Free Sharon Sobel by The Eyes of Lady Claire (v5.0) (epub) Page B

not make a match in her first season, and if she did not, she was destined to return to Brook Cottage and wear comfortable clothing and read edifying tomes. Claire would return to her life, such as it was. And Wentworth would be quite satisfied that his judgment was correct, as he seemed to think it always.
    Claire picked up the hat Camille worked on so diligently. One ribbon was blue, one was green, and the nosegay was quite off-center. And yet the result was utterly charming and quite unusual. So it was with the girl herself; would she not find a man who could comfortably overlook her limitations because of her natural charm and curious ways of looking at things?
    But of course she was not looking at anything. Her fingers explored what she could not see and the most generous of her acquaintances gave her leave to a certain intimacy. Claire thought about the scene she interrupted this morning, when Camille’s hands were upon her brother’s face, and he allowed both her pleasure and her path of discovery.
    It was pleasurable for him as well. If the simple intimacy of touch could provide such satisfaction between family members, what joys could be had between husband and wife? Claire mourned for what she had never known, for she never dared to put her fingers on her own husband’s face. Glastonbury would have brushed them off, annoyed and impatient.
    Laughter in the hallway intruded upon her solitude, so Claire thought it an excellent time to escape the room, the cottage, and her own unbidden thoughts. Large, French-styled doors opened onto a broad veranda and a prospect of such natural beauty that Claire’s deepest regret was that her young friend would never see it. She struggled for a moment with the latch, and moved quickly outdoors just as the laughter grew louder.
    The sun was low in the sky yet strong enough to make Claire realize she ought to have taken one of the bonnets to shade her face. But she knew where she would find the comfort of shade and quiet, if she did not meet a stranger on the way.
    Keeping close to the long drive, she set off through the wild meadow on her way to the woods. She paused to pick flowers that were new and exotic to her, though she guessed that here they were as common as dust. She was certain some of them grew on the slope above the Serpentine, but she never really examined them before. They really were elegant little things, like Camille herself.
    Wentworth was undoubtedly right. His sister was a lovely blossom here at Brookside Cottage, entirely free to grow in beauty and grace, without the artifice of society’s manners. She could live out her life surrounded by those who loved her and understood her needs.
    As Claire entered the shade of the woods, something small and furry scattered out of her path. Birds cried out at her intrusion into their sanctuary, and, here and there, acorns dropped onto the leafy ground. The brook, not yet visible, beckoned with its irresistible music, and Claire followed it like a woman in a trance.
    Here was a spot she had not passed before, and Claire wondered if there was a reason Camille avoided it. It seemed designed for an idyllic interlude, but it was hard to tell if nature had been improved upon or if the setting was the result of natural happenstance. A large tree trunk was poised over the running water, with indentations that might have been carved for two tired wanderers. The trunk was supported by a boulder midstream, allowing it to be elevated just high enough so that if a lady removed her stockings and slippers, she might cool her feet in the running water. It was a fine place for friends to sit and talk, or for lovers to . . . to do whatever it was that lovers liked to do. Claire was not entirely sure of it.
    It was also a fine place to sit by one’s self and contemplate one’s problems, such as whether one ought to come between a young lady and her brother, or transplant a meadow flower to Hyde Park, or wonder if it would be quite