The first months of married life passed with something quite close to ease. Fanny felt she had coped well enough with all of the various novelties that came with her new situation. Well, almost all – there was one in particular which still seemed a little unnatural. Still, even that turned out to be not quite as bad as one feared. And, for the rest, it was all starting to seem almost normal.

But there now rose up before her a whole new raft of challenges. In a matter of days would come Fanny’s first Christmas at Hatch. The children were all home – or, at least, in the nursery – and her husband had invited the most august of visitors to join them for the season.

‘Lady Banks.’ Sir Edward Knatchbull stepped out of the receiving line crowded around the top of the stairs from the north entrance, took her ladyship’s hand and bowed deeply. ‘Welcome to—’

‘Oh, r-r-really, Edward.’ His aunt, puffing a little at the exertion, steadied herself on the banister, patted his bent head and then, signalling impatience, beckoned him up. ‘I am your dearest aunt.’ She placed one gloved finger upon her highly painted cheek; Sir Edward planted the kiss in the position suggested. ‘Or I certainly should be, as you are my heir, eh?’ Lady Banks peered over his shoulder and gave Fanny a somewhat vulgar wink. ‘So, madam.’ She looked Fanny up and down as she hobbled towards her with an amused sort of eye. ‘I take it you are the Bride?’

This Lady Banks who stood before her was some distance from the Lady Banks whom Fanny had been expecting. She had been prepared for someone slightly grander, more forbidding than Marie-Antoinette. This person was – well – considerably less so. Her unusually short stature and uncommonly round form were both accentuated by a singular dress style. But no doubt the thick tweed, tied around the middle by something somewhat reminiscent of string, was selected for warmth. Fanny fell into a curtsey, too confounded to speak.

‘Lovely, dear. Very pleasant, I’m sure.’ Lady Banks was now tottering down the line of servants, flicking her hand in dismissal – ‘Yes, yes. Very good. No doubt there is work to do. Off you go! Shoo!’ – until she came to the end, whereupon she turned on her heel and barked at Sir Edward: ‘And where is my cher-r-rub?’

‘Ah. Perhaps in the nursery wing?’ Fanny had never seen her husband look quite so discomfited. ‘Possibly with her brother?’

‘Norton?’ Lady Banks gave a grunt. ‘My need of Norton is less than urgent.’

Poor Norton, thought Fanny.