Sophie longs for adventure, wriggling her toes by the fire and reading ‘Clarissa’…

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?!

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