“Not the way I play it,” Petra said. “I’ve always found it a viciously competitive game. My brother and I and our friends used to spend hours knocking each other’s balls out of play. It frequently ended in tears.”

“I find country life so boring,” Clothilde said with a derisive smile. “What on earth do you find to do here, except for silly lawn games?”

“Oh, there’s always the seaside,” Petra said cheerfully, picking up the gauntlet with savage pleasure. Clothilde was standing very close to the edge of the pond. One surreptitious push and . . .

She continued in the same cheerful tone. “Weston-super-Mare is only a few miles away. There’s plenty to amuse one there.”

“The seaside?” Clothilde looked incredulous. “Only children enjoy the seaside.”

“Not necessarily,” Petra returned. “I happen to love it. In fact, I’m going myself to spend the day there later this week, probably on Wednesday,” she heard herself say, although she hadn’t fixed on a day until this minute. She glanced at Guy. It was the first he’d heard of this plan and his eyebrow twitched a query.

“I find the sea air very relaxing, it helps to clear my mind, chase away the cobwebs,” she continued brightly.

Guy could hear the brittle edge to her voice and read the anger in her hazel eyes. “Sea air can be bracing,” he observed with a bland smile, at the same time moving his arm away from Clothilde’s hand.

“The puppet show on the pier is always wonderful,” Petra continued in the same tone. “And the theatre at the end of the pier often has wonderful music hall performances. I doubt you’d appreciate them, though, Lady Delmont. I’m sure you’d consider the humor beneath you.” Her voice was sharp with contempt. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see how many croquet players I can gather.”

With another smile, she moved away, congratulating herself on having had the last word. It was a small satisfaction but in the circumstances she would take what she could get. Guy had said almost nothing during her exchange with Clothilde, his expression giving nothing away. If she’d expected any overt indication of her husband’s support, she was disappointed. She wondered what he would have said had she actually given in to the urge to give Clothilde that tiny little push.

She glanced back and saw that Guy and Clothilde had moved away from the group by the pond and were deep in conversation, or rather Clothilde was talking with an intimate dip of her head as if imparting some seriously private news. Her anger flared and it was only with great difficulty that she managed to keep herself from interrupting the tête-à-tête.

* * *