“Please, darling, do stop teasing me,” Mother continues, oblivious to my train of thought. “You know my nerves can’t stand it.” And she begins to cry again, real tears which make me feel awful.

“Now look what you’ve done, Beatrice!” Father booms from the doorway where he has appeared. He crosses to Mother’s other side and takes her hand. “This is all your fault.”

His words are like a match to the kindling, setting something big and angry inside me alight. “You two are clinging to some ridiculous version of the past,” I snap, out of guilt as much as anything. I jump to my feet. “There’s a whole generation of young people out there who are changing things and living exciting, modern lives, but here we are, living in this mausoleum. It’s like time has stopped here and I can’t stand it!”

“Stop being so hysterical.” Mother’s voice is shrill. Clearly there’s only one member of the family who is allowed to have nervous episodes.

“I’m not being hysterical!” I say, taking a deep, shaky breath and trying to speak more calmly. “But you two are trying to raffle me off like some prize-winning mare without any consideration for what I want…”

“We are trying to do what is best for you.” Father’s face is turning an interesting shade of puce. “Not that we get any thanks for it, and God forbid you actually honour your family and our history. There have been Langtons at Langton Hall for over FIVE HUNDRED YEARS!”

Normally, I would simply nod and think about something else while he spouts on about the family honour, but right now, suddenly, I have had enough. I have been hearing this for my whole life and I am sick of it, sick of the weight of Langton Hall and its legacy, sick of the generations of history bearing down on me. It’s as if I can feel the walls of the house pressing in, cutting me off from the rest of the world.

“I know that there have been Langtons at Langton Hall for over five hundred years.” I am close to tears and I try to steady my voice. “But you must see that even if I went along with your plans and married some wealthy, inbred aristocrat to prop the estate up, then – well, then I wouldn’t be a Langton any more.”

“But you’d be able to keep the place going,” Mother says.

“You’d keep the Langton bloodline alive!” Father’s voice is hushed, as though he is describing something too sacred to approach at a normal volume.

I look at them now and feel a pang of sympathy. They look smaller in this moment, their eyes ablaze with fanaticism.

“I’m sorry,” I say wearily. Guilt sits heavily in my stomach.