The Chevalier's Daughter by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

FOR about a fortnight or more after the departure of the pastor we had a very quiet, pleasant time. The weather was lovely, and we made long excursions out of doors. We gathered apples and quinces, and hunted for herbs and flowers, for Andrew was a good deal of an herbalist (a botanist, I think they call it now, though I am sure herbalist is the prettier word), and he was in correspondence with some learned gentleman in London on the subject of plants. He told me many things about flowers that I had never known or dreamed of before, showing me the several parts of the blossom, the leaves, and roots, by means of a pocket magnifying-glass which he always carried about him.

He read to my mother and myself as we sat at our embroidery or spinning, and he held endless gossips with my mother about old families in Cornwall and Devonshire, and people and places she used to know. I listened with great interest to these tales, for I had begun now to look upon Tre Madoc as my future home, and any detail concerning it was of interest to me. I was growing more and more fond of my cousin all the time, and the image of Lord Percy had quite ceased to haunt my imagination.