Sir Edward returned to the authority of his desk chair and signalled that she sit low on the sofa.

‘I would be grateful, Papa, if you might find it within you to discuss the events of yesterday evening?’

‘Events?’ he asked pleasantly, as one raking his memory.

‘Yes, Papa.’ If this was his game, then she would play it. ‘Events. In fact, I request that we speak of one in particular.’ Mary was ever polite. ‘That being the moment you learned that Mr Knight has asked for my hand.’

‘Ah, that.’ Stretching out his short legs, knitting his fingers around the girth of his stomach, he added complacently: ‘High spirits, I gather – all brought about by the gaiety of the season. Though, as you would expect, I must mark the gentleman down for yet another impetuous performance, still – to respect good Lady Knatchbull’s desire for family unity – I am minded this time to ignore it.’ He turned back to his papers. ‘Pray, do not punish yourself, Mary. I am settled in my mind that you did nothing to deserve such an insult and we shall not speak of it again. The subject is closed. Now’ – he lifted a document to his face and spoke into it – ‘unless there is anything else?’

Mary drew back her shoulders and retrieved her earlier steel. Her life hung in the balance. She must not be thwarted. ‘There is, Papa, yes – if you would be so kind as to indulge it. I would like – be most grateful indeed, if – well – that is—’ She gulped. ‘I politely request that the subject stay open.’

Slowly, he turned back towards her, eyes of ice blue stretched wide in amused disbelief.

‘Furthermore’ – she gripped one hand in the other to steady them both – ‘I would be grateful if you might allow me the opportunity to declare my own feelings on the matter.’

‘Your feelings,’ he cut in, affecting astonishment – as if they were now in some new realm of fantasy. ‘You are proposing that I am to consider your feelings.’

‘If you would be so kind, Papa.’ Her own nerve astonished her.

‘MARY DOROTHEA KNATCHBULL.’ His fist slammed down on the desktop; the many gentleman’s trinkets leaped up as salmon en route to the sea. ‘What is this impudence? I have issued sound judgement – one taken with care and informed by the great wisdom of years – and you dare to contest it with your girlish feelings?’

‘But, Papa! I beg you that you hear me.’ All air left the room. ‘It can no longer be hidden.’ She felt all over strange, and light-headed. ‘For Mr Knight and I are in love.’

And with that, Mary fell back and cowered in the depths of the sofa – arms by her head; hands to her ears – and awaited the thunderclap.