridle Path from the docks to Christchurch. This horse, on the other hand…
    “You have a lovely pony, my lady,” Gerald Warden remarked. “I caught myself admiring his jumping form. Do you take that horse hunting as well?”
    Gwyneira nodded. At the mention of her mare, her eyes beamed just as they had when the dog was the topic of discussion.
    “This is Igraine,” she offered. “She’s a cob. The breed typical of this region, very sure-footed and just as good for a coach as to ride. They grow up wild in the mountains.” Gwyneira pointed to the jagged mountains rising up beyond the pastures, a tough landscape that no doubt required a robust nature.
    “But not exactly a typical lady’s horse, am I right?” Gerald asked, chuckling. He had already seen other women riding in England and knew that most of them preferred light thoroughbreds.
    “That depends on whether the lady can ride,” Gwyneira answered him. “I can’t complain…Cleo, now keep away from my feet!” she called down to the little dog after she almost tripped over the animal. “Yes, you’ve been a good girl. All the sheep are there. But that wasn’t a hard job, now was it?” She turned to her father. “Should Cleo fetch the rams, Father? She’s getting bored.”
    The lord had wanted to show off the ewes first. Gerald now forced himself to take a closer look at the animals while Gwyneira let her horse graze and scratched her dog. Finally her father nodded to her.
    “All right then, Gwyneira, show Mr. Warden what your dog can do since you’re so keen to show off. Come