“He the great, he who pulled sword from stone,”Cleo repeated, silently examining every word in her mind with careful consideration,“for doomed love he swallowed fire, the truth you find beneath his feet.”
It must be King Arthur. There is no other explanation for it. It is the rest of the riddle that I do not understand. I have gone over every reference to King Arthur that I could find pertaining to his doomed love but have yet to find any reference to swallowing fire, and as the man is dead, his grave unknown, how can one find anything beneath his feet let alone the truth of the matter. Father, why did you feel the need to be so cryptic? If something was so important, why did you not simply tell me of the matter when you were alive? I do not understand this need for riddled secrecy.
Sighing, Cleo turned her gaze to the Earl of Dustshore. She wished that she could discuss what was on her mind with him as a former student of her father’s, but too many people knew already between Mrs. McGrath and the Earl of Irondale. She did not wish to place any more people in danger. Instead, she asked him to share stories of their fathers’ friendship. “Tell me more of our fathers’ time together.” The Earl looked up at her in startlement. “Please,” she added as an afterthought.
The Earl glanced at his mother’s sleeping form then nodded, settling into a more conversational position. “Your father moved to Dustshore when he was but a boy and mine was still a young man in need of a tutor. Your grandfather had been hired to serve that purpose and brought his young family with him. Hungry for knowledge, your father sat in on my father’s lessons. In spite of their age difference, or perhaps because of it, the two became friends, a mentor-to-mentee friendship, so to speak.”
“Yes, my grandfather moved from Scotland to England for that very purpose. My father often mused about how one man’s decision changed the entire course of his family. Were it not for that choice, I would be speaking with a Scottish accent and most likely married to a Highlander from a neighboring clan and with children by now. Not a bad life, but most certainly different than the one that I have lived, that we lived.”
Cleo glanced at her Aunt Caroline and found that she was as sound asleep as the Lady across from her. The Earl followed her gaze and smiled. “Mrs. Brown was but a girl when your grandfather came to live with us. It is hard to imagine such a sight now, is it not?”
“Indeed, it is,” Cleo agreed with a chuckle. Her aunt’s wispy gray-brown hair poking out from beneath her bonnet along with the lines on her face made her appear every bit her age, if not more so. The loneliness of widowhood had taken its toll on her. It was one of the reasons that Cleo believed her aunt wished her to wed so soon after the professor’s death and why Mrs. McGrath thought it might benefit them all to find Aunt Caroline another husband. Loneliness came at a cost.
“She was once quite lovely, lovely enough to turn my father’s eye when she grew older before she married Mr. Brown.”
“She still is at heart,” Cleo murmured, remembering how her aunt had helped the professor in the raising of her over the years.
“A most hospitable woman to be sure,” the Earl genuinely praised. “I have never been made to feel more welcome than your aunt has made me feel in your home.” They exchanged a smile, and then the Earl went on with his story about their fathers. “As you know, your father proved himself to be such an astute pupil, able to keep up with my own father’s lessons even though they were much more advanced than a child of his young years should have been able to follow. Your grandfather had taught him well.”
“Yes, Father has always been swift of mind and agile of intellect, with a special gift for languages.”
The Earl nodded in agreement. “Seeing this, when my own father became the Earl of Dustshore, he agreed to send your father to study at university. As his patron, our fathers continued to be close friends, and years later, your father returned to be my tutor. When he was given the position to teach at the university, he continued to do both. When he wished to go abroad to Greece, my father sponsored his doing so. It was there that he met your beautiful mother. You remind me of her.”
“My father often told me such as well. I feared that it would grieve him to look upon my countenance, having lost her as he did, but he never once made me feel as though it were my fault. He showed me nothing but joy, rejoicing in my birth each and every day.”
Something unreadable flickered behind the Earl’s eyes at her words, a longing of sorts, but for what she was not certain. “To be loved and accepted for who one is and not what they can do or have done is a rare gift indeed.”
“Yes, it is. Do you find it terribly difficult to live in the shadow of your father’s legacy? I have not met many nobles, but I can imagine how difficult such a thing would be to do.”
Dustshore eyed her with surprise. “I would not have thought a young woman of your standing would have such insights into the life of a nobleman, but you are right. Such things as titles are both a blessing and a burden to bear in the shadow of those who have gone before us. It is not just my father’s legacy, as mighty as it may be, that I must live up to, but those of all the fathers of Dustshore who came before him. As a woman, such is not a burden that you must share. I am awed at your ability to see.”
“I recognize the burden of a man with great responsibility when I see one. As loving as my father was, sometimes, I would see the shadow of his responsibilities behind his eyes. I see a similar shadow behind yours, heavier perhaps even. Mrs. McGrath says that such shadows are often caused by the loss of a loved one while taking on a burden in their stead.”
“A wise woman, that Mrs. McGrath. She is greatly missed at Dustshore. I have no notion of her age, but she was the housekeeper for your grandfather’s family before she came to work for your father before you were born.”
Cleo chuckled. “Yes, she is as old as time itself and yet stronger than any of us.”
“I find that I envy you her,” Dustshore smiled with a genuine note of affection.
“She has been a mother to me when my own was lost. You are fortunate to have your mother remaining with you all of these years.”
“I am, indeed,” the Earl nodded, glancing with amusement at his snoring mother. “She has been my strength since Father’s passing.”
“It is good to have family.”
“Have you given much thought to starting one of your own?”
Cleo looked up in surprise at having been asked such a blunt question. She had not expected such speech from him, her Aunt Caroline most certainly, but not him. “Nay,” she shook her head. “I have no thoughts on the matter at this time.”
“Of course not.” The Earl shook his head. “Forgive me. You have just lost your father. I am sure that the last thing you can be thinking of is marriage, at least not until after the proper time of mourning has been observed. Please, forgive me for my impertinence.”
“Of course,” Cleo inclined her head in agreement. She knew that there was a possibility that he might press his suit, given her aunt’s encouraging behavior toward him, but she had not expected him to ask her such a thing so blatantly and her still in mourning weave. Attempting to change the subject, she turned the topic back toward their fathers. “You were one of my father’s students at the university, were you not?”
“Yes, I was. He will be greatly missed by all of his students. I believe he kept some of us as friends long after leaving university, the Earl of Irondale being among them. I had the pleasure of speaking with him briefly at your father’s burial. We were students together at the university, he and I. Do you know him well?”
“Nay, not well, but he was a close friend of my father. Are the two of you close?”
“Nay, no more than would be expected given our shared stations and time at university. He is a good man by all accounts. A Scotsman like your father.”
