Mary turned her head towards the walled garden. ‘I should love it, of course. I miss them, quite horribly. They do write, at least!’ The boast came out as pathetic. ‘Ah, dear. The thought simply never occurred …’ Her narrow shoulders drooped as she sighed. ‘But my father …’

As ever, the very thought of Sir Edward cast its own pall. How Cassandra resented his corruption of this couple’s happiness.

‘It wounds me that none of my family has yet met my children. Who could have ever imagined such an estrangement would come to pass? I put all my trust in his fatherly love for me, but I fear that trust was misplaced. It appears that to disobey him is the ultimate sin.’

‘For which you have paid ample penance!’ Cassandra exclaimed in high passion. ‘And now he offends God by refusing forgiveness!’

But still, even after all these years of Sir Edward’s wilful mistreatment, Mary would not condemn him. Instead, she turned her head back towards the game on the lawn, and smiled. ‘Oh, do look at them, Aunt! Sinner I may be, but I can never repent, for how much have I gained?

She paused to applaud Wyndham’s first cartwheel. ‘I regret, very much, that my father forced me to into a choice. But I can never regret choosing Ned.’

That August, the family whirligig took on a new vigour, when – with no more than a day’s notice – Cassy Knight came to stay at the Great House.

Her presence was not, in itself, unusual. She and Mary had retained their deep friendship and, when one saw them together – witnessed their shared understanding and affection – it was easy to mistake them for sisters. But this time, she brought with her new drama. For Cassy was now in disgrace.

As they sat in the drawing room awaiting the visitor’s arrival – one eye on their stitching, the other on the drive – Mary caught her aunt up on all that she knew.

‘So it seems she has engaged herself to a Reverend Musgrave Harris …’ Mary fiddled with her thimble.

‘Then is that not excellent news?’ Having finished one shift to her own satisfaction, Miss Austen pressed on to the next.

‘No! For she still loves Lord George Hill!’

Cassandra thought back to that long ago day in London, when she had witnessed the two lovers meeting; remembered the conviction she had felt at the time: there was a match.

‘But she could not have Lord George Hill.’ Though more was the pity. ‘And if she has now found a replacement, then I am delighted to hear it.’

‘Well, no one else is,’ Mary said darkly. ‘Fanny, in particular, is set madly against and has turned all of Godmersham around to her view.’

And here we go, again: another poor woman to be forced out of her choice. ‘For any particular reason?’ Cassandra enquired, with more mildness than she felt on the subject.