together to hold back a smile. Exasperated—with herself as much as with him—she planted her hands on her hips and, when she could risk speaking, informed him, “You’re worse than Harry, and Lord knows, he’s a terrible patient.”
“He has my very real sympathies.”
“I daresay. In your case, I can only hope that knowing that your fever, lingering or not, appears to be waning and that your cough, although clearly still there, sounds to be less deep will encourage you to stay in bed until both fever and cough properly subside.”
He looked at her, then sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She bit her lip. “I sound like a shrew.”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the pillows. “No, you don’t. This was my fault. I’m just…frustrated.” Then he opened his brown-and-gold eyes, looked at her, and essayed a small smile. “I promise to behave now you’re here to bear me company.”
She almost snorted. “Yes, well, I can only stay until the luncheon gong sounds.”
His smile lingered, flirting about his lips. “I’m grateful for whatever time you can spare me.”
Lowering her arms, she walked to where she’d dropped her replenished sewing basket just inside the door. After shutting the door, she reclaimed her usual chair, bent to the basket, pulled out a piece of fabric, a thread, and a needle, and settled to hem the square.
“What are you stitching?”
“New napkins for the breakfast parlor.” She glanced at him. “What would you like to talk about?”
After a moment of thinking, he replied, “Tell me about the area. Are there any local festivals peculiar to the region?”
Without the slightest effort, they filled the next hour with a comfortable discussion, with an ease that Ellie, for one, had never before experienced, not with anyone else.
After savoring a sustaining luncheon of soup—not broth—followed by a thick sandwich crammed with slices of roast beef with pickles and cheese, Godfrey felt considerably restored. That his ill-fated excursion of the morning hadn’t dragged him down he considered a testament to his returning health.
Ellie had warned him that she would likely not be able to return until later in the afternoon, so he seized the chance to doze a little; he felt sure she would approve of that.
Wally woke him with a cup of tea and two more slices of seed cake. “Told them you liked it,” he explained.
“Thank you. That was kind of you and them.”
“Aye, well, we all want you to get better, and feeding you up seems to be agreeing with you.”
“Mm-hmm,” Godfrey mumbled around a mouthful of the sumptuous cake.
After he’d polished off both tea and cake, Wally hoisted the tray and carted it away. “I’ll be back with your dinner.”
Godfrey slumped against his pillows. What now?
The hour he’d spent chatting with Ellie before luncheon had soothed his restlessness to some degree. She was a sensible lady, and regardless of what either Masterton or Morris thought, he’d detected not the slightest hint of any real understanding existing between her and either gentleman, at least not in her mind.
Still…
Quiet voices in the corridor reached him. Wally had yet to fully close the door and was speaking to someone.
A second later, the door was pushed open, and a young man looked in. “Hello—I’m Harry. Ellie’s brother.”
Godfrey vaguely remembered the stripling had been present in the front hall when Godfrey had made his less-than-spectacular entrance. “Oh, yes—hello.” The questioning way the lad was looking at him made him grin. “Did your sister send you up to keep me occupied?”
Sheepishly, Harry returned the grin. “In a manner of speaking. She said you were champing at the bit, but were forbidden from getting up as yet. I can sympathize, so came to see if I could be sufficiently entertaining to distract you.”
Godfrey smiled and waved Harry to the wing chair. “Come, sit, and let’s see how we get on.”
Godfrey studied Harry as he sank into the chair, sitting upright with his hands between his knees. Ellie had mentioned he was nearly twenty-one and had recently returned from Oxford, which explained his neat but quietly fashionable coat and trousers. He was of average height, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes more brown than Ellie’s gold-flecked green.
“Before I forget, Johnson—our stableman—said to tell you that your bays are no worse for wear.” Harry’s expression lit, bordering on reverent. “I’ve been out to see them—they have outstanding lines.”
Godfrey smiled and volunteered that the pair came from the Cynsters, a name Harry recognized in relation to fine horseflesh, and that only deepened his reverence. From