‘Ah, yes.’ Fanny tucked in the needle, placed the silk down on the sofa beside her, rose, extended both hands and smiled her sweetest of smiles. ‘Mary Dorothea.’

Mary curtseyed and stood, clutching her bag. Someone – perhaps Marianne? Fanny knew not – had provided a lawn day dress with a subtle sprig pattern of elegant simplicity, which rather suited the girl. Certainly, she appeared a little less plain.

‘I thought we might work together this afternoon?’ Fanny gestured towards the little pink plush armchair. ‘I hope you would like that, my dear?’

‘Thank you, madam.’ Mary sat.

‘Dear child!’ Fanny sank back on to the chaise longue and smoothed down her day dress. ‘Not madam, I beg of you! There is no need for such formality with me.’

‘Then pray do forgive me.’ Mary bit her lip, thought and then added, with a tentative up-lift: ‘Stepmother?’

‘Goodness.’ The child might as well have run her through with a rapier. ‘Stepmother is such a formal type of address, do you not think?’ Fanny let out a light little laugh.

For over a decade, the word had been laden with doom for the Knight siblings – a fear; a threat; an object of dread. When employed either in fiction or anecdote, it – or she – was always a negative. Had Fanny ever heard tell of a kind stepmother? The idea was quite paradoxical. Monstrous was the default.

So how very odd of Mary Dorothea to use the term! Of course, Fanny saw that their relationship could be described thus – officially, as it were. But surely it was impossible for anyone to really use the hideous word against her? She was so good with children – ask anyone who knew her. Thoughtful, kind, diligent to a perfectly ridiculous degree. Look at the way she had raised her own siblings! They were all quite devoted. And while she and the child had not yet got off to the strongest of starts, there could be no doubt whatsoever that their future relationship would be anything less than exemplary. So to think of Fanny – of all people! – as a typical stepmother: well, it was patently absurd.

‘My dear, it would please me if, from now on, you would call me “Mama”.’ So keen was Fanny to come across as warm and encouraging that she was starting to develop the face-ache. ‘Do you think you might like that?’

Mary, who had chosen that very moment to rummage in her work bag with purpose, looked up. ‘Thank you.’ She held Fanny’s gaze for a little longer than might be considered quite natural. ‘Mama.’

‘There. It is good, is it not, to have that behind us?’

To demonstrate exactly how adept she was at conversing at a thirteen-year old level, Fanny then showed a keen interest in that which Mary was making – took a moment to advise on the perfection of satin stitch – before returning to the cravat and getting to the point.