But it was time to put all thoughts of that time behind her, she told herself, as she crossed the hall to the library. The memories contained too much old rancor. It was over, in the past. And Guy was not the same careless, thoughtless young man of those days. They had swept the slate clean, and that was how it would stay.

A footman hurried to open the library door for her and she gave him a smile of thanks. Guy turned from a tea tray on a pier table as she came in. “Here’s tea.” He handed her a delicate porcelain cup. Petra drank it to the dregs and wordlessly handed it back for a refill before flopping onto a leather chesterfield and stretching her feet out with a sigh of relaxation.

Guy handed her a fresh cup of tea and stood thoughtfully in front of the empty fireplace. “I’ll send your father a telegram this evening, and then, once he responds, I’ll send notices to the Times and the Gazette. That should get the ball rolling. I’m assuming he’ll have no objections?” He raised an amused eyebrow.

“Hardly,” Petra said dryly. “Ma will be in a twitter and I’m sure they’ll both be back in town within the week.” She frowned, wondering how best to approach her next point. Probably best to just come out with it, she decided. “This may sound a bit unusual, Guy, but I really don’t want a big wedding. I don’t want St. George’s, Hanover Square, or anything like that. I’d like to get a special license and have the ceremony in a small church with just family and close friends.”

Guy looked at her, dumbfounded. “You want what?”

Petra was surprised at the vehemence. She spread her palms. “It’s not outrageous to want a small wedding, Guy. You sound as if it’s unheard of.”

“In this case it is outrageous,” he declared. “Of course it has to be a society wedding. It’ll be the wedding of the Season. And that’s just as it should be.”

“No.” Petra sat upright on the sofa, leaning forward for emphasis. “No, Guy, please listen. It doesn’t have to be like that. It’s personal, it’s between ourselves. Edward and Fenella had a small, intimate family wedding, and . . . well, Rupert and Diana married over the anvil at Gretna Green, and there’s nothing unmarried about any of them. And that’s what I want.”

“Why?” Guy demanded. “Why would you want some hole in the corner affair? I always thought a woman’s wedding day was one to celebrate, a day when she’s the center of attention, the cynosure of all eyes.”