‘Oh, Mr Knight.’ In that moment, his sympathy appeared to her so deep, so true, so tangible almost, that Mary was moved to reach out and stroke it. She took the reins into both hands with a furious grip. ‘And when they were both so exceedingly happy …’

Ned’s demeanour was grim. ‘Lord George Hill’s fond mother has, I am sure, acted with great sense and pragmatism, but I suspect rather overreacted. While the couple might not have much in the immediate, still they did not face starvation and there remains every reasonable hope that, once the gentleman does inherit, they should live in some style.’ He looked up and into the rich blue above, traced the swoop of a hawk on a field yellow with corn. ‘Tale old as time. A good parent cares only for status and comfort, with the result that two dearly loved children are condemned into suffering.’ He shook his fine head. ‘’Tis cruel, Miss Knatchbull. Unnecessarily cruel, and I am sorry for it.’

This passionate outburst left Mary astonished, so marked was the contrast with Fanny’s response. She was all irritation, he only excellent feeling: so a very good sort of gentleman, then. Ah, but had he not also been the victim of an equivalent rejection, and so very recently? Perhaps it was more that the wound smarted him still. She must take pains to remember it.

‘And so we find ourselves back once again in the sad but inevitable process of supporting another unfortunate sibling.’

They had arrived at the temple, high on the hill. Beneath was the Godmersham house in its own parkland. In more ordinary times, Mary saw it as a symbol of safety and solidity; now she could think only of the distressed women within it, and was desperate to get to them. But here, quite unaccountably, Ned chose to stop.

‘Miss Knatchbull, do look!’ he exclaimed in a quite different tone. ‘And is that not wonderful? I was here but a half-hour ago, and am sure there was no sign at all. Now—’

Mary followed the lead of his gaze, and saw they were standing hard on the edge of a riot of poppies. ‘… a whole new world of red!’ she supplied, though of course he could not know the reference. ‘They are right by us, yet I had not even noticed.’

‘To them, ’tis but the work of a morning. Madam, one can only marvel at what Nature achieves in the time that Man wantonly squanders.’ He took a step forward, bent to peer into a bloom the colour of fresh blood. ‘And as you so cleverly put it, the world is painted anew.’ A bee hummed as it foraged deep in the petals. ‘You immediately came into our minds’ – he gave every appearance of addressing the insect – ‘as the best person to call on.’

With a start, Mary realised the words might be for her. ‘That I, sir—’