“Well, I suspect his sense of paternal obligation warred with inclination,” Jonathan said with a chuckle. “Inclination won. A sprained ankle on the tennis court gives him the perfect excuse to grumble at Granville’s arrangements while allowing him not to participate in them. And Ma certainly wouldn’t travel from the Riviera without him. So it’s the best of both worlds as far as they’re concerned.”

“Well, I refuse to feel guilty at being glad of their absence,” his sister announced. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if they missed the wedding.”

“That, sister dear, is going a step too far,” Jonathan declared. “And I can assure I wouldn’t relish walking you down the aisle.”

“The whole business is archaic anyway,” Petra grumbled. “I’d like to elope like Rupert and Diana did.”

“Well, you can’t,” Jonathan stated as the carriage drew up outside Granville House. Lights blazed from every window although it was still light outside, and the square garden was a wonderland of lanterns strung from the trees, offering an enticing playground for anyone choosing to stroll the pathways. Liveried footmen stood waiting at the open doors to the house, from which the strains of an orchestra drifted into the evening.

Guy himself came down the steps to greet them as the carriage arrived. “You’re about to be late,” he chided, lifting Petra down to the pavement, holding her in the air for a moment with a teasing smile before lowering her to the ground, kissing her before turning to Jonathan. “Jonathan, good evening.”

“Good evening, Granville.” Jonathan shook the offered hand and followed as Guy escorted Petra, his directing hand as usual at her waist, into the house, up the splendid staircase and into the salon that ran the length of the front of the house.

Petra had rather hoped for a comment on her dress. She was pleased with the brilliant emerald taffeta with lavender silk ruffles at the neckline and edging the elbow-length sleeves. She had thought it striking, but clearly it had not immediately struck Guy. “Champagne,” Guy offered, taking two glasses from the tray brought forward by a footman and handing one each to his guests. He raised his own. “To a successful evening.”

Petra and her brother echoed the toast, then Petra asked, “What will make it a success, Guy?”

He looked at her for a moment with a slight smile. “You, sweetheart.” He raised his glass again, his dark eyes glowing. “My congratulations. You look entrancing.”

So he had noticed. She flushed with pleasure. “You look intimidatingly handsome yourself, sir.” Which was only the truth. Evening dress looked remarkably good on him.

“It’s not every night a man celebrates his betrothal,” he said, lightly kissing her cheek. “I had hoped my sister would be able to make the journey from Scotland but one of the children has some ailment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. The child’s not seriously ill I hope?”