Her brother flushed. “Sorry, you’re quite right. Let’s go down to the library and open some champagne. We should be celebrating.” He walked to the door, continuing over his shoulder, “Have you notified the parents yet?”

“I was intending to send Sir Percy a telegram this evening,” Guy told him, following him out of Petra’s bedroom. “They’re in Baden-Baden, I understand.”

“No, they moved to Nice last week,” Jonathan said. “I have their address downstairs. You could send the telegram from here if you wish.”

Once the telegram was sent everything else would follow in the customary order. Petra paused, her foot on the top stair as the men preceded her downstairs. Every step of a society betrothal and wedding was foreordained. Her mother would fling herself into preparations, it would be as bad as Petra’s debutante Season, the only time she could remember when her mother had devoted her full attention to her daughter. And Petra much preferred it when she was not the focus of her mother’s waking hours. But at least the ceremony itself would be as she wished it. She could handle her mother that far.

“I’ll join you both in the library in a few minutes,” she called, then turned and retraced her steps. She would send the news to Diana and Fenella, so that it would be waiting for them when they got home. They could convene in the morning and this bubble in which she seemed trapped would burst with a commonsense discussion that would put everything into perspective.

* * *

The front doorbell was ringing at Brook Street before nine o’clock the next morning. Foster greeted the two visitors on the doorstep with a calm good morning. “Miss Petra hasn’t come downstairs as yet, ladies. I’ll send a message up to her.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. We’ll go straight up ourselves.” Diana waved a hand vaguely and headed for the stairs, Fenella on her heels. They burst into Petra’s bedroom without ceremony. “Sorry, I know it’s horribly early,” Diana said. “We met on the doorstep. Tell us everything at once.”

“Oh, give the poor girl a chance to wake up,” Fenella protested, laughing. “Not that I’m not as desperate as you to hear the whole. When did it happen, Petra?” She dropped onto the edge of the bed where Petra sat drinking her morning tea.

“All in good time,” Petra said, casting a warning glance toward the bathroom door where her maid could be heard humming as she drew Petra’s bath.

Diana nodded and Petra called, “Dottie, leave the bath for now. I’ll ring for you when I need you.”

The maid appeared from the bathroom wiping her hands on her apron. “As you wish, Miss Petra. Should I fetch coffee for the ladies?”