‘Bit much, old girl.’ Ned looked up with a mild frown. ‘You’re in a fine mood …’ He drew back up to full height. ‘Indeed, you look rather rum.’ For the first time, he peered into her face and studied her. ‘What is it, Fan? Don’t tell me somebody died …’

Fanny pulled herself together, stood firm and upright. She simply could not cry now. It would send out quite the wrong signals. ‘No. Actually, rather the opposite.’ She cleared her throat and tilted her chin. ‘In fact, it seems I may soon be engaged to be married.’

‘And I’ve been away but a week! You are the sly one. Still, not before time, eh? I say, Fan: well done!’ He pecked his sister’s cheek, patted her head; turned to leave and only then thought to ask: ‘Anyone one knows?’

‘Yes, in fact. Well, a little. I believe you have made his acquaintance. It is …’ Suddenly fearful of Ned’s reaction, she declared the identity with a great, positive flourish: ‘Sir Edward Knatchbull of Mersham-le-Hatch.’

Ned met the news with a level gaze. ‘Ah, yes.’ He nodded, suddenly quite still and thoughtful. ‘Hatch.’ He nodded, again. ‘Fine place, Hatch.’

‘I have heard.’

‘Robert Adam, you know.’

‘I gather.’

‘Excellent cricket pitch.’

‘So I believe.’ Even to her own ears, she sounded half strangled.

‘Bowled Bligh out there, last summer.’ He put a strong arm around Fanny’s shoulder and began to guide her back to the house, as if she were an invalid.

‘Indeed.’

‘Top strawberry sponge.’ They reached the front door, which opened by the hand of an invisible footman. ‘But then cricket’s not your thing.’ He guided her through.

‘Not especially, no.’

‘Such a shame.’ Was that a reference to cricket or her engagement?

He turned her around to face him. ‘You mean to accept him, of course?’ The afternoon sun caught the gold in his hair.

Fanny nodded, biting her lip.

‘Dear old Fan.’ Ned took her face in both hands and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘What it is to be good.’

And with that, taking the stairs two at a time – the forbidden dog at his heels – he was gone.

Fanny staggered into the drawing room, closed the blind on the corner window without calling for a maid, and collapsed into an armchair and deep despair.

It was all her own fault. Of all people to tell first, she could not have picked worse. Ned was the heir to the entire estate. Ned was due to get everything. Unsurprisingly, Ned loved the world and so in turn, perfectly reasonably, the world loved Ned back. He was the only Knight child who could ever really be sure of a life-long financial security; the only one who could marry whomsoever he liked. How on earth could he ever understand Fanny?