him some gift. “Thank you.” Then he sobered and met her eyes. “My dear, I realize that now might not be the best time to broach this matter, yet I feel that waiting to speak might be unwise.”
Oh, dear. A trickle of presentiment dripped down Ellie’s spine.
Blissfully unaware, Morris forged on, speaking earnestly and a touch forcefully. “I have long wished to make it plain to you that, if anything were to happen to Matthew or through any other happenstance you find yourself in need of a protector, out of the friendship I bear your father and, indeed, the respect I hold for you”—he broke off to bow to her—“I would be happy to marry you and act as your and your siblings’ shield.” He paused for a heartbeat, then, eyes hardening, added, “You have no need to fear being pressured into marriage by the likes of Michael Masterton!”
Damn it. He overheard Masterton.
Pressing her palms together, Ellie drew in a slow breath. “Mr. Morris—Edward. While I value your friendship, both with my father and through him, with me and this household, there is really no need for any such declaration.”
“Permit me to be the judge of that, my dear. None of us can know the future, and having a practical alternative to any opportunist’s offer cannot be a bad thing.”
She opened her mouth, on what words of denial she had no idea, but Morris held up a meaty hand.
“I require no answer at this time. I have only spoken to ensure you are aware that you do, indeed, have options.” Heavily, he inclined his head to her. “Now I have said my piece, I will retreat to the library and allow you to get on with your day.”
She drew in a deep breath, but instead of arguing further, she compressed her lips tightly and, somewhat stiffly, inclined her head to him.
She stood in the foyer and watched Morris walk ponderously away.
His words hadn’t come as a complete shock, but she had hoped they would never be spoken—at least not to her. Morris had, of course, sounded out her father about the idea Morris had taken into his head that, given his widower status, if Ellie received no suitable offers, then, ultimately, it might serve all concerned were she to become Morris’s second wife. Wisely, her father had mentioned the exchange to her, assuring her he had said nothing to encourage his old friend. As Ellie understood it, Morris had proposed that, subsequent to their wedding, he would move to the Hall and manage his acres from there, effectively pooling resources with the Hinckleys, at least until Harry reached his majority and took over managing the Hall estate.
In Ellie’s eyes, Morris’s and Masterton’s offers had at least two points in common; they were designed to improve the life of the offerer and had precious little to do with improving life for her, much less her family.
When Morris’s heavy footfalls had faded, she drew in a bracing breath, then shook her head. “Men!”
Lips setting, she set out for the stairs that would take her to the kitchen, to discuss Cook’s latest views on how best to bolster Cavanaugh’s strength.
On reaching the back stairs, she couldn’t hold back a “Faugh! Men and their notions of marriage! Hah!”
Chapter 5
Godfrey spent Sunday morning glumly languishing in bed.
He’d finally accepted Ellie’s wisdom that there was no point in him attempting to evaluate the Albertinelli until he was fully recovered—in his terms, that meant being well enough to stand steady on his own feet for at least a few hours. Realistically, that was how long he would expect to have to stand and walk before and about the painting, examining it from different angles, in close inspection as well as from farther away, to adequately complete his commission for Eastlake and the gallery.
At the moment, he could barely stand long enough to use the chamber pot, and even then, Wally had to steady him.
The fever had affected his balance, and the cough had stolen his strength. Or perhaps it was the other way around.
Regardless, that morning, while thinking of the household praying in the chapel, he’d sent up a prayer of his own and made a vow that to make his wish come true, he would abide by all Ellie’s strictures, down all the bitter broths the cook sent up for him, and in short, do whatever he was instructed to do in order to get better.
He hated coughing and wheezing only a touch less than he