Three sisters were living at Manydown now. The eldest was Elizabeth, the same age as Cassandra: she was a widow with a young son and had come back to live with her father when her husband died. Catherine was next, twenty-six like Jane, and Alethea was the youngest, two years their junior. Mrs Bigg had passed away when her children were small, and Mr Lovelace Bigg-Wither now ran this ancient family manor as a widower. There was a son in the family, too, named Harris. He was twenty-one and away at university, set to inherit the entire park and estate when the time came.

On Wednesday evening, the whole party sat together after dinner. Cassandra knew Harris was shy but tried her best to engage him in conversation.

 ‘How do you find life in Oxford?’ she ventured.

 ‘Highly diverting,’ was the safe reply.

 ‘My brothers always enjoyed the theatre when they were there,’ she rallied. ‘And they were in awe of Blenheim when they saw it. Have you been?’

 ‘No, I have not been so lucky,’ came another dull reply.

 ‘Do you enjoy your studies?’

 ‘As well as any man, I suppose.’

Harris watched them with curiosity. He had lost interest in his book long ago, finding Jane’s liveliness and outspoken remarks far more entertaining. He studied her mannerisms and noted how relaxed she seemed to be in his home. She had not changed for dinner and was still wearing her simple cap and gown. The black lace cloak she wrapped around her when she left the room gave her the look of an enchantress. Harris could feel her zeal flowing towards him and running through his veins. Her boundless energy was such an impetus to his own sorry lack of it that he began to question whether or not he should make more of an effort and join in.