The last few days of August. The weather has taken a turn, bringing us away from summer and towards autumn. The lake this morning was misted, damp and cool with water pushed by the wind, rippling to the shore. I like autumn in all its russet glory and in fact the trees are already starting to turn. I can't say I mind. We lit the fire last night and snuggled in, reading and chatting while outside darkness fell that bit earlier and faster.
We are galloping through books. I've just finished
The Making of a Marchioness by Frances Hodgson Burnett, she of
The Secret Garden. It was wonderful- a tale in two parts where a poor but lovely gal unexpectedly marries a Marquis in the first half of the book and then in the second half there's murder in mind with foul plots and dark goings on...all quite thrilling stuff!
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