‘My dear, I must declare my concern that you and Sir Edward may not proceed in the spirit of equality. While I am not entirely against second marriages, there is an art to them. You are the younger; he is established. He will expect your support, and you will no doubt provide it. Yet it is imperative that you do not surrender all sense. He will make mistakes; you must guide him to righteousness. He will let his passions o’errule his head; you must be the one to pour on the oil. And should you fail – oh, mark my words! – the r-r-result will be r-r-regrettable for all concerned.’

‘Thank you for your advice, Lady Banks.’ Though Fanny, who had so far been enjoying her new life of complete acquiescence, had no intention of heeding it. ‘Now, perhaps if you will excuse me?’ She started to rise, suddenly overwhelmed with the need for a little lie-down.

But it seemed Lady Banks was not finished with her yet. ‘One other thing.’ She held up her hand and flexed at the wrist to bid Fanny sit again, as if she were a poodle. ‘All that being said, of course your husband should be merely your secondary concern. The children – poor, motherless darlings – must always be your absolute highest priority. Do you pledge to me, now that – Ah!’ The door had finally opened. Lady Banks smiled for the first time. ‘There she is!’

And Mary Dorothea almost skipped across the great threadbare carpet and stood, arms outstretched, before her great-aunt.

‘Oh, what a joy!’ exclaimed Lady Banks, pressing her head into Mary’s neck and inhaling deeply. ‘Is she not a joy, Edward?’

Sir Edward, who had brought his daughter in, could only watch on, too moved to speak.

Fanny could hardly believe it. She had been married for two months now, had known Mary since the summer, and had never before seen her show any affection. Now here she was, in an embrace with this quite – well – unexpected person, and seemed, of all things, to be giggling.

Lady Banks held out the child and smiled at her fondly. ‘I think it is your prattle I miss most, my little darling. All your delicious little nothings. Do you not agree, Lady Knatchbull?’

Fanny, who was struggling to keep pace with events as they unfolded and was yet to get used to her new, married moniker, failed to respond.

‘Lady Knatchbull?’ The jowls began to vibrate with impatience. ‘Do you not find it unnaturally quiet when Mary is away?’

‘Ah. Indeed!’ The very idea of Mary Dorothea ‘prattling’ seemed to Fanny almost absurdly far-fetched. Indeed, she found it unnaturally quiet when the girl was around, as Mary spoke barely at all. But then, perhaps Fanny’s experience was somewhat limited.