Diana laughed. “I admit it seems to go deeper than that.”

“Well, Granville’s reputation with women isn’t going to do Petra’s much good,” Rupert said bluntly. “Is she his mistress?”

Diana considered the question. “I haven’t asked her,” she said after a moment’s thought. “And she hasn’t volunteered the information. So, quite honestly, I don’t know.”

Rupert frowned. “That’s not like Petra. I thought you three shared your most intimate secrets.”

Diana’s fingers trawled through the open jewelry box on her dresser while she thought how to respond. She and Fenella had both remarked upon how unusually reticent Petra was about her dealings with Guy. She’d dismissed any inquiries with a light laugh and the statement that she was enjoying herself and saw no reason to change anything. She had admitted that her plot to give him a dose of his own medicine had fallen by the wayside, but had reassured her friends that her eyes were wide open when it came to Guy’s dubious reputation. He wouldn’t blindside her again. However, the paucity of her confidences troubled her friends. They both understood that Petra was in uncharted waters and was sailing them alone. But neither would either of them press for confidences she was not ready to share. It wasn’t the way their friendship had ever been. They were there for one another when needed, but respected one another’s privacy.

“Petra knows Guy’s reputation,” she said finally. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“Well, I hope so. They’re taking odds in the clubs that she’s his mistress and that as soon as Granville thinks things have gone far enough, and he might be expected to declare himself, he’ll do what he always does and disappear abroad. Probably into the ever-open arms of Clothilde Delmont.”

Diana frowned. “I don’t get the impression Petra’s afraid of that.”

“Maybe not, but she’s not experienced in the ways of the Lord Ashtons of this world,” Rupert said dryly. “I think you should warn her, or at least drop a few hints. I’d hate to see her hurt.”

“I don’t think she’ll let that happen to her again,” Diana told him.

“Oh? When did it first happen?”

“Ten years ago. Petra’s no naïf, Rupert. She knows what Guy’s like, or at least was like. I think she’s on her guard.”

“Well, let’s hope so. I must get dressed for dinner.” He bent and kissed his wife lightly before disappearing through the connecting door to his dressing room.