‘Yes, madam.’ Coming back to his full height, Ned turned the full force of his blue eyes upon her. ‘My father, Marianne and I are all in agreement on the matter. Without your support – your kind friendship – we should find it hard to continue.’

‘Indeed?’ That Marianne might suggest it came as no sort of surprise; that either Ned or his father would ever think of Mary at all, in any possible connection, was astonishing. ‘Well, of course you can count on it. Though it cannot compare to the love of an excellent family, I do like to think of your sister Cassy as my particular friend.’ Her tone was casual – dismissive – and deliberately so.

For this encounter had come about with such ease, only now could she grasp its full import. The simple fact was that Mary had never – not once in her life – been alone with a gentleman. And for it to happen right there – on the top of a hill, no other being in sight … Her papa would go into conniptions.

And yet, as Ned continued to gaze at her in an intense sort of fashion, Mary felt a strange calm. She had not even blushed, though, of course, she might yet. In the interests of safety, she turned towards Godmersham, clicked her tongue at the horse and resumed her journey.

Later that afternoon, Mary rode gently back home, past the castle at Chilham. Though the sun was now slipping and Mary would be expected at Hatch, the air was too stifling for any great exertion. Anyway, there was much to reflect on and reflection required peace, and she could expect none of that once she was home with the Mother.

Poor Lady Knatchbull. Fanny had been rather satisfied with Cassy’s match – to the degree that she could almost ignore the fact that Lord George Hill was Irish. Well, she might have sighed once or twice in Mary’s hearing. But it was quite clear that the title more than made up for it. This fresh disappointment was bound to have an adverse effect upon the maternal nerves. Mary’s smile turned to a grimace. For when Fanny’s equilibrium was disturbed, the whole household knew of it. She slowed the horse even more, and turned her thoughts back to her sad Godmersham friend.

Cassy had still been in her bed when Mary arrived. Pale, of course; pink at the eyes, puffy of cheek. But even while sobbing, she could give a flash of that spirit. ‘At least we now know I have charms, darling.’ She choked into a wet handkerchief. ‘Put that on my gravestone once I’ve died of my poverty.’