‘You cannot be serious.’ Fanny picked up her sewing again, while knowing full well that a stitch done in rage always needed unpicking. ‘Apart from all the obvious problems’ – to take just one example, Sir Edward would shoot any suitor on sight – ‘George is nowhere near being established. There is no money and that is that.’

‘Oh, money!’ Lizzie scoffed. ‘It’s not everything, darling. You cannot keep putting an end to perfectly good matches just because of that. First, poor Marianne – I do fear she may never recover – then Will and the dear little teacher person … Darling, we are a family of eleven! None is in danger of starving, but not every one of us is going to die rich. It’s simply not possible. And not everyone—’

Fanny’s head was bent over her work, but she could still feel Lizzie’s eyes, almost boring a hole in her head.

‘Not everyone – if they just marry for money – is going to die happy.’

Fanny’s whole being contracted as if she had been scorched. Was Lizzie referring to her? And if so, then how dare she? It was such an injustice that her siblings saw her own marriage as unhappy, when in fact she was completely content. But before Fanny could collect her riposte, Lizzie rose to her feet, gave a little stretch and then a yawn.

‘Forgive me, dearest, if I have been a little harsh this evening, but I just felt it all there, on my tongue’s end, as it were, and needed to say it.

‘Besides which, I fear I have started yet another baby already. Dear me – how many is it now? I can hardly count the number of little darlings.’

Fanny, forced to surrender all hope of even one child, felt her heart drop in her breast.

‘But you do know how I get with it in the beginning. Cross as a cat.’ She bent and kissed Fanny’s cheek. ‘Do sleep well, dearest. I certainly shall.’

The Mary Problem, as Fanny privately referred to it, occupied her thoughts for the remainder of the week. The idea that the girl might be considered a beauty she would like to discount. The plain, thin little child whom she had first taken on had not markedly altered, as far as Fanny had noticed, but she was forced to concede that fashions did change and perhaps that rather ordinary, average look was now comme il faut. And anyway, if the public had somehow got it into its head that she was, in some vague way, attractive, then that was – most annoyingly – that.