authentication.”
Her father smiled. “True, but there’s really no question about the painting’s bona fides. It’s been here, in this house, since my long-ago ancestor brought it back from his Grand Tour. He knew the artist’s family and purchased it directly from them. I have no doubt as to Cavanaugh’s verdict. His opinion is more in the nature of a necessary approval prior to the sale.”
“I see.” Masterton glanced at Ellie. “In that case, given that Cavanaugh is now here, any delay due to illness is neither here nor there. By the time the thaw sets in, you’ll have your verdict, and the sale will proceed as quickly as it would have regardless.”
“Precisely.” For good measure, Ellie added, “Indeed, I believe we owe Cavanaugh some consideration on that score. Rather than brave the storm, he could have stopped in Ripon, in which case, his viewing of the painting wouldn’t occur until several days after the thaw. Instead, as matters now stand, regardless of his illness and recovery, we’ll be moving forward as rapidly as Mother Nature allows.”
“Well said, my dear.” Her father nodded benignly.
While Morris and Pyne remained rather grudging in their acceptance, Masterton smiled in relaxed agreement, leaving Ellie more in charity with him than she usually was.
Chapter 3
By the following morning, Godfrey was already feeling the effects of his enforced sojourn in what, he had to admit, was an otherwise comfortable bed. His liking for idleness had never been great, and being stuck between the sheets steadily eroded what patience he had, along with his hold on his temper, resulting in an increasing querulousness that even he found trying.
Worse, that morning, he’d started coughing.
From experience, he knew that was a bad sign and tried to suppress the instinct as much as he could.
When his distracting principal jailer entered the room some minutes after the clocks had struck ten, he quickly sat up to make his case. “I need to be up and about. Nothing strenuous, but I’m sure walking a trifle and being dressed will make me feel—”
He broke off on a hacking cough, then wheezed and coughed some more.
She rushed to the side of the bed as he bent forward, sounding and feeling as if his lungs were full of gravel and mud. She set aside the basket of mending she’d brought in, but then hovered, clearly unsure what to do.
Luckily, the coughing subsided, but by the time he’d regained his breath, straightened, and raised his gaze to her face, her features had hardened and her jaw had set.
“No.” Her tone brooked no argument. “As you’ve just demonstrated, you’re in no case at all to be wandering about out of bed.”
He held her gaze, then sighed and slumped on the pillows at his back. With his gaze trained on the ceiling, he sighed again, in even more heartfelt vein. He knew he was being melodramatic. He’d thought his sister, Stacie, was the family’s drama queen, but apparently, he had his own talents in that sphere. Fretfully, he picked at the sheet. “Perhaps some fresh air…”
“It’s currently below freezing outside.”
“I was speaking metaphorically.” He raised his head to look at her—and promptly started coughing again.
This time, when the coughing fit passed and, somewhat sheepishly, he met her gaze, concern had seeped into her expression.
“You really must do everything possible to get well.” Ellie managed not to glare at him, but he made her feel anxious and exasperated—and just a touch helpless, which she liked even less. “Given we’re definitely snowed in and will be for some time, there’s no reason—no justifiable argument—for you to rush your recovery and risk developing lung fever.”
From his man’s comments and her own assessment, he was normally active and vital; just the thought of him brought even lower than he already was made her mind seize.
Rather than plead, she kept her tone brisk—businesslike. “Please think of this from my family’s point of view. Having you collapse and sink deeper into illness will not only delay the sale of the Albertinelli, we would view such an outcome as a…well, a stain on our honor. You are our guest, under our roof, essentially at our behest.” She hoped an appeal based on such grounds might sway him; judging by his clothes and horses, he hailed from a haut ton family, and she’d always understood that honor weighed heavily with them.
His eyes—mid-to-light brown with gold striations and a steadiness of gaze that forcibly reminded her of an eagle’s or a hawk’s imperious stare—rested on her for several