Forget-me-not by Marjorie Bowen — Read

It was a wonderful summer. Day after day of unclouded sunshine sent a haze of gold over the lovely Norman meadows, and Madame du Boccage with her little family and their governess installed themselves in the chateau of Locroi. They did not, however, inhabit the recently restored Gothic building in the midst of a large wooded park, but used a small pleasure house in Italian style, built in the elegant taste of the mid-eighteenth century, near a vast, magnificent orangery.

This charming house of pale rose-coloured bricks and amber-hued marble, with Corinthian columns and balustrades wreathed by clematis vines and convolvulus, stood on the banks of a stream which hurried beneath the graceful tresses of golden willows. This was Fanny du Boccage's own property, one of her marriage gifts to her husband; she returned to it with the same pleasure that a child might return home.