Free The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) by Georgina Young- Ellis

to follow your example.”
    “Mother—” Miss Charles prompted.
    “Ah yes, we must be on our way. Good day, Mrs. Franklin!”
    Her voice was beginning to grate on Cassandra’s ears like the screech of a cat in heat.
    “Good day.” She led them to the entryway and Mary let them out.
    Cassandra sighed and returned to her piano.
    Around sunset, she was lounging in the window seat, watching a storm brewing in the west, The Romance of the Forest by Mrs. Radcliffe lying closed in her hand. Her gaze traveled out across the gentle rise and fall of the land—so different from the closeness of New York where, in reality, she’d grown up. Cassandra’s family had spent summers at their home in the Hudson valley and she often considered that the landscape there was similar to that of England’s, even though there was a difference between them in the quality of light and the severity of the angles. The English countryside had a more ancient quality, as if it had been worn and softened by so many more years of use.
    In a flight of imagination, inspired by the black clouds roiling overhead and the torrent of rain that suddenly smacked the windows around her, she saw herself in her mind’s eye as some interesting character in a book: the widow of Sorrel Hall, the expatriate looking for a home, the mysterious American. She began to feel a sense of purpose in being there.

 
Chapter 6
    April 17, 1820 – While the weather was too cold for outdoor activity, I did yoga most mornings, and now continue to do it a couple of times a week. This morning, as I was lying on a blanket on the floor in my bloomers and chemise with my legs flung over my head, Mary walked in. I had forgot to lock the door. I leapt up as quickly as I could manage while Mary wildly apologized for not knocking, and I tried to explain how I’d been trying to work out a pain in my back. I think it’s time I learned to ride a horse. I hear it is excellent exercise.
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    Close to one o’clock Cassandra set off quickly on foot to cover the mile or so to the Holcomb cottage, which lay across the road from the grounds of Sorrel Hall and arrived there in less than twenty minutes. When Lady Holcomb’s husband Sir Arthur died, his extensive parklands and most of his money had gone to their eldest son. In keeping with custom, the lady had moved into the cottage on the grounds. It was well-placed at the foot of low, green hills, near enough to a stream that Cassandra could hear it burbling as she approached. Built of stone, the house was two stories with a peaked roof of shingles. Blue shutters graced the many-paned windows that were numerous on the first story. On the second, the windows were framed by gabled dormers. Cassandra walked through a white gate, past a garden of yellow daffodils, pink tulips, purple pansies, and under a willow tree that shaded a carved stone bench. Before she reached the steps of the cottage, Lady Holcomb flung open the rounded, wooden door and dashed out to meet her.
    “Cassandra!” The lady took her friend’s arm. “How charming you look! What a lovely day it is, do not you think? Was the walk tiring? I have some delicious cakes and fresh watercress sandwiches. You will not mind a light repast at this time of day?”
    “No, and no, the walk was not tiring in the least. What a beautiful gown! The blue matches your eyes perfectly.” Inwardly, Cassandra observed that the dress masked the woman’s heavy-set frame well.
    Her friend patted her chestnut hair, streaked with grey. “Thank you, my dear.”
    “And I see your maid has discovered a flattering new hair style for you.”
    “Do you think so? You are most kind to say.”
    They stepped inside the cottage. Roses abounded everywhere: on the fabric of the chairs, sofa and curtains, in the pattern on the rug, on decorative plates situated on the fireplace mantle and in still life paintings on the rosebud wallpaper. A slim vase with one pink rosebud graced the oval-shaped marble table