Candles threw an amber light that flattered the incumbents as they sat grouped around an unlit fire, drinks in their hands. Sholto, who was lounging against the mantelpiece in the same suit – black tie, Fanny had told her – as last night, straightened fixedly as she walked over. Small steps, Fanny had warned as they practised walking Effie up and down the short length of her bedroom in heels – part of her brief induction into the rudiments of behaving like a lady, which had also covered cutlery, how to hold a glass and words not to say.

She reached the group in silence, wondering if she had done something wrong already. ‘Good evening,’ she said in a quiet voice, her eyes invariably travelling towards Sholto. He was staring as if he’d never seen her before.

‘Good heavens, young lady, I never would have recognized you! I had to take a moment to check my dashed eyes weren’t playing tricks,’ Lord Dumfries said, recovering first and greeting her with a gallant head bow. As if she were a lady. ‘Last time I saw you, you’d run through a hedge or . . . been for a swim, I think.’

‘Your Lordship. My lady,’ she said, turning towards the older woman sitting at the far end of the chaise. Fanny had instructed her to greet Sholto’s parents first. His mother was wearing a burgundy silk dress with silver threads, her fair hair worn upswept in the older style. ‘Lady Sibyl.’

Effie smiled at Sibyl, hoping for some sign of alliance at least, after their introduction yesterday in the library. The young woman looked dazzling, both sophisticated and fashionable. Her glossy dark hair was styled in tight, precisely-set finger waves that must have made Jenny’s arms ache, and she was wearing a sapphire satin gown with a cut like Effie’s. At her neck were ropes of pearls, all worn at different lengths, and her lips were a vivid scarlet. Effie could see a ghostly impression of them on the rim of her glass.

‘Miss Gillies,’ the countess said with a distinct note of surprise. ‘When my husband and son spoke of you from their sojourn earlier this summer, I’m afraid they wholly failed to mention you are a lady.’

Effie felt her cheeks sting pink at the compliment. ‘Oh, no, I’m no lady. I’m from St Kilda. We’re all equal there.’

There was an astonished silence and Effie could see Sholto hide a smile behind his drink.

‘Well, I think that rather remains to be seen. You have a natural grace, my dear,’ the matriarch replied, also with a bemused smile. ‘Come and sit beside me. I should like to get to know you better.’