‘Forgive me.’ He sighed. ‘I am not, as I hope you now know, one troubled by mere mood. Emotion, on the other hand …’ He slackened the reins then, and fixed his eyes on the distance. ‘Emotion I am slave to. It was in this very month, back in 1808, that our dear mother was taken and, though it does not speak well of me, I find myself unable to forgive it. That October still dares to flaunt itself, year upon year – revive its great beauty while hers remains lost – strikes me as a heartless parade of—’

‘I quite understand,’ Mary cut in and, without any rehearsal, heard herself add: ‘I do wish I had known the pleasure of meeting your mother, sir.’

Ned stopped his horse then. Mary, a few paces ahead, did the same, turned and saw that he stared at her now with a new depth of expression. In fact, was that a tear in his eye?

‘What a – that is—’ He gathered himself, cleared his throat and began anew. ‘I am so moved to hear it, Miss Knatchbull. And may I ask why?’

This time, Mary thought before speaking; she wondered, had she plunged in too far? Perhaps there were still places their conversation was not ready to go. Well, if so, then when better to test it? ‘I think of her sometimes,’ she said simply. ‘I did not know the lady, have heard little about her and yet she does come into my mind.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘I suppose there can be but one explanation. That is: she brought into the world many excellent children whom I now hold very dear.’

He raised his brows in enquiry; Mary dropped her eyes to the saddle, felt herself blush. This could only end in something close to flirtation, which she had vowed to avoid. So instead, she mumbled about Cassy, Marianne and George; even – this was desperation! – Fanny’s name found its way on to the list. And when finally she faced Ned again, she was blessed with the sweet, crooked smile that reached into her heart.

Not a soul knew of these morning meetings, save Daniel the coachman and he could be trusted – were Sir Edward even to suspect any collusion, the poor man would face certain dismissal. Fanny was entirely taken up with her precious firstborn and had already started another. The stepchildren, whom she had always found to be more trial than pleasure, were now almost forgotten. So when Mary breezed down to the hall early on the following Tuesday, it was a shock to find Lady Knatchbull up, dressed and firmly positioned in front of the door.

‘Good morning …’ In her absolute fury, Mary hit out with a rest the entire length of a semibreve in the slowest pavane. ‘… Ma-ma.’