How that wind does howl round the eaves! I wriggle my toes some more, putting aside ‘Clarissa’ to stare into the flames as they curl and dance.
I want a dashing young buck to come and sweep me off my feet, like Lovelace in ‘Clarissa’ (only without that horrible ending).
I must be sensible and plan how to draw in a worthy man for a suitable match; without a dowry Her Ladyship’s companion isn’t going to attract a queue of suitors and sadly, the local curate is married…
Lady Llewelyn (that does sound so Welsh, but she is a Frenchwoman, originally from Provence) would surely consider me a sad ingrate, for I have been treated with amazing kindness. Who ever heard of a poor relative companion being given such a suite of rooms, a lady’s maid, and music lessons?! 