look at Harry and Maggie, whose innocent expressions made Godfrey’s lips twitch. He did like this family—all of them.
“I appreciate that, sir,” he replied. “Having a day to reflect will be welcome.”
Now that Morris and Pyne had departed for their own hearths, the company was reduced to just the Hinckleys, which suited Godfrey very well. He listened to the ambling conversations between the siblings and their father regarding a book Harry had just finished reading, a new type of embroidered ribbon Maggie was sporting on her winter Sunday gown, and Ellie’s report regarding a cob with a sore hoof.
Undemanding and anchoring conversations with which to start the day.
After they’d cleared their plates, Mr. Hinckley caught Godfrey’s eye. “We’ll be departing shortly for Sunday service at St. Andrew’s in Kirkby Malzeard. You’re very welcome to join us.”
Godfrey smiled. “Thank you. I would like that.”
He rarely attended church in London, but tended to make the effort when in the country, either at Raventhorne or at Rand’s, Kit’s, or Stacie’s houses, wherever he happened to be.
Ellie smiled, clearly pleased by his acceptance. “We’ll be leaving from the front hall at nine-thirty.”
From her father’s and siblings’ expressions, they were equally delighted, as if his acceptance signaled he saw himself as one of them—or at least one with them.
While that hadn’t been his intention, he wasn’t unhappy with that outcome. In truth, with every passing day, he viewed the Hinckleys a little more certainly as his tribe—his to protect.
At the appointed time, they gathered in the front hall, and Harry and Godfrey elected to ride rather than attempt to squash into the somewhat ancient family coach. The coach arrived before the front steps, followed by the stableman, Johnson, leading a strong bay as well as Harry’s gray hunter.
When Godfrey descended to take the bay’s reins, Johnson tipped him a salute. “This one should suit you, sir. His name’s George.” Johnson gave a little sigh. “He was born here, and Miss Maggie had the naming of him.”
Godfrey grinned. “I gather she was interested in royalty at the time.”
Johnson bobbed his head. “Just so.” He handed over the reins and ran a hand down George’s nicely arched neck. “But he’s a sound hack, and although the saddle’s worn, it’s comfy.”
“Thank you.” Godfrey gathered the reins, looked George in the eye, then stepped to his side and mounted. George shifted, but settled. Godfrey tipped his head to the waiting Johnson. “He’ll do.”
Harry was already mounted and waiting. As Godfrey nudged George to join Harry at the rear of the carriage, Kemp shut the carriage door on Maggie and waved at the coachman. The carriage rumbled off, and falling in beside Harry in the vehicle’s wake, Godfrey filled his lungs and felt his mood lift.
With his declaration, Mr. Hinckley had gifted him this day to rest his mind from grappling with the challenge facing him. As he and Harry trotted down the drive, Godfrey resolved to set aside all concerns, take the day as it came, and enjoy it.
The air was cold, but fresh and clear, with the tang of snow sharpened by the scent of pines and firs. While the grooms had shoveled the drive, snow lingered in crisp drifts to either side, and in the park that surrounded the Hall, the thick blanket of white extended as far as Godfrey could see.
He was bundled up in his greatcoat, with his scarf wrapped snugly about his neck and his hands protected by fur-lined gloves. Wally had ruthlessly brushed his hat, and it was duly perched on Godfrey’s head; he was grateful there was no wind to send it bowling into the nearest drift. Indeed, the country about them lay almost preternaturally still, all activity muffled by the snow; beyond the occasional birdcall, the sound of them traveling was the only disturbance, rapidly fading as they passed.
They turned out of the drive into the lane, where the snow had been worn away by passing traffic enough to expose the center of the roadway. The coachman urged his pair on, and Godfrey and Harry trotted along behind.
They crossed a river. “The Laver,” Harry informed Godfrey. “It forms the western boundary of our park.”
After a moment of orienting himself, Godfrey asked, “Are all the Hall’s lands on the same side of the river as the house?”
Harry shook his head. “Those woods”—with his head, he indicated the woods on the western bank—“the section north of the lane, are part of the Hall estate. The lane is our southern boundary, and we have