Neither of them — one an ornithologist, the other a fellow botanist who was also enchanted at meeting the esteemed M. Clancy — seemed at all curious about why the bride had now put down her veil again. They were far more interested in her knowledge of a bush pigeon, hitherto — perhaps — officially undescribed and so undiscovered.

And Ethelred watched contentedly as his new wife informed his fellow society members that she had indeed seen the pigeon, and gave detailed directions as to where a specimen might be found at this time of year, and where and how it nested.

Meanwhile the botanist recommended country further north, towards the coast, where they would find not just a river but most interesting wet forest country, with uncounted new species to ‘find’. The country there was also, he informed Ethelred, with yet another irritated wave of his hand, devoid of these wretched sheep and so almost entirely devoid of flies.

Later, at their suite of rooms in the hotel, she discovered the groom’s gift to the bride: a pile of catalogues and magazines, some on botany and the other sciences, others the kind she had ordered when she’d planned a home for Flora. But this furniture, linen and china would be her own.

‘We must have a greenhouse,’ said Ethelred. ‘And a glasshouse too. And a drying room and studio . . . such a wonderful land.’ He gazed out of the hotel’s dusty windows. ‘Almost entirely undiscovered.’

He took her hand and led her to the bed. She sat beside him, even more uncertain. She had watched sheep mate almost from birth, but knew little of the manner in which humans joined. She had not even asked Flora, for why should one such as herself ever need to know?

Yet now she did.

‘We will be this country’s true pioneers,’ said Ethelred softly. ‘Not the men who merely occupy the land with sheep, but the ones who begin to understand it.’ His hands were gentle as he undid her buttons and then the laces of her corset.

Later. The room was dark, and yet she knew he smiled at her. She always felt bolder in the darkness. She touched his bare chest, stroked it, felt his hand touching her again. ‘I . . . I had no idea this could be so . . . so enjoyable,’ she whispered.

He laughed, leaning up on his elbow above her. ‘I’m glad it was enjoyable.’

The phrase seemed slightly lacking. ‘Indeed it was . . . extremely pleasurable. Quite . . . fascinating.’

‘Then you will be glad to know that there is as much to discover about the variations of the marital bed as there is about the banksia or the acacia tree.’

‘Truly?’ she replied, breathless now as his hands worked again.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Ethelred Fitzharris.

They made love again — she understood that term now, both the making and the love. He slept after that, while she lay, thinking of her life to come.