He tried to speak further words of love, but she pressed a finger against his lips. She did not require the reassurances of a young lady being wooed; she did not demand that he explain why a young man of unusual intelligence and exceptional education, one who was talented, handsome and kind, should have fixed on her: married, a mother, plain, older, with no special talents beyond the realm of the domestic, no great charms or vivacity to attract notice. It was enough that for this brief moment in the shifting of the spheres and the spinning of the globe, they had overlapped, had found each other.

She could not explain this, so contented herself with murmuring, ‘I am the one who has been given a gift, granted a boon,’ as she plaited her fingers in his hair.

‘But it could be argued that I have taken advantage of you, led you to stumble most grievously, debauched you. These are grave charges against me. I know this is a hard question, but do you not feel guilty?’

‘Of course I do. But I do not feel regret. Not one jot! I never will. Can we ever regret the draught that stills pain, even if it is forbidden? Besides, you were right about the hawks. We are all necessarily tamed. But sometimes there are moments – such moments as we have shared – oh, I cannot put it into words. I have not your facility with them,’ and she felt his mouth move into a smile against her cheek. ‘All I can tell you, Jacob, is that I will never again see a hawk – any hunting bird on the wind – without thinking of you, of this. Without feeling you close to my heart.’

Now, seated before her own hearth, surrounded by the familiar tokens of her everyday life, Charlotte forced herself to think through the implications of that glorious and forbidden encounter. What was not certain, what would never be certain, was the paternity of the child she was carrying. It was possibly Jacob’s progeny. What if it looked like him? What if it did not? What if it was as blameless a mix of her and Mr Collins’s blood as if ordained by God? What could she do? How could she protect herself and the child?

The answer came to her almost directly: nothing. She could do nothing. She was helpless in the grip of fate and nature. All she could do was to take care of her family, including this potential new child. She stretched her hands to the fire and tried to tiptoe up to the idea: another baby. She waited, and slowly, from her fingertips and toes, the sensation spread: a creeping, wild joy. Another whole human being, but also a keepsake. He or she could not replace all or even anything that Charlotte had lost, but she would gain more to love, to cherish, to nurture.