“My mistake, I’m so sorry,” Guy said. “Can we forget I made any apparent aspersions about your upbringing, please.” His smile was penitent. His wife was rarely touchy but this was obviously a sore point. One not to be forgotten in future.

Petra shrugged in agreement, asking briskly, “When do you want to have this house party?”

“I thought the last weekend of the month, a Friday to Monday.”

Petra nodded and stood up. “Give me a guest list and I’ll see to the invitations.” She paused at the door. “It doesn’t sound like the kind of company Diana and Fenella and their husbands will particularly enjoy, so I won’t invite them.”

“If you say so,” Guy said easily. “I leave all the details entirely up to you, my sweet.”

Petra left him, reflecting that in three weeks the memory of the women’s invasion of Westminster would still be very fresh and she could well imagine that her friends would prefer to avoid a social encounter with their bêtes noires so soon. As for herself, well, she would just have to brazen it out. How Guy would choose to handle the awkwardness remained to be seen. She couldn’t deny, though, the prickle of apprehension at the prospect.

“Good afternoon, Lady Ashton.” Freddie had just entered the house when she crossed the hall on her way upstairs.

“Good afternoon, Freddie. Isn’t it a lovely day?” she greeted him with a smile. “His lordship’s in his office.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed, holding his hat to his chest, waiting politely for her to start up the stairs before going into the library and through to the office.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Freddie . . .” Guy looked up from his papers. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this afternoon.”

“No, but I have some information that I thought might be of interest,” his secretary said.

“Oh?” Guy looked a question mark.

“I heard from a reliable source, sir, that the suffragists’ march on Parliament is to take place a week this Friday. You said you wished to know.”

Guy nodded. “Yes, indeed, I did, thank you, Freddie. Have you heard anything else? How big it’s expected to be . . . ?”

“Not exactly, my lord. But rumor has it that the London protesters will be joined by members of the Union from Manchester and other cities.”

“Mmm.” Guy pushed back his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Since you’re here, there are some notes I’ve made on common land rights on my desk. Take a look at them and see if you can make a decent speech out of them.” Distracted, he left the office, collected his hat and cane from the attending footman in the hall and went to Westminster to see if he could find Jonathan, who, he reasoned, might know something more about his sister’s plans.