Lois Menzel by Ruled by Passion Page B

asked.
    He nodded and she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Tomorrow is the eighteenth,” she said, “but I imagine you know that.” When he only nodded again, she continued. “I was wondering if you would take me tomorrow to visit your father’s grave. I thought since it was the anniversary, and I have never been there ... I would like to go.”
    “All right. I suppose I could take you there.”
    “Good. There is something else. I have been in the schoolroom searching for something I remembered reading once. I found it and copied it out for you. It was written by the Greek historian, Thucydides, several hundred years before the birth of Christ. I should like you to read it tonight before you go to sleep.” She handed him the page as she rose from the bed. “Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”
    “Good night, Miss Waverly.”
    When the door had closed behind her, Tom unfolded the paper:
     
    Fix your eyes on the greatness of Athens as you have it before you day by day, fall in love with her, and when you feel her great, remember that this greatness was won by men with courage, with knowledge of their duty, and with a sense of honor in action ... So they gave their bodies to the commonwealth and received, each for his own memory, praise that will never die, and with it the grandest of all sepulchers, not that in which their mortal bones are laid, but a home in the minds of men, where their glory remains free to stir to speech or action as the occasion comes by. For the whole earth is the sepulcher of famous men; and their story is not graven only on stone over their native earth, but lives on far away, without visible symbol, woven into the stuff of other men’s lives. For you now it remains to rival what they have done and, knowing the secret of happiness to be freedom and the secret of freedom a brave heart, not idly to stand aside from the enemy’s onset.
     
    * * * *
     
    Tenbury and Arelia descended the front steps side by side. “Where were you after luncheon?” he asked. “Miss Redditch searched everywhere for you. She said you had agreed to show her the Roman ruins.”
    “Oh, dear,” Arelia responded. “I completely forgot about her, but I must be forgiven. You cannot imagine my shock when Tom asked me to accompany him and Miss Waverly on a visit to Henry’s grave. To my knowledge, Tom has never been there, so I was quite taken aback.”
    “Did you go?”
    “Certainly, I did. It was a moment of some revelation. He is growing up too fast, Tenbury. There is so much of Henry in him, yet he is nothing like Henry. Do you understand what I mean?”
    He paused halfway down the steps, pulling on his riding gloves. “Yes, I believe I do, though it sounds antithetical when you phrase it just so.”
    “I cannot help thinking Miss Waverly is in some part responsible for this change in Tom,” Arelia said. “I believe it was a fortunate day for us when she applied for her position.”
    “I could not agree with you more. Did you leave Tom and Miss Waverly at the cemetery?”
    “No. We walked together to the summer house, and they went on to the lake. Tom offered to take Miss Waverly boating. Here comes Lady Constance. I do not believe I have ever seen a woman sit a horse so well.”
    They both watched as Lady Constance Naismith trotted her black gelding toward them from the stables. She was twenty-five but looked younger. Being the Earl of Haverham’s only child, she had been cosseted from birth. Her beauty she took for granted. Her dark red hair was drawn back from her face and fastened at the nape of her neck, but already tiny curls had escaped to bounce against her shoulders in the breeze. Her riding habit of emerald green hugged the generous curves of both hip and breast, accentuating her excellent figure and perfect posture. Gold braid in double rows adorned the lapels, cuffs, and hem, while peeking from beneath her skirts a shiny silver spur glinted on her left heel. The horse fussed, and she flowed