The shooting party arrived soon after, their guns carried by the gamekeepers and their assistants, who also carried the morning’s spoils. Petra was not in favor of shooting innocent creatures but knew it was an unpopular viewpoint in this society and once again kept her opinion to herself. Jonathan was one of the shooting party and looked very pleased with himself as he took a glass of whisky from a footman and came over to greet his sister.

“I bagged three pheasants and two hares,” he announced, taking a chair beside her, close to one of the braziers. “It was a good morning. Guy certainly knows how to look after his game.”

“Well, his estate manager does,” Petra corrected, taking a sip of sherry.

“That’s ungenerous,” Jonathan chided. “It’s Guy who gives the orders. If he didn’t care, neither would the estate manager. Poachers would be rife and the gamekeepers wouldn’t pay attention.”

Petra laughed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see the appeal in killing the poor creatures, particularly the pheasants, when they’re born and bred and looked after on the estate before they let them loose just so that they can shoot them.”

“What are you taking issue with now, madam wife?” Guy came over to them, looking as pleased with himself as Jonathan. His tone was lightly teasing but his dark eyes were sharp.

“Petra’s never approved of shooting,” Joth said.

“I don’t see the point of raising the birds just to shoot them dead,” Petra stated.

“That’s certainly a legitimate point of view,” her husband said. “But as with so many things, we must agree to differ.”

Petra heard the note of sharpness in the statement and bit her lip, turning her head aside to hide her dismay. The gap still yawned between them. Guy’s expression, however, was even, unperturbed, he was clearly much better at maintaining a façade. Perhaps she had imagined the sharpness but she knew she hadn’t. Any more than she could ignore the conviction that the foundations of her marriage were not as steady as they used to be. One violent kick and the foundation would give way and the whole glorious edifice come tumbling down about her ears. With an effort she forced her attention back to her guests, who were seating themselves at the long tables.

* * *

Petra was in her dressing room that evening dressing for dinner when Guy came in holding his onyx cuff links. “Can you fasten these, Petra, my fingers are all thumbs for some reason.”

Petra turned on her dressing stool and obliged. “I shall be glad when this evening is over,” she confessed.

“You’ve shown remarkable self-restraint. I’m sorry to have subjected you to such a fusty group.”

“It’s not their fustiness I object to,” she responded, opening the jewel box on her dressing table.