He needed to speak frankly with his father, and possibly with Flora too. Explain that their wealth was not infinite, that when Ezekiel had promised her whatever she desired he probably had no idea of the cost of Paris gowns or even that they existed, much less the small fortune needed for a ball for two hundred. If only there was a way to cut down their expenses . . .

Suddenly the solution seemed so simple he almost laughed. If he and Flora lived at Overflow for three months of the year, it would mean the Rosemere servants could go on board wages for all that time. There’d be less need for Paris gowns, and none for lobster aspic.

Back in England, families often returned to their country homes for the summer — though their few days’ carriage journey was a far cry from the hard travel visiting Overflow would entail. And surely Flora too would find it beautiful, the glittering river and the pink and grey sweep of a flock of galahs. They could ride together every day, and Maria would show her all the wildflowers . . .

If they were to be regular, long-term visitors at Overflow, Flora could not only refurnish it, but they might add more rooms — most of Overflow’s employees were rough bush builders who could turn their hand to anything. She could make Overflow suitable for entertaining neighbours like the Drinkwaters, even give Christmas parties, with picnics by the river and singsongs or recitations at night — informal, but surely she would find it fun. Entertaining at Overflow — with no orchids or lobster patties or extra servants hired for a fortnight — would cost far less than their lives here. Maria’s cooking was superb. Surely Flora would come to love the land as much as he did, even stay longer, perhaps . . .

‘I wonder,’ he began tentatively, ‘if you might like to visit Overflow? Not during the shearing,’ he added hurriedly. The smell of twenty thousand sheep was confronting even to those who had grown up with it. ‘But for a few months over Christmas, perhaps.’

Her face glowed. ‘I would love to spend Christmas at Overflow!’ She added, a little shyly, ‘I have been waiting for an invitation.’

Flora wanted to see his home? He had been a fool. Flora of course regarded Overflow as Maria’s house, as well as his father’s. Like Ezekiel, Maria would not have realised that Flora’s concept of etiquette meant an invitation had been needed.

‘But not this year, perhaps.’ Her smile deepened. ‘By summer I may be a little — awkward — on horseback.’

He stared. She blushed. ‘In March, according to Dr Grey. I suspected just before you left, but didn’t want to mention it until I was sure.’

He embraced her carefully, joyfully. ‘Champagne!’ He pulled the bell. ‘Though I suppose the servants know already.’

‘Almost certainly, as I’ve had nothing but black tea and dry toast till luncheon the last two weeks. I imagine even the boot-boy knows. My dear . . .’