| Title | |
|---|---|
| Content |
 How that wind does howl round the eaves! Sophie wriggles her toes some more, putting aside ‘Clarissa’ to stare into the flames as they curl and dance.
It being a Sunday, she should be reading her Bible. Instead, she is illicitly reading a novel and thinking of desires highly inappropriate to a Sabbeth (though to be sure, the Countess and Lord Ynyr are far from strictly religious; they even indulge in a game of cards of an evening, as long as the servants cannot see) .
Sophie wants a dashing young buck to come and sweep her off my feet, like Lovelace in ‘Clarissa’ (only- goodness – without that horrible ending).
She knows she really 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 Sophie a sad ingrate, for she has 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?!
|