“But you have to have lunch,” Diana stated, catching Petra’s urgent glance. “I have an appointment later, but I can certainly join you for lunch.”

“Yes,” Fenella agreed. “I’d be delighted.”

“Good.” Joth pulled the bell rope. “Sherry or claret, Granville? I know these three will have sherry.”

“So predictable,” Petra said with a mock sigh. “Come upstairs with me,” she gestured to her friends as she uncurled herself from the sofa and stood up, glad that she could do so without wincing. “I need to find shoes.” She walked to the door, showing no sign of discomfort. Although she was aware of her bruised soles, she would not give Guy the satisfaction.

Fenella and Diana followed her. “Foster, could you send sherry up to my room,” Petra asked as the butler appeared in answer to Jonathan’s summons.

“Right away, Miss Petra.”

Petra hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, her friends on her heels. “So, what do you think is going on?” she asked, closing the door behind them with a decisive click.

“Well, it seems to me that Lord Ashton is interested in pursuing something with Miss Petra Rutherford,” Diana said, sitting on the daybed beneath the window. “What d’you think, Fenella?”

“The same,” Fenella said, frowning a little. “But it seems a bit like he’s playing a game. He seems to be smiling to himself.”

“Exactly,” Petra agreed, peering into her wardrobe at the array of neatly paired shoes. “These should do.” She backed out with a pair of soft bronze kid shoes with a small heel. “It’s his manner, and now I think of it, it was exactly the same ten years ago. But I found it attractive then,” she added a trifle glumly. “More fool me.”

“He certainly seems somewhat complacent,” Diana stated. “I always find infuriating that air of superior certainty that some men have, and Lord Ashton has it in spades. It might be amusing to see if we could deflate him a little.”

Petra shook her head. “D’you really think that’s possible?”

“I don’t see why not,” Fenella said, and then fell silent as Dottie came in with the sherry.

“Do you need my help, Miss Petra?” Dottie set down the tray. “Should I get the witch hazel again?”

“No, I think my feet are much better, thank you, Dottie.” Petra sat down to slip her feet into the kid shoes. She wriggled her toes experimentally before standing up. “If I avoid walking on hard surfaces as far as possible I’ll be fine,” she concluded, after taking a few steps. “That’ll be all, Dottie, thank you.”

She passed around the sherry glasses as the maid left, then took a deep draft from her own glass. “What’s your idea, Fenella?”