“Guy and I had to move out to Islington to be able to afford a house,” Camille complained. “You have to be earning millions to buy in central London.”

Nory found it hard to sympathize. She was approximately fifty years from having enough money for a deposit on a house, and it was unlikely to be a property in Islington.

“Oh god, tell me about it! We’re renting one of Charles’s parents’ places in Kensington at the moment while the renovations are done on the Greenwich house. Charles wanted to be closer to town, but I’d rather forfeit nearness for a decent house with some land.”

“Land?” Ameerah exclaimed. “That country-vet persona must be rubbing off on you.”

“What can I say? I spend a lot of time filming on location and most of the time it’s in countryside like this. After a while, you begin to see the virtues of the country air. And you know, sooner or later we’re going to want to have children . . .”

Pippa came striding back over, her phone call finished with an abruptness that she seemed to employ in all aspects of her life. “Christ on a bike, I’ve walked in on a conversation about kids again!”

“I thought you loved kids,” Ameerah teased.

“I do! From a distance.”

“You sound like the Grand High Witch in that Roald Dahl book,” said Jenna.

“The Witches,” added Camille.

“Try not to eat any of the children at the wedding,” said Nory.

“There are going to be children at the wedding?” Camille asked. She wore a confused expression.

But the reply to her question was shelved by the gamekeeper, who called them all into a huddle to give them the safety guidelines.

Jenna could hold her own on a shoot, and Pippa, like Jeremy, had been brought up on an estate—though not as large as Jeremy’s—so she was no stranger to a gun either. Ameerah was a crack shot; she had won awards for clay pigeon shooting. Everybody knew the only way to compete with old money was to do everything they had done for centuries but better.

Nory had grown up in the country, but her family couldn’t afford to take part in pheasant shoots. The chest freezer in her parents’ garage, however, was generally well stocked with plucked pheasants, thanks to the marquis’s generosity. In the city, tips came in the form of cash; in the countryside, they more often took the shape of vegetable gluts and dead birds.

Lectures over, the group climbed into the Land Rovers. Nory made a beeline for Isaac’s vehicle; “no fraternization” be damned! Jeremy made to get into the passenger seat but caught Nory’s determined gaze and wisely held the door open for her to take it instead.

“I think you’ll enjoy riding shotgun more than I will,” he said quietly, pushing the door closed behind her and continuing their conversation through the window.