Cleo smiled. “Yes, I believe that you can, Brandon.”
Dustshore’s face broke out into a triumphant grin. “Wonderful! And may I call you Cleo?”
Cleo laughed softly. “Yes, you may.”
“You have pleased me greatly with your offer of friendship and I hope to prove myself worthy of the honor.”
Cleo smiled and turned to reenter the house, “Shall we?”
“Yes, of course. We do not wish to cause tongues to wag.” He smiled his most charming smile as he offered her his arm and they reentered the house together. Dustshore escorted her back to her room, bowed over her hand, then retired to his own bedchamber.
Cleo watched him disappear from sight, then turned away from her door and walked down to the library. She took a quill and paper from the desk and scribbled a note to Arthur with a brief apology and an invitation to pay her call once they had returned home to Oxfordshire. She thanked him for his aid at the dinner party and hoped that he would understand her need to focus on the issue of her father’s death.
Sealing, the paper she laid it among the missives that were to be sent out in the morning, then retired to her room. If the Earl of Dustshore could give up his courtship in favor of being her friend, then so too could the Earl of Irondale. A still small voice inside of her warned that it was not the same thing at all, but she refused to listen. Either he could accept her offer of friendship, and friendship only, or she would go it alone.
I do not wish to lose Arthur, but if I must, I must.
Curling up in bed, Cleo closed her eyes hoping to face the morn with a renewed sense of purpose and strength, but a niggling of doubt still remained that she was making the right choice. Her father’s voice echoed through her mind in warning,‘Do not fall prey to Guinevere’s fate…’
* * *
Cleo did not see or hear from Arthur for the remainder of her time in London. The walk through Regents Park had been uneventful and passed in pleasant companionship. Cleo and Aunt Caroline were able to enjoy each other’s company peacefully without instigating any further arguments about courtship or marriage, which in Cleo’s opinion was nothing short of a miracle. Their time in London ended peacefully and the carriage ride home to Oxfordshire passed in a mixture of pleasant conversation and companionable silence.
Cleo was relieved to get home. The moment that her feet hit the ground, Mrs. McGrath was out of the front door and enveloping Cleo into a hug. “How was London?” she asked, taking Cleo’s valise from her hands. She pulled her into the house and up the stairs to her room.
“London went better than I expected. I know that I was resistant at first, but once we were there, I was actually glad that we went.”
“Did the young and handsome Earl o’ Irondale find ye in London?”
“Yes, he did.” Cleo blushed and averted her eyes.
“I see,” Mrs. McGrath eyed her knowingly. “Anything that ye wish tae speak about?”
“Nay,” Cleo shook her head. “We did not discover anything of note while we were there, but we did meet with some of father’s former colleagues and I do not think it could have been any of them, but one never knows about such things. I never thought that anyone would be capable of murdering a man such as my father, so I am finding it difficult to trust my own judgement.”
“Aye,” Mrs. McGrath nodded. “I can see how ye would be having difficulty with such a thing. I myself have been eyeing everyone in the village with suspicion, even the poor grocer who I have kenned since he was nae but a wee bairn.” She shook her head in sorrow at the sad state of affairs that they now found themselves in. “I dinnae ken how anyone can live this way, in constant fear that ye might encounter the person who murdered yer loved one and yet nae ken it. There is something dearly wrong with the state o’ the world.”
“I do not know how to be normal, how to converse in a way that is not tainted with suspicion or sorrow,” Cleo admitted. “It is my hope that when Father’s killer is caught that such feelings will cease, but I doubt it. I think that once someone has endured such an atrocity as murder, nothing can ever, nor should it ever, be the same.”
“Ye are right about that, I have nae doubt.” Mrs. McGrath helped Cleo unpack, gathering anything she deemed in need of a wash, then walked to the doorway. “I will bring ye up some warm water tae wash away the journey, and then ye will come down and eat a bite o’ supper. Ye will feel a bit better after ye have something warm and comforting tae fill yer gob.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McGrath.”
Cleo eased herself down onto the edge of her bed and removed her shoes. She sighed in relief as she wiggled her toes in luxurious freedom. Below stairs she could hear her aunt bumping down the hall, calling out instructions to Mrs. McGrath as she went. Cleo shook her head having a moment of pity for the cook. Aunt Caroline was not happy unless she was the one in control and she seemed to have to assert that control everywhere that she went.
A few moments later, Mrs. McGrath appeared in the doorway with a pitcher of hot water and cloths to wash with. She set the pitcher down on the washstand and left the room as quickly as she had entered.Poor Mrs. McGrath.Cleo undressed and bathed herself from head to toe, even washing her hair. Having rid herself of the dust of the road, she dressed in her nightgown, wrapped a rob around her lithe form, and went below stairs to eat with Mrs. McGrath in the kitchen.
“Yer Auntie Caroline will be eating in her room this evening. Sit yerself down and I will get ye a bowl o’ pottage and some nice warm bread,” Mrs. McGrath instructed, waving Cleo over to the table against the wall. “I will join ye when I have appeased yer auntie’s needs.” The cook set down the promised food in front of her, then bustled out of the room, a tray of food in hand.
Cleo wolfed down the soup and bread as if she were a woman starved. By the time that Mrs. McGrath had returned, Cleo was well into her second helping of broth. The cook dished herself out some of the soup, then sat down across from Cleo at the table. “So, tell me what has ye blushing every time that I mention the Earl o’ Irondale? I ken that ye like one another, but the crimson o’ yer cheeks is telling me that there is more tae the story than simple affection.”
Cleo could feel her cheeks instantly warm and she was certain that she looked just as Mrs. McGrath described her. “We kissed and then I ran away,” she admitted. There was no use denying that something had passed between them because Cleo knew that Mrs. McGrath would not give up until she had learned about everything that had transpired between she and Arthur.
“And why did ye run?”
“I cannot allow any distractions. My first and foremost matter to attend to is finding my father’s killer. Everything else in life must be placed on hold or abandoned altogether.”
“Yer faither would nae have wished for ye tae cease from living life, lass. He would nae wish for ye tae be left alone in this world, nae kenning love.”
