‘I feel that I have already had such a lovely debut, and Marianne never did quite get one. Through no fault of anyone! Just,’ she finished lamely, ‘as things turned out.’

‘My dear Louisa. I implore you. Be grateful for that which is given to you, and pray – understand that all people are different. Marianne is a kind, selfless soul,’ proclaimed Fanny. ‘Devoted to her family, lives to help others … She is perfectly content with this life God has given her. I am sure of it.’ She pulled Taffy’s head out of the water. ‘And will hear no more on the subject.’

But when, the very next day, news came to Hatch of Marianne’s sudden illness, such was the coincidence in timing that Fanny struggled to believe it. Although the details were rather dramatic and, it was true, might be hard to put on – several people had, it seemed, witnessed the most violent seizures – she still thought it a little suspicious that it should occur so soon after that very conversation.

Fanny made no changes to her travel arrangements, Marianne duly recovered and when the spa party returned they made every effort to include her in their week at the races. At the ball, Marianne enjoyed as many dances as all of her sisters, and, it was agreed by all onlookers, seemed to enjoy the whole festival more than anyone in Kent. Always a pretty girl, she was never lovelier than that glorious August, appearing to float through the week in her white silken slippers and on a cloud of euphoria.

Fanny looked on and did wonder … But it was not until one morning in the middle of November that all was revealed.

The Knatchbulls were now properly ensconced in the family seat. Renovations were almost complete and, though her heart must always belong to Godmersham, even Fanny had to agree that – in principle, at least – Hatch was the superior house. Still, for all its spacious apartments and ornate decoration, the only room that offered true comfort was the one yet to receive any attention, and that was the library. So it was there, in the squashed, vermilion, book-lined gloaming, that she and Sir Edward tended to spend their few spare free hours. And there that her eldest brother rushed in on that day, without warning, demanding an interview.

‘Ned, darling!’ How Fanny loved it when one of her family turned up at her door. It made her feel she was still at the heart of all things; gave her a warm, happy sense of belonging. She moved to rise, intending to kiss, and then registered his unnatural demeanour: a little flushed, short slightly of breath; almost – a tiny bit – something like flustered. This was highly irregular.