‘Enough.’ William, who had been prowling about like a beast in a trap, strode across the room and loomed over her. ‘Forgive me, Lady Knatchbull, but perhaps your own behaviour might also be called into question.’ Though his words were brutal, his tone was oddly mild. Still, Fanny shrank back into the sofa. ‘Can you not find within you even an ounce of human sympathy? We are aware of the difficulties, as we are no longer children. Yes! We are in love. And I am sorry if this development might cause you some small inconvenience, but that does not entitle you to treat us unkindly. You are so harsh these days, Fan. And to be frank, it is not just me and Emily—’

Emily?

‘We are all of us feeling it rather. Dearest …’ He sat down beside her then, and took her hand. ‘I do understand you have been having a rough time of it lately.’

Fanny froze. This was irrelevant to the topic under discussion and, furthermore, deeply intrusive.

‘But it is making you—’

‘Thank you, William.’ Fanny stood, crossed to the bell and summoned a servant. ‘That will be all.’ Her whole body was trembling. ‘Ah, Graves, Mr Knight is just leaving us.’ She held a shaky hand out for William to kiss, and issued her final instruction. ‘I suggest you go at once to see our esteemed father. He can always be trusted to supply the most excellent advice.’

Now alone, Fanny sank to her knees in the middle of the Aubusson, while there raged in her breast extremes of emotion: shock at all which had just occurred; cold dread of what was to come. But overhanging it all was the worst feeling possible, and that was her own, particular guilt.

William had been ten years of age when their mother died; Marianne not quite seven. Of course, Edward Knight had always been the most conscientious of parents, but he could not have raised all eleven of them entirely alone. Whatever the justice of the matter – after all, she had only been fifteen herself – Fanny, too, had been responsible for the upbringing of her younger siblings. She had been entrusted with their spiritual and moral education and had, she was sure, thrown herself into that challenge. Yet now look at how they were all turning out!

Lizzie – dear Lizzie – had managed to make an excellent match, but of the rest, only two had so far declared themselves and – unless Miss Atkinson surprised them all by producing a fortune – both with disastrous results. It was as if neither had ever learned the basic tenets of what was socially acceptable, or simply possible. Fanny must accept at least some of the blame, and could only fear what was to come. There were still seven more siblings yet to be matched. What more did fate have in store?