The next morning, Mary was still in her room dressing for breakfast when the air was filled with a roar of such volume that she immediately thought of that elephant. Had it escaped after all? Was it even now marauding through Mayfair? She rushed to the window and looked down on a street where all proceeded quite as it should. Then, without even a knock, Booker put her head round the door.

‘Hope you brought your armour, miss.’ The maid was uncommonly cheerful. ‘You’ll need it for this one.’ She signalled downstairs with her chin. ‘You’re wanted. Down in the study.’

She found Sir Edward pacing the floor and brandishing the letter. ‘Well, madam?’ He had clearly decided on a more forthright approach than the one he had used at the start of the year. ‘An explanation, if you please.’ He took a seat at his desk and drummed his plump fingers upon it. ‘The very least I deserve.’

‘Good morning, Papa.’ Mary curtseyed, remained standing and affected concern. ‘You seem a little upset. I do hope you have not had bad news?’

‘The worst!’ The force of his fury brought him back to his feet. ‘For I have had the misfortune to learn that you, my own daughter, are no more than a … a … Jezebel!’

Mary froze. She could not chastise him, but nor would she tolerate any more of his nonsense. Instead, she appeared rational. ‘I cannot think what you mean, sir.’

It was the perfect response, for even he seemed abashed – though, of course, he gave no apology. ‘Mr Austen Knight informs me’ – he held up the paper and sat himself down again – ‘that you have met with that person.’

‘With young Mr Knight?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘That is correct, sir. I was coming out of the stables, and he happened to be passing. It could not have been helped. I might have mentioned it last evening, but you were so late at the House.’ She thought for a moment: ‘I do wonder, Papa, if these night sittings are not taking too much of a toll? You seem rather strained.’

Sir Edward glowered. ‘And he writes – quite how he dares is completely beyond me but somehow he manages. Really, that family – he actually writes that you still have feelings for the—’ He stopped, veering from slander. ‘Feelings which I have forbidden!’ With that he rose and returned to his pacing. ‘He is even so bold as to make the case for the match.’

The rest of his speech was addressed to the carpet. ‘I know that, were I to permit it, you might now speak of Mr Knight’s qualities, his estate and his worth … Believe me, I hear enough on that subject from Lady Knatchbull herself and consider it no longer relevant.