It was uncanny, but the black woman, clearly Reeve’s housekeeper, appeared again at just that moment. He asked for fruit and bread, and the simple fare was brought immediately.

Maggie ate in silence, wondering how she was going to get herself back to Sydney before Reeve could compromise her again, and when the meal was over, he suddenly took her hand and pulled her outside. They rounded the grand brick house to the rear garden and there, to Maggie’s delight, sat an enormous kangaroo.

“This is Mathilda,” Reeve said by way of introduction. Mathilda regarded Maggie with interest.

Maggie was awed. “Is she tame?”

At Reeve’s nod Maggie approached the fascinating creature and reached out tentatively to touch it. Mathilda’s fur felt coarse instead of soft, and if there was a baby hidden in her pouch, Maggie couldn’t see it, though she did cast several polite glances in that direction.

Suddenly bored with the American, Mathilda turned and hopped off across the open field, moving at a speed that left Maggie openmouthed with wonder and delight. If only she’d had someone to write to, someone to tell.

There was sadness in her eyes when she turned back to face Reeve again. He understood loneliness; Maggie sensed that and she was comforted. Suddenly, it was as important to her that Reeve find his lost brother as it was to him.

“Elisabeth likes animals,” he said, taking Maggie’s hand in a way that seemed perfectly natural. “She has a few stray wallabies by the barn. Would you like to see them?”

Maggie nodded eagerly, and Reeve led her around the back of the barn, where a wire pen had been built. Reddish-brown wallabies, much smaller versions of kangaroos, hopped about inside the pen, and there was a folded blanket suspended from the back of an old chair.

Before Maggie could ask what it was for, a tiny bright-eyed head appeared above the edge of the blanket, peering cautiously this way and that.

“He’s an orphan,” Reeve explained quietly. “He needed a warm pouch, so Elisabeth and I made one for him.”

In a way, Reeve’s admission of this gentle act touched Maggie’s spirit even more deeply than his lovemaking had. She couldn’t speak for a moment, and her eyes were swimming with silly, sentimental tears.

If Reeve noticed, he pretended that he hadn’t, though his hand tightened on Maggie’s and, behind them, Goodness and Mercy giggled.

Reeve let go of Maggie’s hand and whirled, making a good-natured growling sound and stalking toward the delighted little girls. Their beautiful dark eyes shining, they shrieked with laughter and scampered away.

Maggie was sure they hadn’t gone far. She wondered if Elisabeth ever spoke to them when there were no adults around to hear.