The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,23
role with respect to both her family and the household.
“She’s the one who runs it all,” Wally stated. “It’s Miss Ellie this and Miss Ellie that—seems Mr. Hinckley leaves it all up to her.”
Godfrey nodded, setting that piece of the puzzle of Ellie Hinckley in stone. For the rest…he had, he realized, a lot to learn and to confirm.
Somewhat to his surprise, he finished the bread—surprisingly tasty and gloriously fresh—as well as the lump of cheese. He let Wally remove the tray and reached for the book. “I won’t need you until later.”
“Right you are.” Wally hefted the tray and headed for the door. “Have to say that if we were going to find ourselves stuck somewhere for days, this isn’t a bad place to be holed up in.”
Godfrey smiled. Despite falling ill, he wholeheartedly agreed.
He opened the book and was immediately drawn into an account of the Hall’s history, written by an ancestor in the previous century.
Later, when his lids grew heavy and he let the book fall closed, his thoughts continued to revolve about the Hall and those who lived there.
He hadn’t had any expectations of this excursion beyond setting eyes on the Albertinelli painting and, through verifying its authenticity, installing himself in Eastlake’s and the National Gallery’s good graces. Yet as sleep drew nearer and hazed his mind, he found himself wondering if at Hinckley Hall, against all the odds—because who would have predicted such a happening in an ancient country house in North Yorkshire?—he might have found something that would mean more to him than all the High Renaissance paintings in the world.
Chapter 4
The following morning, after duly consuming the broth Cook sent up for him—thinner and containing different herbs—and allowing Wally to shave him, Godfrey endeavored to keep himself immersed in the story of Hinckley Hall, but no matter how hard he tried to suppress his cough, the affliction continued to worsen, becoming a near-constant distraction.
His fever hadn’t abated, either; if anything, it continued to slowly build. Although he was doing his best to ignore that, there was no point pretending his recovery would occur overnight.
He’d set the book aside and was staring across the room at nothing in particular when a rap fell on the door. Rousing from his stupor, he blinked and called, “Come in.”
The door opened, and an older gentleman looked in. He had a round, jowly face, and his sandy-brown hair was thinning. His coat and trousers proclaimed him to be of sound county stock, while his expression was alert and curious. “Are you up for a quick visit? We thought you might be bored.”
Godfrey smiled. “I am.” He noticed another man in the shadows of the corridor and waved the pair in. “Come in. There are several chairs.”
The first man smiled. Hand outstretched, he advanced on the bed. “I’m Pyne. Old friend of Hinckley’s. I was visiting Matthew and got trapped by the storm as well.”
Godfrey gripped the proffered hand. “Cavanaugh. As I daresay you know, I’m here to examine Mr. Hinckley’s painting. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Pyne released Godfrey’s hand and waved at the other man. “This is Masterton—you met him earlier, while trudging up the drive.”
Masterton was younger than Pyne, perhaps only a few years older than Godfrey himself, and was dressed in riding clothes—tan corduroy breeches, a rather nice brown-and-black-check hacking jacket, and well-polished boots. His features were regular, even, and passingly handsome, and his reddish-brown hair was neatly styled in fashionable waves. Several inches taller than the more rotund Pyne, Masterton cut a fine figure and carried himself well.
Godfrey smiled at Masterton and held out his hand. “Godfrey Cavanaugh. I owe you considerable thanks, Mr. Masterton. If it hadn’t been for your assistance, I’m not sure my man and I would have reached the house.”
Smiling pleasantly, Masterton grasped Godfrey’s hand. “You were on the right track. You just needed a little support over the last leg—I was happy to help.”
“Regardless, I’m in your debt. Please”—Godfrey waved at the chairs—“make yourselves comfortable.” He broke off to muffle a cough.
Pyne claimed the wing chair Ellie had left by the bed. Masterton looked around, then fetched the straight-backed chair Wally favored and set it alongside Pyne.
As Masterton sat, Pyne leaned forward. “Did I understand correctly that you drove all the way from London?”
Godfrey admitted he had. “I prefer my own horses, so I took care to pace them, and the journey took three days in all.”
Masterton tipped his head at Godfrey. “I was out to the stable