‘Good morning,’ Mary cut in at last to save any further embarrassment. Even so, her own custom dictated there must be a significant pause, and that be left to ring long and loud around the pale blue, silk bedchamber, before she pleasantly added: ‘Ma-ma.’

Mary smiled to herself. They were entirely alone and yet still took care to put on their usual polished performance, so that even a maid would presume there was a fond friendship between them – as nearly all the world did. Over four, long, awkward years, both parties had somehow formed this unspoken agreement: the mutual froideur should remain a strictly private affair, of which Sir Edward, in particular, must never know.

Fanny let out a delicate sigh that screamed: Is there no hope for us? before collecting herself and beginning anew. ‘Pray, do come in and sit for a while. We have been so very busy this summer – August already! Where does the time go? – that you and I have had too little time on our own. And we do like our little chats, do we not?’

‘Oh, very much indeed, Mama,’ replied Mary, who had memories of few such occasions, and none of them particularly pleasant.

‘Quite so. And now here you are, suddenly seventeen years of age! I can hardly believe it. How you have come on, my dear child, since I first came to Hatch.’ Again, to any outsider Fanny’s look would appear as one of approval; only Mary saw the pity in her stepmother’s eyes. ‘From now on, you will join us to dine, and Sir Edward is agreed you shall come out at the Ashford Ball at the end of the month. There, is that not excellent news?’

Even in this company, Mary could not disguise her eager excitement. The Ashford Ball in August was said to be the best in the whole calendar. And, oh! – how she had longed for this moment.

Childhood had felt more like oppression, and did not merit a moment of mourning. Her own past was no more than a burden that had to be borne on the path to this door and, at last, here Mary stood: at the threshold of life. No one and nothing could stop her. She would throw herself forward—

‘Now,’ Fanny pressed on, as if delivering a speech already prepared. ‘I can see that you may have some reason to doubt my own commitment to your launch, as I am soon to be somewhat preoccupied …’ She started to stroke the growing curve of her stomach; at once, Mary studied the ceiling. ‘And I wanted to reassure you on the matter, as well as issuing my personal guarantee that, for the rest of this year at least, you can expect my fullest attention. To that end, I have written to Hall, my hairdresser, to order you curls.’

With some caution, Mary brought her eyes down again. ‘Curls, Mama?’ Mercifully, the hands were now holding the tea dish.