Guy stepped off the train on an overcast Thursday afternoon and made his way directly to the front of the station, expecting to find his chauffeur and motor waiting for him. He was not prepared for the sight of his wife, standing beside the open door of the vehicle, looking impatiently toward the station entrance. His heart lifted at the sight of her; Berkeley Square had seemed strangely desolate for the last few days. He had tried to untangle the mess of his feelings, his anger fueled by his sense of Petra’s disloyalty that she had not given a thought to the position her actions would put him in, clashing with his knowledge deep down that she was her own person as well as his wife and was entitled to hold her own opinions, whether they suited her husband or not. And in absolute truth, he had to admit that he held no strong opinions against the idea of universal suffrage. Until Petra had come into his life it had never been an issue at the forefront of his mind. He certainly hadn’t met any female advocates of the cause in his own social circles.

“I thought I’d come and meet you,” she said unnecessarily as he approached the car. She lifted her face for his kiss and he pecked her lightly on the cheek.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said, tossing his bag into the dickey.

“No, I realize that,” Petra said dully, climbing back into the car. Somehow she had hoped that surprising Guy might surprise a warm reaction from him. A false hope, clearly.

Guy felt a wash of guilt at her crestfallen expression. He didn’t want to behave the way he was behaving, he wanted to crush her to him, feel her in his arms, slight and warm and so responsive. He wanted to hear her ready laughter, her quick-witted banter, her loving responses. He’d had enough time in the last few days to realize that matters between them couldn’t continue in the same vein. There had to be some resolution. He reached out a hand and took hers, enclosing it lightly in his own. She looked at him, startled, a hopeful question in her hazel eyes.

“This evening,” he said quietly, conscious of the chauffeur sitting in front. Petra nodded and slid down in the seat a little, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder, and they passed the drive in a silence that was almost companionable although redolent with the unspoken waiting in the wings.

Guy waited until after they had eaten a subdued and somewhat stilted dinner before facing the issue head-on. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were planning to take part in that protest, Petra?”

She looked at him in surprise. “How could I have done? You would have tried to stop me.”