“Absolutely,” Petra agreed, feeling slightly better herself about her own ignominious departure from the fight. “But now, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Guy is livid and I don’t know what to do with it.” She gave a helpless shrug. “He won’t talk to me because he’s too angry.”

“Oh, my dear, that’s so hard.” Diana was instantly sympathetic.

“Yes, there’s nothing like a good knockdown, drag out fight to clear the air,” Fenella added. “In my experience it’s always better to have things out.”

Petra smiled faintly. What worked for Edward and Fenella was not for every marriage.

“Let’s go to Covent Garden for a late lunch. I’m famished,” Diana said. “I was too nervous to eat breakfast and it’s already two o’clock.”

“You two go. I can’t,” Petra said. “Guy asked me to stay inside and I said I would.”

“He’s keeping you a prisoner?” Fenella asked, shocked.

“No, not in the least.” Petra shook her head. “He asked a favor and I agreed. He’s not going anywhere either. I think we have to stay under the same roof until we can come to some kind of resolution. Does that make sense?”

“If it makes sense to you, darling, that’s all that matters,” Diana stated. “We can stay with you if it’ll help.”

Petra shook her head again. “No, this is just between myself and Guy. You go and find some lunch. I’ll let you know how things work out.”

After they had left she abandoned her writing desk and stood at the window overlooking the garden, winter bare now except for a bright splash of red from a camellia blooming against the rosy brick of the garden wall. She turned as the door opened again and Guy came in.

“Freddie has prepared the invitations for the house party,” he said, dropping the handful of engraved and embossed white cards in a fan on her writing desk. “If you’ll sign them this afternoon they can be hand delivered this evening.”

His expression was neutral, his tone cool and distant. Petra took a breath. She’d had half an idea in the light of the morning’s debacle that Guy would think again about the house party. But, of course, she should have known better. Backing down was not her husband’s way.

“I’ll do them now.” She went over to the desk, dipped her pen in the ink and signed her name on the ten cards. Ten couples was a large party and without exception the guests were all members of the government. Men for whom, for the most part, universal suffrage was anathema. None of their wives to her knowledge had shown any active interest in the Union and Petra could see an excruciatingly uncomfortable weekend ahead.