‘But perhaps, more pertinent to your case’ – Miss Austen buried her head, fussed in her work bag in search of the scissors and to hide her own face – ‘was the second. I cannot recall the exact phrasing, but believe it was something along the lines of: Do not marry one man while your heart belongs to another.’

That seemed to have an effect. Cassy studied her lap, and fell into silence. Mary’s eyes flashed with approval.

And having scored one success, Miss Austen was emboldened to go further. ‘To that, I can add very little.’ Using both thumbs, she evened the space between stitches, and spoke as if in idle chatter. ‘But if you seek any more of my sister’s great wisdom, all I suggest is that you return to her novels. That is what I do, when I crave her advice. I am sure, in those pages, you will find something to guide you.

‘There!’ She lifted the new, finished product – an apron made from old curtains – and looked upon it with some satisfaction. ‘All done! I think that is enough for one afternoon, do not you?’

But Cassy remained silent, and Mary had already put down her work and hurried out of the room. Miss Austen listened to her quick footsteps, noted with pleasure that they seemed to stop at the library. And thought: now, let her find the appropriate book …

And so it was that, on 21 October 1834 – a mere two months after that afternoon – Cassy Knight was married to her best beloved, Lord George Hill.

It promised to be the grandest affair, and something of a departure for the Austens and Knights: a smart London church; half of society expected to attend – and, surely, the guest list must be enormous. For even Miss Austen received an invitation, and she had not been at a family wedding for decades.

A fleet of carriages carried the family from breakfast to the ceremony and, purely by chance, Aunt Cassandra was put in one with only Fanny for company.

‘My dear, we have not been together for ever so long!’ she began happily. It had sometimes felt that Fanny now avoided her, which was a trifle upsetting. Aunt and niece had once been so close. ‘It seems I have barely seen you since – oh – since you were married yourself.’ One of the many weddings to which she had not been invited.

‘Were you there?’ Fanny – suddenly very much Lady Knatchbull – replied haughtily. ‘I do not remember it. Ours was both modest and intimate, which I must say is more to my taste.’ She peered out of the window, then fell back into the corner. ‘Do look at the horrible crowds! Simply frightful. What on earth can they want from us?’