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Lady Winman pulled a small gold case out of her handbag, flicked it open with her thumbnail, and handed Sylvia a heavy cream card bearing her name and address. “Please do. The silhouette really is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” said Sylvia.

Lady Winman nodded a goodbye and then made her way out of the emptying drawing room.

As soon as the countess was gone, Claire asked, “What was all that about?”

Sylvia passed her thumb over the beautiful paper of Lady Winman’s card and then looked up at her friend. “Nothing really.” She slipped the card into her handbag and snapped it shut harder than necessary. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.”

Claire caught up to her as Lady Nolan’s housekeeper handed Sylvia her coat.

“Sylvia, don’t be like this,” said Claire.

“Like what? I have an appointment,” she said, slipping her arms into her sleeves.

“You’re cross because I challenged your idea just a little bit, aren’t you?” Claire asked, her heels clicking as they both descended the three steps from Lady Nolan’s front door to the road.

“I’m not.”

“Your dress is beautiful, I was only a bit surprised. You always seemed so devoted to your usual fashion houses. And it’s black. It’s an interesting choice for someone who isn’t in mourning.”

It was funny that she’d never noticed before how compliments from Claire had to be handled carefully because they so often came surrounded by thorns.

“I was not aware that you were so intimately acquainted with the contents of my wardrobe,” Sylvia said, keeping her gaze forward.

Claire grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop or risk toppling both of them onto the pavement. “What is the matter? If you’d like me to apologize, I will, but something is the matter.”

“Nothing is the matter,” she said.

Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re preoccupied. You’re always late. Whenever I see you, you’re rushing off somewhere. It’s almost as though you don’t want to spend any time with me.” Claire paused. “Or there is someone else in your life you want to see more?”

Was there an accusation wrapped up in that comment, or was Sylvia simply imagining it?

“I’m busy,” she said.

“We’re all busy these days. My maid just had the audacity to tell me she’s been called up as a Land Girl. Can you imagine her digging up potatoes in the countryside? But do you know what I did when I found out? I put on a dress and went out for supper and dancing—much to Rupert’s chagrin,” said Claire.

“I thought Rupert was stationed in Scotland,” she said.

Claire waved a hand. “Oh, he’s home on leave. Three weeks, if you can believe it. I suspect that means he’ll be sent somewhere terribly far away next.”

“Really? Hugo hadn’t mentioned Rupert was home,” she said.

“Is Hugo back too? My word, it’s practically raining husbands in London.”

“Yes, well, Hugo’s hardly home. His work keeps him busy,” she said. That and his insistence on dining at his club most nights.

Claire’s eyes lit up and she grabbed Sylvia’s arm. “I have an idea. Why don’t we go out together—the four of us for dinner and dancing, just like old times.”

She should be able to say yes immediately, but the truth was, she had no idea whether Hugo would want to go to a restaurant and on to a nightclub with her. She knew so little about her husband these days.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“Excellent,” said Claire, already sounding lighter. “Well, that meeting was one for the ages, and all the credit should go to you. Did you see Lady Nolan’s face when you defied her and talked back?”

A smile touched Sylvia’s lips. “She did look rather shocked, didn’t she?”

“Because no one’s ever put her in her place before. And what about Lady Winman? For months she’s hardly said a word, and now she’s offering up the editor of Vogue the same way someone might lend out a spare handkerchief.”