And they were all silent for the rest of the journey.

Once back at Hatch, Fanny rushed like a madwoman straight to the children’s wing; ran down the passage to the door of the nursery; then slowed and, holding her breath, approached the cradle and feasted her eyes.

As ever, her darling Fanny Elizabeth – the name was Sir Edward’s suggestion; she had been so very touched – slept like an angel: a perfect rosebud embedded in lace. Just the sight of her, after one night away, was enough to bring tears to the bewitched mother’s eyes. Lady Knatchbull was fond of all of her stepchildren, of course she was. Even though they brought with them no end of problems and caused so much concern, she loved them. She was sure of it.

But somehow, she could not help but love her own just that little bit more.

It was not until late in the evening that Sir Edward was, at last, able to speak and inform Fanny of what had transpired. Though it hardly seemed credible, it appeared that her dear husband had returned from his meeting, no doubt exhausted – his many great duties did drain the poor man to the most dreadful degree. And, at the very moment of his return, he had been met by a clearly deranged Ned and his extraordinary request.

Although her husband had already turned her brother down flat and the matter was over, still he wanted to discuss it with – or rather vent his feelings to – Fanny on their return home. So, of course, it was late when at last he took to his own room, in which he continued to audibly rage through what remained of the night. And by that point, Fanny’s distress was so great that there was not a wink of sleep to be had.

Once alone and able to think a little more clearly, Fanny had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that there were but two explanations for this highest of dramas: either her brother was, as Sir Edward suggested, stark, staring mad, or she – who had certainly endeavoured to be the most assiduous of mothers – had somehow managed to miss a brewing affair. And, though one should generally guard against being too solipsistic, it must still be acknowledged that neither boded well for Fanny herself.

After all, her whole world revolved around two immoveable features: the Knights and the Knatchbulls; her two guiding stars. It was essential to her own happiness that harmony between them was maintained. But could that now be flung into jeopardy?