household—was understandable. It wouldn’t have mattered who had turned up at their door; simply being a personable gentleman would have been enough to spark their interest.
After another minute of gazing longingly at Cavanaugh’s still figure—as if willing him to wake up—Maggie wriggled, then rose. “I only stopped by to see if he’d woken. Do you need me to do anything?”
Ellie tied off her thread. “You might check that someone has told Cook that the groom is awake, but the gentleman is still sleeping—just so she knows.”
Maggie nodded and headed for the door. “She’ll want to know to get her chicken broth ready.” She waggled her fingers in a wave, then slipped out of the door.
Ellie remained by the fire, industriously depleting her basket of mending. While her hands were busy, her mind dwelled on Cavanaugh, her hopes centering on him waking soon, at least sufficiently to afford them greater assurance that he would, indeed, recover.
She was already tired of feeling weighed down by irrational guilt.
Admittedly, in light of his most recent utterances, once he recovered and was on his feet again, managing him might be rather more complicated and, possibly, more fraught than she’d anticipated.
She glanced at the bed, then, lips firming, snipped a thread. “One hurdle at a time.”
Godfrey awoke to the sensation of being watched. Cautiously, he raised his lids and saw Wally, seated in a chair beside the bed, staring fixedly at his face.
His old friend’s eyes lit. “You’re awake!”
Godfrey blinked. “So it seems.” He glanced around. “How long have I slept?” His gaze reached the lady standing on the other side of the bed, and his thoughts promptly scattered.
The angel.
My angel.
She’s real?
Memories of his dream—which, on present evidence, might not have been a dream—tumbled through his head.
“Ah.” His gaze remained locked, immovably, on her.
On she who clearly was not a figment of his overstimulated imagination.
She returned his look with a steady gaze. “Hello. I’m Miss Hinckley.”
“You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Hinckley. I vaguely recall that, when we first met, I meant to bow to you, and I regret I appear to be in no case to rectify my failure.”
Her lips tightened as if she was holding back a grin.
Just how bad had his attempted bow been?
He sought refuge in a smile he’d been told was charming and held out a hand. “Godfrey Cavanaugh, Miss Hinckley. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Just how pleased, he was careful to keep hidden; courtesy of his upbringing in his mother’s house, he was a past master at concealing his emotions. But his angel was exactly as he remembered from his dream that had been no dream, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from roving her face, recataloguing her features.
Under his scrutiny, she hesitated for a second, but then her head rose a fraction, and she confidently stepped nearer and placed her fingers in his. “I’m delighted to meet you, sir, and I speak for all at Hinckley Hall in saying how pleased we are to see you awake and in full possession of your senses.”
Was that an allusion to their earlier exchange? Looking into her eyes, Godfrey suspected it was.
Hazel eyes were often difficult to read, but not hers. Her meaning—that she expected him to forget that earlier exchange entirely, to wipe it from his mind—reached him clearly.
He couldn’t stop his smile from deepening as he closed his fingers about hers and felt the slender digits flutter, then still within his grasp. The temptation to carry her fingers to his lips surged, but he manfully resisted. Not yet, or she might draw back.
Wally cleared his throat. “As to your question, you’ve been asleep for over a day. We arrived two days ago, and it’s midmorning again.”
Reluctantly, Godfrey released Miss Hinckley’s hand and turned to his henchman. “The horses?”
“They’re fine.” Wally nodded at Miss Hinckley. “The people here took good care of them and the curricle, too.”
Smoothly, Godfrey returned his gaze to Miss Hinckley. “It appears I’m indebted to the staff here, Miss Hinckley. Please convey my gratitude to all, at least until I can tender my thanks in person.”
“Of course.” She spread her hands. “But I assure you it is we at the Hall who consider ourselves in your debt, sir. You made the effort to reach us through the blizzard, after all.”
Godfrey resumed his charming smile. “I have to admit I’m keen to see your family’s painting—the Albertinelli.” His mind supplied another memory, and he sobered. “There was another man out in the snow. He helped us