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interrupted by Gwyneira’s arrival. The girl entered the salon—and looked around, clearly confused, when she saw that her mother and sister were not among those present.
    “Am I early?” Gwyneira asked, instead of first properly greeting her brother-in-law.
    Jeffrey looked suitably offended, but Gerald Warden could not take his eyes off her. The girl had struck him as pretty earlier, but now, in formal attire, he recognized her as a true beauty. Her blue velvet dress highlighted her pale skin and her vibrant red hair. Her more chaste hairstyle emphasized the noble cut of her face. Completing the effect were her bold lips and luminous blue eyes, which sparkled with a lively, almost provocative expression. Gerald was enraptured.
    It was clear that this girl didn’t fit here. He couldn’t possibly picture her at the side of a man like Jeffrey Riddleworth. Gwyneira was more likely to wear a snake around her neck and tame tigers.
    “No, no, dear, you are punctual,” her father said, glancing at the clock. “Your mother and sister are late. Likely they were once more too long in the garden.”
    “Were you not in the garden, then?” Gerald Warden asked, turning to Gwyneira. Really he would have expected her to be out in the fresh air more than her mother, whom he had met earlier and considered rather dull and prim.
    Gwyneira shrugged. “I don’t know much about roses,” she admitted, though in doing so she incurred Jeffrey’s displeasure once moreand surely that of her father as well. “Now, if there were vegetables or something else that didn’t prick…”
    Gerald Warden laughed, ignoring the other men’s acerbic countenances. The sheep baron found the girl enchanting. Of course, she wasn’t the first girl he’d eyed surreptitiously on his trip through the old homeland, but so far none of the other young English ladies had opened themselves up so naturally and willingly.
    “Now, now, my lady,” he teased her. “Do you really mean to confront me with the dark side of the English rose? Does the milk-white skin and copper hair hide only thorns?”
    The term “English rose” for the light-skinned, red-haired girls common to the British Isles was also known in New Zealand.
    Normally Gwyneira would have blushed, but she only smiled. “It’s safer to wear gloves,” she remarked, seeing her mother gasping for air out of the corner of her eye.
    Lady Silkham and her oldest daughter, Lady Riddleworth, had just entered and overheard Gerald and Gwyneira’s short exchange. They didn’t know whether they were more shocked by their guest’s lack of shame or Gwyneira’s quick-witted riposte.
    “Mr. Warden, my daughter Diana, Lady Riddleworth.” Lady Silkham decided in the end to ignore the matter entirely. The man obviously did not possess any social grace, but he had agreed to pay her husband a small fortune for a flock of sheep and a litter of puppies. That would ensure Gwyneira’s dowry—and give Lady Silkham just enough leverage to marry the girl off quickly, before word of her sharp tongue got out.
    Diana greeted the overseas visitor grandly. She had been assigned to Gerald Warden as a dining partner, for which she was soon sorry. Dinner with the Riddleworths dragged on, and was beyond dull. While Gerald expressed pleasantries and pretended to listen to Diana’s explanations about growing roses and garden exhibitions, he kept an eye on Gwyneira. Aside from her loose manner of speech, her behavior was impeccable. She knew how to behave in society and chatted with her dining partner, Jeffrey, politely, even if she was obviously bored. She dutifully answered her sister’s questions about her progress in Frenchconversation and dear Madame Fabian’s health, who deeply regretted having to miss the evening meal due to illness. Otherwise, she would have all too gladly spoken with her favorite former pupil, Diana.
    Only when dessert was being served did Jeffrey Riddleworth return to his question from earlier.