By Camille Oster
Copyright ©2020 Camille Oster
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Camille Oster – Author
www.camilleoster.com
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Chapter 1
Furka Pass, Switzerland, 1885
EVER SINCE THEY STARTED climbing along the winding road, the air was decidedly chilly. Fogginess marred the view, which Clemmie assumed was spectacular. This was the Swiss Alps—a tribute to splendor if there ever was one, from what she’d heard.
All this was beyond exciting, heading to Italy on her honeymoon. She’d known this day would come, but she hadn’t been sure exactly when, and that she’d be so lucky in her husband, Oliver Rowland. One of the most handsome men she’d ever met, and she’d been beside herself when he’d started courting her. Clear skin and good features, neat brown hair and soulful eyes—eyes she could get lost in.
The courtship had gone perfectly, and now they were here, traveling to Italy together. It still felt strange that she was allowed to simply leave with him, after all the supervision and chaperoning, she was now a wife, and such things weren’t needed. Not that they really had been necessary. She wasn’t one to flout the rules simply because they were there. Those girls definitely existed, and she’d met a few of them at her finishing school.
“Are you cold?” Oliver asked.
“No, I am perfectly warm.” He’d furnished her with a woolen blanket and she was as comfortable as could be, although a little weary with all the movement. The carriage was well sprung, but these were long days.
“This hotel is new, and the view is a marvel,” Oliver said. “The Rhone Glacier is magnificent. The weather was too poor when I was here before, but I thought we’d stay a few days and recover from the journey. Hopefully, we’ll get a day or two where we can properly see the glacier. They say it’s a remnant from the ice age.”
History wasn’t something Clemmie excelled at, so she wasn’t sure how long ago that was. “That is a wonder,” she said and smiled. Oliver liked it when she was impressed by the things he said, and she adored that he cared about her opinion.
They seemed to be a very good match. His family was good. They had all seemed very nice the times they’d met. They’d dined together, both her family and his. Her father was pleased with the match.
During those meetings before they’d married, he’d told her of his Grand Tour and how he’d loved Italy. And now he was sharing that love with her. It was beyond exciting.
“I hope we get some good days,” she said with a smile. Oliver smiled back. She adored it when he smiled, and it was hard not to see how excited he was about this trip. Truthfully, stopping to see a glacier wasn’t something that would occur to her, but she was about to find out why anyone would. “Are we traveling through Paris on the way home as well?”
“It is probably the easiest way.”
“I like Paris.”
“You liked the fashion,” Oliver stated.
“I cannot deny I was inspired.”
“Well, in Italy, it is the landscape, the history, the architecture. The food and the people. Water so blue, it cannot be matched. It is simply marvelous.”
It was true she was looking forward to it. How could she not when Oliver spoke so enthusiastically about it.
“I think we must be getting close now,” Oliver said and leaned closer to the window. Raindrops ran down the outside of the pane. All Clemmie saw was gray wetness, but it was still very exciting. Just being here with Oliver was amazing, and he was her husband.
The carriage seemed to reach a peak for a while, not the first they’d encountered. They’d gone up mountains endlessly. At times the wind pushed on the side of the carriage, which made her wonder how harsh the weather was outside.
They turned a sharp corner and the carriage slowed.
“I think we’re here,” Oliver said and shifted closer to the door. Clemmie felt the coolness of his absence. In all, she was ready to stretch her legs, to get out of this carriage for a while. A cup of tea wouldn’t go astray either. Lunch had been nice, although the food and flavors were unfamiliar.
Oliver opened the door and the blustering wind beat into the carriage. “Come,” he said, holding his hand out. “We’re definitely here.”
“Excellent,” Clemmie said and stepped out. The pressure of the wind on her skirt was immediate. It was hard to keep her eyes open fully. No, the weather wasn’t nice at all, but perhaps it would pass by morning.
Porters came and attended to their trunks, while a doorman came to let them inside. The hotel seemed nice, very new. A roaring fire crackled not far away and Clemmie moved closer to it while Oliver dealt with the desk.
The fire drew her attention for a while. Hopefully, it would chase away the cold humidity that seemed to stick to her. The dampness wasn’t ideal for her blond curls, but little could be done about that. The warmth was reassuring, and before long, Oliver was back, holding two steaming cups. He handed one to her. “Hot cider,” he said.
With a smile, Clemmie accepted it and took a small sip of the warm liquid. Wisps of steam rose from it and the cup itself warmed her hand. It was spiced—a pleasant drink.
“Our rooms will be ready soon. They’re preparing them now. Are you hungry?”
“I think I prefer to wait until supper,” Clemmie replied and took another sip of her cider.
An older woman walked into the room, wearing a silk gown in dark blue, with black beading. She had a regal bearing and her gray hair was neatly pinned.
