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Apparently, the table talk had even gotten on his nerves. Diana and her mother had transitioned to chattering about shared acquaintances, discussing which ones they found completely “charming” and which had “well-off” sons, whom they evidently considered potential matches for Gwyneira.
    “You’ve yet to tell us how the winds blew you ashore overseas, Mr. Warden. Did you go on business of the Crown? Or perhaps in pursuit of the legendary Captain Hobson?”
    Gerald Warden shook his head, smiling, and let the servant refill his wineglass. Until that moment, he had only drunk a modest quantity of the excellent vintage. He knew that later there would be plenty of his host’s excellent scotch, and if he wanted to have even the slightest chance of pulling off his plan, he needed a clear head. An empty glass, however, would raise suspicion. So he nodded to the servant, but reached for his water glass.
    “I sailed out a full twenty years before Hobson,” he answered. “At a time when things were still a bit rougher on the islands. Especially in the whaling stations and with the seal hunters.”
    “But aren’t you a sheep grazier?” Gwyneira chimed in keenly. Finally an interesting topic! “You didn’t really hunt whales, did you?”
    Gerald laughed grimly. “Did I ever hunt whales, my lady. Three years on the
Molly Malone
…”
    He did not want to say more, but Terence Silkham now knit his brow.
    “Oh, come now, Warden, you know too much about sheep for me to buy these pirate stories. You certainly didn’t learn all that on a whaling ship!”
    “Of course not,” Gerald answered calmly. The flattery did not faze him. “In fact, I come from the Yorkshire Dales; my father was a shepherd.”
    “But you sought adventure!” That was Gwyneira. Her eyes flashed with excitement. “You set out on a dark and stormy night, leaving land behind and…”
    Gerald was amused and inspired at once. This girl was without a doubt the one, even if she was spoiled and had a completely unrealistic understanding of the world.
    “I was, you see, the tenth of eleven children,” he explained. “And I didn’t like the idea of earning my living watching other people’s sheep. My father wanted me to take up the trade at thirteen. But I hired on a ship instead. Saw half the world. The coasts of Africa, America, the Cape…we sailed as far as the Arctic. And finally to New Zealand. And I liked it there best. No tigers, no snakes…” He winked at Jeffrey Riddleworth. “The land still unexplored to a large extent and a climate like the homeland. In the end one just seeks out his roots.”
    “And then you hunted whales and seals?” Gwyneira asked again, incredulously. “You didn’t start right off with sheep?”
    “Sheep don’t come free, little lady,” Gerald Warden said, smiling. “As I got to learn anew today. In order to purchase your father’s flock, you’d have to kill more than just one whale. And though the land was cheap, the Maori chiefs don’t exactly give it away for free.”
    “The Maori are the natives, right?” Gwyneira asked with evident curiosity.
    Gerald Warden nodded. “It means something like ‘moa hunter.’ The moas were giant birds, but apparently the hunters were too zealous and the beasts have all died out. Incidentally, we immigrants are also named after birds. We call ourselves ‘kiwis,’ which is a curious, stubborn, and vivacious bird. You can’t escape a kiwi. They’re everywhere in New Zealand. Don’t ask me who came up with the idea to label us kiwis, of all things.”
    Only a few members of the dining party laughed, mostly Terence Silkham and Gwyneira. Lady Silkham and the Riddleworths were indignant that they were dining with a former shepherd boy and whaler, even if he had since acquired the title of sheep baron.
    Lady Silkham soon brought the meal to a close and retired to the salon with her daughters. Gwyneira only reluctantly quit thegentlemen’s circle. Finally the