alive…in many ways, we were forced to go our separate ways. It was…” He hadn’t really thought of it before but… “Lonely.”
“Oh, I see.”
He looked up to see real compassion in her eyes, far more complex and soothing than mere pity. Regardless, he wouldn’t have accepted even that from anyone else, yet from her…
“Is your mother still alive?”
He shook his head. “After she died, Ryder and his wife—he was married by then—stepped in and drew us all together. As siblings, over recent years, we’ve been closer than we’ve ever been, thanks to Ryder and Mary.”
She smiled encouragingly. “So all’s well now.”
He inclined his head, but in truth, it wasn’t that simple.
Courtesy of his mother’s machinations, her attempts to control her children’s lives, he and his siblings had missed being in any sense a real family; they’d lacked the experience of family throughout their formative years. He was the youngest, and he’d been nineteen when their mother had died; none of them had known what family life could, let alone should, be like.
Over recent years, he’d watched his siblings follow in Ryder and Mary’s footsteps and, through marriage to the right person, set about creating their own families. Although they all included him at every celebration and holiday and welcomed him with open arms to their homes, he still felt like an outsider looking in on what he had come to regard as life’s most precious and rewarding experience.
Family—being a true part of one—was something he now craved to the depths of his soul. But like his siblings, he didn’t know how to create the necessary relationships; like them, he needed to find the right person and marry her.
Ellie had returned to her stitching. As he watched her hemming a flounce, he felt, beneath their outward calmness, the powerful tug that made him want to draw closer to her.
And he had to wonder, as the morning light faded, giving way to a dull day, whether he was, in that very moment, looking at his right person.
After another minute’s silence, she asked about his schooling, ultimately leading to an inquiry as to how he had come to be an authenticator acting for the National Gallery.
That was a topic he could easily expound on, and he set himself to entertain her, which, in turn, pleased him.
Ellie owned to being fascinated by Godfrey Cavanaugh. In her experience, very few gentlemen would have so openly asked what he had. Given the attraction that lay simmering between them, his interest was unsurprising, and she’d deemed it wise to state the truth so he would understand and accept her stance.
Instead of annoying her, she viewed his straightforwardness as a point in his favor.
Then had come the vulnerability she’d sensed in him when their discussion had shifted to his family. That had touched her in a way she couldn’t recall experiencing before. To divert him from what seemed to be a lingering pain, she’d suggested he tell her of his interest in art, but he’d taken her invitation and run, and she’d lowered her needle and forgotten her mending the better to watch the emotions play across his face as he painted vivid word pictures of a succession of humorous incidents from his travels through the world of art.
She was laughing without reserve—they both were—when a tap on the door heralded the entrance of his manservant bearing a covered dish on a tray.
She glanced at the clock. Over an hour had passed; it was already twelve-thirty. Catching her breath, she met Godfrey’s eyes, noted he looked rather smug, and realized she’d relaxed with him to an extent that was remarkable—almost shocking. She thrust her work into her basket, grasped the handle, and rose.
His eyes tracked her movements, then he raised his gaze to her face. “I promise I’ll consume everything on the tray.” There was an element of hope in his eyes when he asked, “Will you be able to return after luncheon?”
And keep me company was said with his not-usually-so-expressive eyes.
Belatedly, caution raised its head; he was both handsome and sophisticated after all. “We have others stranded by the storm—I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get away.” She wouldn’t be needed once the others rose from the table, but returning here would, she felt, be unwise. “Perhaps you would care for a book to read? My father’s library is extensive.”
His eyes hardened, and the glint of hope vanished, but after a second of regarding her, he inclined his head. “Any tome on the history of