will get me out of this bed more quickly.”
He dipped his head and caught the upward twitch of her lips, but she schooled her expression to seriousness before glancing up.
“Good. That would be wise.”
He tried a smile of his own. From the easing of her expression, they’d got past their mutual spurt of temper and were on an even keel again. Seeking to further that state, he asked, “Tell me about the house and the household—given the storm, when I arrived, I didn’t get any view of the house. I have no idea of its size.”
“Well…” Her gaze once more on her stitching, she enumerated the denizens of Hinckley Hall, then went on to describe the building. “It was extensively remodeled in Elizabeth’s time into the classical three wings giving off a central spine. Because of the sheer number of rooms, one wing has been closed for…well, probably generations. Certainly for all of my life and, I believe, my father’s as well.”
It occurred to Godfrey that it was strange her father hadn’t come to see him, but questioning his host’s daughter about her father’s behavior seemed bordering on the impertinent. Instead, he listened, mentally creating a picture in his mind as she described the house’s attributes and outbuildings and included an outline of the estate as well. To him, the lands attached to the house seemed rather limited, but then the only estates with which he was familiar were those of the marquessates of Raventhorne and Albury—hardly comparable.
Still, from the sound of it, the estate’s farms should have been sufficient to meet the family’s needs; admittedly, he’d seen little beyond this room, but he would be surprised to discover the family lived extravagantly.
He wanted—very much—to learn what had prompted them to offer the Albertinelli to the gallery. Not that it would make any difference to his assessment, but he was forever curious about what led to the movement of artworks from one hand to another.
Still industriously stitching, she ended her recitation of the local amenities with the information that the family normally attended St. Andrew’s Church at Kirkby Malzeard for Sunday service. Pausing, she raised her head and, frowning slightly, stared across the room, then grimaced and looked down again. “I must remind Kemp that we’ll need to use the house’s chapel tomorrow.”
“The house has its own chapel?”
At his much-struck tone, she glanced at him, amused. “Yes. The Hall was one of the major houses in the area in Elizabeth’s day.”
He made a mental note to ensure he got a good look at the chapel. Who knew what treasures it might hold?
She’d been studying his face. When he refocused on her, she quirked a brow. “What else would you like to know?”
Why you’re intent on pretending what’s building between us isn’t there.
He smiled easily. “You said your brother was at Oxford. Which college, and what did he read?”
Returning to her stitching, she answered readily.
When they’d exhausted that safe subject, daringly, he ventured, “You mentioned your advanced age—I take it you had at least one Season.” He couldn’t for the life of him understand why she was still unwed.
She took her time responding, but eventually said, “Actually, no. I was scheduled to have a London Season when I was nineteen, under the wing of my aunt, Lady Camberford, but a situation arose here that made my absence impossible, and subsequently, I discovered, much to my aunt’s dismay, that I didn’t really miss going to London.”
Clearly, the situation had been something major, but whatever it had been, Godfrey could only be grateful that she hadn’t arrived in the capital; not all his peers were blind.
But if she hadn’t been to London, her resistance to their attraction couldn’t be due to some adverse experience among the ton.
At that moment, Wally arrived with a tray on which resided a bowl of steaming broth.
Miss Hinckley—Ellie—smiled at Wally and, setting aside her mending, rose and waved him to the bed. To Godfrey, she said, “I’m going down for morning tea. I’ll leave you to your meal.”
“But you’ll come back?” Godfrey wanted to pursue his questions, but a little time to hone his approach would be helpful.
She smiled. “I’ll return in an hour. If, after the broth, you find yourself sleepy, getting some rest would be wise. The more subdued we can keep your fever, the faster you’ll recover.”
He summoned an appropriately grateful and reassuring smile and watched her leave and close the door. Then he looked at Wally and, after a second, lowered his gaze to