‘Their river paddocks are longer than ours. Their sheep and shepherds would have heard the flood coming and run uphill.’

‘How fortunate,’ she said, biting her toast, slightly uncomfortable about how at home he seemed in this isolation, sitting on the ground as if there was no place he’d rather be.

‘More than fortune,’ he said shortly. He glanced at her, hesitated, then added, ‘Old Drinkwater was married before, to a native woman. She taught him native lore, like how far the river rises in a flood. He’d have made sure there were safe places for his stock to retreat to when the river rose. Dad,’ Clancy had called Ezekiel ‘Father’ back in Sydney, ‘followed his path out, then kept going further along the river, so as not to tread on old Drinkwater’s toes.’

‘They’re not friends?’ she asked, dismayed. Mr Drinkwater had welcomed them so warmly . . .

‘Rivals as much as friends. Drinkwater enjoyed showing off last night.’

She was not ignorant of business, even though she was a woman. ‘And Mr Drinkwater did not invest his profits in an expensive Sydney house and paying off his daughter-in-law’s father’s debts, but in a business that would bring a return on his money.’

‘We will have a Sydney house again,’ he said gently.

Yes, they would, she thought, but it would not be Rosemere. She suspected that Sydney had enjoyed the scandal of an aristocrat’s financial ruin just as much as they had enjoyed entertaining her. She had used her pregnancy as an excuse to refuse invitations, and entertaining guests themselves had been clearly impossible in that embarrassment of a house, even if they’d had the money to do so adequately. But her husband clearly had not understood at all. He had even asked which of her friends she wished to come to her during her confinement.

She loved him still. Of course she loved him. But in the past seven months she had begun to see him as alien: he simply did not understand how things should be. He was and would remain a colonial, who despite his education and intelligence never could truly be a gentleman.

But she could still ensure he made the impression of one. It would take work, re-establishing their position, turning Overflow into the most desirable destination for a country party, despite its distance from Sydney. But she was the Honourable Flora. She would manage.

Clancy stood, the now-sleeping baby still over his shoulder, and tipped the remnants of the tea onto the coals, then kicked dirt over them. ‘Time we were off.’

She slept under the cart that night, or rather, didn’t sleep, Clementine restless beside her, Clancy snoring softly, wrapped in a blanket, though he had brought a pillow for her and an eiderdown for a mattress. But the cart floor was too low above her and, outside, the stars too high, and all around animals hopped or snuffled, as if the entire bush was as alive now as it had seemed empty during the day, and even more alien.