‘Perfectly dreadful, I’m afraid. I thought I might faint.’ Fanny shuddered at the memory. ‘But it did lead me to think how very lucky I am,’ she said earnestly.

‘Did it, my dear?’ Lady Banks dropped her work in delight. ‘Do tell me precisely why.’ She snuggled into her armchair with anticipation.

‘Well, just imagine if one had been born a Continental—’

Lady Banks looked a little surprised.

‘—and forced for society’s sake to stay in somewhere like Naples. Lady Banks.’ She leaned forward. ‘I have seen it. Well, Mr Burford’s representation, at least. The place is impossible. Those poor, benighted Italians could not swing a cat.’ She sat back again, and looked up at the great portrait that hung on the chimney piece. As well as being the most courageous explorer and quite brilliant botanist – or so it was said – Sir Joseph looked, too, as if he was rather gentle and kind. Had their paths crossed would he have approved of her? Fanny very much hoped so.

‘So are we not lucky to be British, and gathered in London? And, of course, to have you, dear Lady Banks. You are so kind to us. Without you, I would have nowhere to stay while the House was in session: my husband would be in Town and I all alone at home in the country.’ Fanny felt oddly moved. ‘Well then, how sad.’

‘Newlyweds.’ Lady Banks winked like a pantomime dame. Fanny blushed. ‘Anything else?’

‘And, well.’ In fact, something was on her mind. She decided to share it. After all, Lady Banks had softened a lot since the first time they met. ‘I was worried, when I married my beloved husband, that I might lose touch with my dear siblings, whose lives would continue to travel down one avenue, so to speak, while mine took off on another. I was forced at a young age, you know, to be something more like a mother to them and have often worried that it had somehow prevented them from seeing me more as a sister, or friend.’

Privately, Fanny had feared that, once she was no longer looking after them – working, arranging, the general business of nurturing – they would have no further need of her whatsoever. They had often, when they were younger, played a game called the Most. Lizzie was always the Most Beautiful, William the Most Fun, and so on and so forth. Fanny had always longed to be the Most … well, she barely minded, as long as it was at least a little bit interesting. In fact, she was rarely mentioned. But that was too bleak to share.