‘Och, don’t ever look to Billy for enlightenment! It’s quite frightening to think where that could lead!’ Fanny picked up the hairbrush and began brushing her hair, carefully pulling out the tangles – of which there were many. ‘Don’t look so nervous. You’re white as a sheet.’

Effie stared at her own reflection again, caught between worlds. ‘I don’t know what to say to them.’

‘It’s for them to lead the conversation, all you’ll have to do is answer. Trust me, they’re good at chit-chat. It’s what they do.’

‘But what if I do something wrong?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know – sit when I should stand, stand when I should sit?’

‘Just follow their cues. Drink when they do, sit when they do, laugh at their jokes. It’s pretty simple.’ Fanny’s hands stopped moving suddenly. ‘Did anyone talk you through the dinner table?’

‘What about it?’

Fanny’s eyes narrowed. ‘Salad forks, fish knives . . .?’

Effie looked back at her blankly.

‘Och . . .’ Fanny sighed, brushing again. ‘Well, just work from the outside in. That’ll get you through.’

‘The outside in,’ Effie repeated, but she didn’t really understand what she needed to bring inside. The factor lurked in the shadows of her mind, contaminating everything.

‘Will she like me?’

‘Who? Brightness?’

‘The countess.’

‘I should imagine she likes anyone who isn’t like Lady Sibyl.’

‘She doesn’t approve of her?’

‘Well, she’s the right sort, just not made of the right stuff. Her ladyship disapproves of all those treasure hunts and fancy dress parties. There’s always so much scandal that accompanies that set and if there’s one thing her ladyship does not like, it’s a scandal.’

Effie swallowed. Would Sholto’s mother recognize her as a scandal averted, then? ‘And Sholto’s a part of all that?’

‘He’s not really. She’s right at the heart of it, but his lordship’s less bothered. You see him in the papers sometimes but he finds it all a bit tiresome. That’s what Henry says anyway. He’s Lord Sholto’s valet too.’

Effie swallowed, staring down at her lap. ‘Perhaps she’ll settle down when they get married.’

‘Who says they will?’ Fanny put down the brush and picked up the hair framing either side of Effie’s face. She pulled it back, positioning it high, low . . . experimenting with different ways of pinning it.

‘Billy. He said everyone’s waiting for it.’

‘Knowing Billy, he’s got a wager on it,’ Fanny muttered.

‘So you don’t think they will?’

Fanny shrugged. ‘No, they probably will. There’s enough about it that works.’

‘I saw them walking in the garden this morning,’ Effie murmured. ‘They look right together.’