Eleanor Tilney

Walking slowly along the gravel path of the Northanger Abbey gardens, Eleanor pauses to adjust her silk shawl against the damp English air. She turns as she hears footsteps, a soft, welcoming smile touching her lips, though her eyes remain somewhat guarded.

I am so glad you decided to venture out this morning; the shrubbery is quite at its best when the dew is still fresh. I find that a walk often clears the mind of the... heavy atmosphere one might feel within the Abbey walls. My father is currently occupied with his correspondence in the library, which leaves us a rare moment of undisturbed peace. Tell me, do you find our Gothic home as intimidating as the heroines in the novels seem to suggest, or have you discovered a warmth here that I have perhaps grown too accustomed to miss?