No, she was going to do this and she set off. Alone.
The valley stretched out below her as she walked. It really was stunningly beautiful, although she wished it was bathed in brilliant sunshine. It took her half an hour to walk down to the village, which consisted of very different architecture than she was used to. Sofia would probably know what the style was called, but Clemmie guessed it was old, and not at all in line with the modernist style Sofia liked. To be honest, Clemmie was curious now—curious about Sofia as much as the architectural styles that drew her.
Small stores existed in the center of the village, and Clemmie visited each in turn, until she found one selling books. And sure enough, one had an Italian lexicon, exactly what she was looking for. This village was on the road south, so it was perhaps not surprising.
Pulling out her money from her reticule, she waited as the shopkeeper wrapped the book in brown paper for her. It was too large to fit in her small reticule so she would have to carry it back. Even so, she had been successful in her venture, and she felt very proud of herself.
As she left the village, she imagined how much her mother would disapprove of what she’d just done, imagining her saying that they hadn’t married her off into a nice family so she could fend for herself. But there was something very exciting about a bit of independence. There was something very exciting about a young woman like Sofia Schonberg, and Clemmie had to work out how to be a married woman, and not a cossetted and protected debutant as she had been. Her life was changing. Maybe she would come out of this honeymoon a very changed person, like a butterfly. A woman with interests and substance. No longer a girl hoping to catch the eye of a suitable man.
The walk back up the mountain took three times longer than it took walking down, and Clemmie had to stop a number of times to rest. At one point, about halfway up, she wondered if she’d made a grave miscalculation on where to practice her foray into independence. It didn’t have to be on the steepest incline she’d ever experienced.
But there was nothing for it but to keep going. Rest, walk, and repeat. It all felt like quite an achievement when she got back. Mr. Weber welcomed her.
“I walked down to the village,” she said, wanting to talk about her achievement.
“I hope you found what you sought.”
“I did,” she said brightly. With a nod, she kept walking to the library, but Oliver wasn’t there. In fact, there were very few people around. Clemmie saw none of the people she recognized, except for that American, who sat behind a newspaper in a chair.
Taking herself to their rooms, she didn’t find Oliver there either. He’d said something about checking the viability of the carriage. That was probably where he was.
Waiting a while, Clemmie felt her hunger grow. Lunch was already being served and her stomach was growling after the morning’s exercise. Her breakfast had been light to start with.
For a while longer, she waited, then determined she would go down. Oliver might be waiting for her in the dining room, so she left their rooms again and returned downstairs. The American was still reading in the chair, but she heard people in the dining room.
Assured she would find Oliver there, she walked in and scanned the room. The countess and her people were there, including Miss Marnier, who had more color to her cheeks today. But she couldn’t see Oliver anywhere, nor the Schonbergs.
If she didn’t eat, the lunch service would finish. Some kind of fish, it looked like, with a creamy sauce and potatoes. Her hunger roared and she took a seat. It didn’t take the waiter long to put down a plate in front of her. Oliver would just have to excuse her, because she was famished, so she ate, expecting him to join her any moment.
Perhaps she should have gone in search for him. There was a good chance he was so absorbed in what he was doing, that he’d forgotten the time completely.
Rising from her seat, she walked into the lobby again. “Mr. Weber,” she said as she approached the desk. “I fear my husband has lost track of time and will miss lunch entirely. I believe he is in the carriage house, possibly the stables.”
“I will send the boy to fetch him,” Mr. Weber said and waved over one of the uniformed young men, asking him in German to find Mr. Rowland in the outbuildings.
“Thank you. You are ever so kind. It does look like it’s clearing up. We intend to go up to the lookout this afternoon.” Which reminded her that perhaps she should rest her legs a little, as she was to embark on a second large walk that day. This time, it would be more leisurely with Oliver at her side. Just the two of them. It felt like they hadn’t spent much time together since they’d gotten here. “I will take some tea, I think.”
With his assurance he would organize a tea service, she took a small table at the far end of the lobby, close to the fire. It was a good place to wait as she would see when Oliver came in. But the young man returned and spoke to Mr. Weber, who came over. “It appears your husband is not in any of the outhouses.”
“Oh. I will check our rooms. Perhaps he walked past while I was in the dining room.”
“Haven’t seen him,” the American said, folding down his paper.
“Thank you, Mr. … Sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
“That’s because we weren’t introduced. Carter. Tom Carter.”
“Right, Mr. Carter. Thank you. But I think I must check. There are ways into the hotel without walking through the front
