The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,35
that promising start, they shifted to discussing the finer points of the horses one needed in the capital versus the horses one needed while living in the shires.
“There are some fine hunters hereabouts,” Harry said. “They do better over our sort of country.”
Godfrey agreed. “I grew up in Wiltshire and still visit there frequently. I do most of my riding there, so I ride hunters most of the time. I don’t keep a horse in town—if I need to ride there, I hire a hack from a jobbing stable.” He studied Harry’s eager face. “Do you have a particular mount here?”
“Yes—a gray gelding. He’s a real goer, too.” Enthusiasm shone in Harry’s eyes. “Mr. Morris bought him in York, but he—Captain—wasn’t really up to Mr. Morris’s weight, so Papa made an offer and bought him for me.”
That was an opening Godfrey couldn’t pass up. “Does Morris live close by?”
Harry waggled his head. “About three miles. He owns a reasonable-sized property—Malton Farm—out past Kirkby Malzeard.”
“I understand he’s an old friend of your father’s.”
“They were boys together at the local grammar school. Pyne as well.” Harry paused, then matter-of-factly said, “Now Papa is confined to a chair, they visit every Wednesday, which I have to say is good of them.” Harry met Godfrey’s eyes. “Papa can’t get out, you see.”
And he’d been fretting over being confined to bed for just a few days. “I hadn’t heard.” Godfrey hesitated, then asked, “It was an accident, I assume.”
Harry nodded. “Papa was riding with the hunt over by the dales, and he was thrown.” Harry paused, then went on, “It was nearly nine years ago, now.” He looked at Godfrey. “But that was why Ellie didn’t have her Season—she was supposed to come out under our Aunt Camberford’s wing and was already in London, but then Papa had his fall, and Ellie came home straightaway.” Harry faintly grimaced. “Which was just as well, because we needed her.”
That, Godfrey thought, explained a lot, including why Mr. Hinckley hadn’t come to see him. “So your father can only move about on the ground floor.”
Harry nodded. “He’s keen to meet you, but he can’t manage the stairs.”
“Please convey my compliments to him, and that I regret not yet being able to come to him.”
“I will. He’ll be pleased to know you’re improving.”
The door opened. Harry glanced that way and smiled as Ellie came in. He rose. “We’ve been entertaining ourselves very well.”
Ellie’s gaze went from her brother’s face to Godfrey’s. Whatever she saw there made her smile. “So I see. Thank you for assisting.” She caught Harry’s hand, then, with open fondness, lightly pressed her shoulder to his. He grinned and leaned against her for an instant, then she released his hand, patted his arm, and drew away. “I can stay until dinnertime, so you’re relieved of duty.”
With their expressive faces mirroring their feelings, both Hinckleys were easy to read. The depth of the affection that flowed between them was impossible to miss and struck Godfrey as of a different caliber—more open and freely given, more powerful and less restrained—than was usually displayed, certainly within his family. They might feel the same degree of emotion, but they drew back from so openly owning to it.
For the Cavanaughs, emotion had always equated to vulnerability. Not so for the Hinckleys.
Harry looked at Godfrey. “I’ll trudge out to the stable and check on the horses. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to report.”
Godfrey smiled and saluted Harry, who waved and left, closing the door behind him.
Ellie sank into the chair her brother had vacated. “I hope he didn’t badger you about horses and London life.”
“Not at all, although we did discuss horses—his and mine.” Godfrey wondered if there was some way to subtly inquire whether Mr. Hinckley’s decision to sell the Albertinelli was due to financial necessity. It wasn’t strictly something he needed to know in order to evaluate the painting, but now he’d come to know them, it was awkward feeling that the family’s future might depend on his report.
That Mr. Hinckley’s infirmity and his consequent inability to physically oversee his acres had extended over a significant portion of Harry’s minority hadn’t escaped Godfrey. An estate with an owner unable to keep an eye on things on the ground was a recipe for disaster or, at the very least, avoidable neglect.
But he could think of no acceptable way to phrase his question, and the reason Mr. Hinckley had decided on the sale might, in fact, be something else altogether.