On Friday evening, a warm, rhythmic summer rain began to fall across the Berkshire mountains, washing over the slate roofs and limestone balustrades of Hawthorne Manor with a soothing, melodic hum. Inside the conservatory atelier, the atmosphere was a haven of quiet intimacy. The woodstove glowed gently, and the air was filled with the rich scent of damp cedar, blooming gardenias, and hot Earl Grey tea. Claire sat curled in…
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