“Mr. Keynes is pursuing Miss Singh?” Pat attempted to picture the intellectual vegetarian and the boisterous hunter as a pair. “Really?”

“So it appears, judging by his reaction: the poor fellow went red as a beetroot. It seems to have come as a surprise to the Countess too. Haworth clearly has a knack for snouting out private matters.”

That sounded extremely bad to Pat. She had no idea if her face might give anything away when she saw Fen; she had no desire at all to be mocked as the unattractive spinster with a pash on a pretty girl. “Better stay out here then,” she said, half to herself.

“Sorry?” Bill said sharply.

“Until it’s died down in there.”

“Ah. Indeed.”

They stood together in the hall. Pat couldn’t help wondering how they’d look to any footman who came by, and then decided she didn’t care so long as he carried a tray of drinks. Bill leaned his shoulders against the wall.

“Decent shooting today,” she offered, after a moment. In the drawing room, the Earl was speaking in a placatory, almost pleading tone that sat ill on the man who’d been so confident walking his lands.

“I’m hopelessly out of practice.”

“You weren’t on form, certainly. Are you all right? You look rather worn and this isn’t precisely the rest cure you were hoping for.”

“You can say that again,” Bill muttered. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look fine. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face had a tense look, as though keeping composure required an effort.

“Rotten luck about the weather,” she said, in lieu of pointing that out. “A few more days in the fresh air would do us all good.”

“That’s your all-purpose remedy, isn’t it? Not that I’m arguing. Suppose you take Haworth for a ten-mile forced march in the rain, there’s a good girl.”

“Suppose you do,” Pat said. “Should we...?”

It seemed to have quietened down in the drawing room. Bill straightened with obvious reluctance and offered her his arm, and brother and sister went in together.

Even if she hadn’t heard the row, it would have been obvious something was up from the flushed faces and silence. Preston Keynes looked ready to punch someone, and Haworth’s smug look made it obvious who. Jimmy was standing by Preston, a restraining hand on his arm. Fen had drawn Victoria Singh over to the side of the room. She flashed a glance over at Pat that held a certain amount of desperation. Outside, the wind howled. Nobody spoke.

“Well,” Bill said heartily, into the social void. “Nasty spot of weather we’re having, what?”

“Awful rain, yes,” Fen returned, voice bright. “Did you get a soaking?”