“Oh, but if I weren’t here . . .”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I refuse to have this conversation, Petra. Go to bed. I’m going to read in the library for a while.” He walked out, closing the door behind him with a firm click.

Petra felt angry tears welling and blinked them away fiercely. Not only had Guy dismissed her own righteous anger but had actually taken offense himself. Maybe he hadn’t known Clothilde would find her way into his marriage, but he could at the very least acknowledge how uncomfortable that made his wife feel.

She turned out the lamps and got into bed, then got out again and relit Guy’s bedside lamp, turning the wick down low. She wasn’t going to let him accuse her of being petty as well as ridiculous. Oh. She thumped the pillow, threw it on its other side and thumped it again before flinging herself down and closing her eyes.

She heard Guy come back sometime later as she lay sleepless in the dim lamplight. She closed her eyes and listened as he moved around the room, discarded his dressing gown, turned out the lamp and slid carefully into bed beside her. He lay still for a moment, then said softly into the darkness, “I know you’re awake.” He pushed out an arm, sliding it beneath her and rolling her against his body. “I am so sorry. I was so angry with Clothilde myself that somehow it got transferred to you. You had every right to be angry and upset.”

She nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t let her upset me, but she tries to and I don’t seem to be proof against it.”

“Don’t you trust me, Petra?”

“I trust you absolutely,” she declared, pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

“Then let’s get some sleep. This will all be over by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank the Lord for that, sir,” she murmured, feeling his skin ripple with silent laughter.

* * *

The following morning an early hunt took many of the guests, both men and women, out following the hounds just after the sun came up. Petra excused herself from the hunt, as she was not an avid horsewoman, unlike Diana and Fenella, and spent the morning ensuring that all the arrangements were in order for the guests’ various departures. The enormous hunt breakfast with its copious supplies of wine and whisky was a cheerful farewell and finally she and Guy waved off the last of the guests on their way to the London train from Bristol.

“I feel as if I’ve run a marathon,” Petra said, turning back to the welcome silence of the now empty hall.

“In a way you have,” Guy said. “I’ve never hosted a weekend of that kind before. I confess I hadn’t realized how exhausting it was going to be.”