Petra had little doubt that Clothilde would be at Ascot, looking impossibly elegant, impossible to ignore. Her hat would be spectacular, of course, and she would be wearing shoes with heels that would make any other woman teeter with every step. But she would glide, of course she would, over the grass and the gravel paths, tall and graceful as a swan, while lesser women picked their way over the treacherous ground in fear of making utter fools of themselves.

She could see in her mind’s eye Clothilde and Guy walking side by side, perfectly matched in height, impeccably dressed, so utterly suited to each other. Whereas when she walked beside him she was like a sparrow hopping to keep up with an eagle. The image was so absurd it chased away her moment of despondency. It didn’t matter what she and Guy looked like side by side as long as they enjoyed each other. And so far it was abundantly clear that they did.

* * *

Ladies Day dawned bright and warm and the crowd at Ascot was in a festive mood. Family parties picnicked under the trees and bookies shouted the odds from their stands where ordinary folk milled, an excited buzz of speculation filling the air. Hats of every size and description were on display in the stands among the regular racegoers as well as among the elite in their boxes.

Petra leaned her elbows on the edge of the Laceys’ private box in the Royal Enclosure, looking out over the racecourse. The far side of the box overlooked the straight mile along which, punctually at two o’clock, the royal party would progress in their landau drawn by four Windsor Greys. Only when the royal couple were seated in the royal box could the races begin.

“More champagne?”

She turned to look up at Guy, who held a champagne bottle in invitation. “Thank you.” She proffered her glass. “Diana and Rupert are on tenterhooks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rupert tense before. He’s always so collected.”

“There’s a lot at stake.” Guy took her glass and refilled it. He looked across at the course. “At least the ground’s in good shape.”

Petra laughed. “Yes, apparently Kimberley Diamond’s trainer called it Goldilocks, not too soft, not too hard, not too wet, not too dry.”

“Have they gone down to the owners’ paddock?”

“Yes, just to wish the jockey good luck. They’ll be back before the race.”

“Could I have a refill, Guy, if there’s any in that bottle.” Fenella appeared beside Petra. “I’m beginning to feel as nervous and excited as Diana and Rupert.”

“It means more to them than it might ordinarily,” Petra said. “Because of Jem.”

“Jem?” Guy inquired, refilling Fenella’s glass.