‘So the responsibilities of his estate will be much more than those to which Sir Edward is so far accustomed.’ Fanny was aware of a certain archness of tone, but rather thought the situation required it. ‘I hear Hatch is a fine house indeed. The first private commission Robert Adam ever completed, I believe.’ She turned to the bookshelves, grazed a long, delicate finger along the spines and casually flicked ‘Much land?’ over her shoulder, as if it were a fur tippet.

Her father seemed a little taken aback by this sudden change of approach. ‘It is certainly substantial though I fear I cannot, at this very moment, provide the exact acreage.’

‘Never mind.’ With a quick swish of muslin, Fanny returned to the armchair. ‘Now, the children.’ She rested her hands in her lap and gazed steadily at her father. When first she came in, her cheeks had been warm; they were now returned to their more natural coolness. ‘I had the pleasure of meeting his eldest, Mary Dorothea – a remarkably sweet child. Indeed, I have never before met one quite so keen to please.’

It had puzzled Fanny at the time. Of course, one wants the children to be biddable and courteous and so on and she was quite confident that she had raised her own siblings to be so. However, a little personality – individuality, certainly; even impudence, within reason – did add to their charms. But there had been something about Mary Dorothea’s behavioural perfection that had caused some unease … Studying the plain, colourless creature, looking into her eyes perhaps hoping to see into her soul, Fanny had found nothing beyond her own self reflected back. But of course, she was being silly. The child had been nervous, no doubt, and might improve over time. ‘And the rest are boys, if I am correct?’

‘There were five sons when his wife died; four now remain.’

‘That is unfortunate.’ Fanny acknowledged the loss with a slight sombre nod, before moving on briskly: ‘Then I quite understand that, all things considered, Sir Edward Knatchbull is, indeed’ – she arched one fine eyebrow – ‘very much in want of a wife.’

‘Oh, my dear child!’ Her father rose, came round to the chair, half sat on its arm and took both Fanny’s hands. ‘I fear I have got this all wrong and done both you and Sir Edward a terrible disservice. Yes, it would be as well for him and his family if he were to marry again now. But at the same time – coincidentally—’

‘And conveniently!’ Fanny cut in.