Charlotte suppressed a smile. “Well, how fortuitous as I was considering poetry for a first lesson also. Is that book from the schoolroom?”
“Oh, no!” Dinah wafted a hand towards the bookshelf. “They’re so dull.Ode on Solitude! I ask you!” She waggled her nose. “Where’s the romance? No, no. This came from Cousin Marcus’ library.”
Charlotte fretted a little for who knew what unsuitable volumes the library held upon its shelves. She placed Miss Appleton’s tome to the desk and wandered for the hearth to warm her hands. “Which poem are you enjoying so much, then? Perhaps we can study the structure. Detail the themes and assess what it teaches us about life.”
“Oh, yes! It’s calledEdwin and Angelina.”
Ah.The poem withtoo much of love in it.And not a poem that Charlotte herself was overly familiar with.
Her gaze slid along the mantelpiece decorated with laurel and to the mirror above. Last night she’d slept poorly, mulling on the further Christmas events, and shadows hung beneath her eyes like saggy shawls.
With a sigh, she twisted from her reflection to suggest they read a different poe–
A miniature portrait caught her eye, one that had been shoved behind a brass candlestick, and she reached for it.
It was of Marcus.
As he had been all those years ago.
His lips were curved, hazel eyes merry and his cravat was somewhat crooked.
At Dinah’s age, Charlotte had certainly harboured seeds of romance within herself, powerful feelings flourishing and seeking of their own will. And all without the influence of poetry.
Just Marcus.
With a glower worthy of the man he was now, she shoved the miniature back behind the candlestick and turned.
But perhaps romance was overrated.
“Why not give me a synopsis of the poem, Dinah. It will be a good exercise in literary critique.”
Her pupil clasped hands together with such charm.
“A boy…” Dinah winked for some reason. “Lost and forlorn in the dale encounters a lonely ragged hermit.”
Charlotte perched on the edge of her desk.
“The hermit offers the lost boy his frugal dwelling and frugal fare, for the frugal hermit doesn’t eat meat but frugal herbs and frugal fruits.”
Charlotte rather wished she’d eaten another mince pie for breakfast.
“The boy accepts and enters the hermit’s frugal dwelling with its frugal fire.”
Frugality was certainly overrated.
“The hermit tries to cheer the boy but unable, asks him what the matter is? Could it be unrequited love? The boy’s answer is scornful of love and the hermit is in accord, telling him to spurn fair ladies when…” Dinah winked again. “The boy blushes, and… You’ll never guess, Miss…”
Charlotte shook her head.
“The boy admits that… He is really a she!”
“Well I never. And the hermit never suspected?”
“Of course not! For she was dressed ever so boyish. Then she relates her tale to the hermit, for in truth, she was the daughter of a wealthy lord and had suitors aplenty. She’d been fond of a wise and virtuous boy named Edwin but he’d been exceedingly poor while she’d been exceedingly fickle, too full of pride and, if you ask me, rather bird-witted because due to his humble status, she’d spurned his love.” Dinah sniffed. “So distraught had Edwin been that he’d left to seek solitude in a dale and…lay down and die.”
“Poor Edwin. So did she marry one of her rich suitors?”
“Of course not!” The young girl huffed. “She’d felt naught but sorrow and fault, realising she was in love with Edwin. So, she’d disguised herself as a boy and left to seek him in that same solitude, lie beside him until…” A hand went to brow. “Death was also upon her.” Her eyes closed. “Except…” Dinah flung her arms wide. “At that moment, the hermit… You’ll never guess, Miss…”
