With a broad smile aimed solely at Mary, he walked backwards the rest of the way.

It was a good ball at Ashford that August. A crowd of 250 gathered to mark the end of the summer and, did they but know it, the debut of Miss Mary Dorothea Knatchbull.

A large party, made up of her own family, the Knights and a few respectable neighbours, had gathered at Hatch before it. With so many in the house, the mad hour of preparations had come close to a riot: maids running hither and thither with hot water for bathing and irons for pressing; doors slamming, men shouting, ladies shrieking. And then, at last, all were assembled, each in their splendour, awaiting their carriages and, at once, the panic became joy and excitement. Mary thrilled at it – was this really her own sombre home? So delightful was the moment, she had concerns that it might prove the best part of the evening.

But now here she stood, at the edge of the dance floor, one of the crowd and her heart nearly burst with delight.

‘Darling!’ Cassy came from behind her and shrieked into her ear. ‘You are simply superb!’ She fingered a corner of Mary’s dress – blonde net over satin – and mock-swooned at the turban of silver and pink. ‘The success of the night! See how they stare.’

The girls got quickly to work: those long, youthful hours spent in social dissection now serving them well. Two pairs of expert eyes swept rapidly around the candlelit ballroom and considered the assembly. Mary gasped. Was not every lady simply magnificent? Of course, she herself could not even begin to compete – still, no matter. She was just grateful to be here, and that was enough.

But, to her utmost astonishment, George Knight approached, putting himself down for two dances, which struck Mary as uncommonly kind of him. Then, Dr Knatchbull, apparently one of her uncles, booked her for three – sadly, she could hardly refuse. A Finch-Hatton, no less, asked for a waltz; even a Darnley requested! And within minutes, her card was filled right through to supper.

‘At last!’ Mary smiled to herself as she spun round the floor. ‘I am living at last and no one can stop me!’ Not even a sad, shaven head could hold her back now. Was it not odd, but all that doom when it happened, and yet no one remarked that she had sprouted a thick fringe of curls out of nowhere. It was almost as if humans only truly examined their own selves, and took little to no notice of others.