The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,4

raging outside might be. As her mother used to say, there was no sense in borrowing trouble.

She returned her attention to the men to discover all three looking her way.

“I just hope this storm doesn’t chase the blighter all the way back to London,” Pyne remarked.

Don’t even suggest it. “According to Mr. Cavanaugh’s expectations, he should have reached Ripon before the storm, and they’ll have been hit as hard as us here and rather earlier—no real wonder if he took shelter there. Regardless”—she reminded herself as well as her listeners—“he’ll have to wait for the thaw before he can go anywhere, and given he’s acting for the National Gallery, I can’t see any reason he would retreat rather than come on.”

Her father dipped his head in agreement. “True, but the delay will set the sale back by several weeks, if not a month or more.”

Ellie pressed her lips tight. Despite fully supporting her father’s decision to sell the painting that had been her late mother’s favorite to the gallery, she hated discussing the reason for the sale, especially before his friends.

Pyne cleared his throat. “If you need any assistance—just to bridge the gap, you know—I’m sure I could help to some degree.”

“I might not be able to manage much,” Morris gruffly said, “but I’d consider it an honor to help as much as I can.”

Her father’s expression cleared, and he gently waved aside the comments. “No, no—thank you, my friends, but it’s not a case of needing the money, at least not so desperately.” Her father met Ellie’s eyes, a soft, rather sad smile in his. “It’s more a case of having screwed up my resolution over selling that painting to the sticking point—having to wait, possibly for weeks, for this authentication to take place before any sale can go forward is…not a prospect I relish.”

Ellie returned her father’s smile with a sad yet understanding smile of her own; she felt much the same way. But regardless of their attachment to the painting, the Albertinelli had to be sold, and for as much as possible, to provide the funds of which the Hall and the estate were so sorely in need.

By exercising due care, they would have enough to last them through the winter and into the first months of spring, but after that, the Hinckley coffers would be empty. She and her father had assumed any sale to the National Gallery would take months to finalize, but an additional delay such as the one now facing them might see them skating close to the wind.

Determined not to dwell on what was beyond her control, she found a smile and swept it over the men. “I’ll go and speak with the Kemps.” She turned to the door, just as the muted thunder of footsteps rushing down the main stairs reached her.

She inwardly braced. What now?

The drawing room door burst open, revealing Ellie’s younger sister, Maggie, dancing with excitement. Before Ellie could ask, Maggie blurted, “There’s horses and a carriage and I think three men coming up the drive. They’re nearly here!”

“Good Lord!” Ellie rushed for the door, swamped by sympathy for anyone caught out in the storm. She hurried into the front hall. “Kemp?”

“Here, miss.” The redoubtable butler was swiftly lighting several lamps and had already summoned the two footmen to assist. “Just let me get the lamps going before we open the door.”

The thud of boots on the stairs heralded Ellie’s brother, Harry. “What’s afoot?”

“Strangers coming up the drive, seeking shelter.” Ellie joined Maggie in peering out of the narrow window alongside the front door. Through the unnatural darkness that had closed in, she searched what she could see of the drive.

“There!” Maggie pointed to the left. “See that lump? It’s moving.”

Staggering and barely that. Ellie finally realized what she was looking at. “There are horses—a pair in harness and a single mount. Get the grooms as well.” She squinted through the whirling snow. “And Johnson—there’s a carriage that’s too fine to be left outside.”

It was the carriage that confirmed the thought that, despite all incredulity, had popped into her head. “My God—it’s Cavanaugh!”

He’d come and had fought his way through the snow.

“Really?” Harry was incredulous—as incredulous as Ellie. “It’s been storming fit to freeze Hades for nearly an hour.”

“Exactly.” Ellie rushed to the heavy door, lifted the latch, and hauled the door open. Wind rushed in, gleefully swirling snowflakes across the threshold. Kemp and the footmen came to stand at her back; the flames in the lanterns they