‘Anyway.’ Fanny folded her napkin and placed it neatly down by her plate. ‘You have reminded me.’ Rising, she waited a beat for a footman to draw out her chair. ‘The new governess is arriving at some point this morning. I must gather myself before the interview takes place.’ She proceeded to the door, bade them all a good morning.

And, as she did so, wondered who might be this beauty who had caught Ned’s eye?

PART TWO

CHAPTER IX

Mary Dorothea Knatchbull was still a very small child when she first formed the idea that she might be somewhat lacking. What exactly she lacked, she could not, at first, quite put her finger on. Being but five years of age, she had not yet acquired either the words or the experience which might enable the proper examination of self. But once she had grown up just a little more – indeed, only the following year, when she was first sent off to school – then it became horribly clear: she could not lay claim to the possession of any sort of distinguishing feature.

This absence did not form the basis of any great preoccupation – Mary sensed that would be unhealthy: God would, no doubt, disapprove. But it was certainly an awareness that she carried about with her, as a lady might her reticule; and, from time to time, she rummaged within it, to see if there might not just be something which had been hiding thus far.

But though she worked hard at her lessons, any signs of brilliance failed to present themselves. Her voice was more suited to chorus than solo. In the absence of any positive references to her appearance, Mary could only presume herself plain – and anyway, she hastily reminded herself, beauty was only skin deep. Ah, so might she be distinguished by her exceptional goodness? She did try, very hard, to be good at all times – even if only to please her papa. But then, Christian obedience was hardly a unique quality in her immediate world, and though she prayed most terribly hard, still she remained stuck at some distance from being a saint.

But if only, Mary thought later, she had not wondered at all … Then the Lord might not have noticed her, or marked her down as one who might benefit from punishment. And chosen to inflict a great wound upon her small person that would scar her for life.

The last time that mother and daughter were together was early in the spring of the year 1814. Though she was by then heavy with child and approaching yet another confinement, Annabella Knatchbull was perfectly well and, in every way possible, her normal, affectionate, beautiful self.