The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,9
thirties, too, younger than Morris and Pyne, who were contemporaries of her father.
Pyne grunted. “Yes, well.” He looked at Ellie. “If you like, I would be happy to sit with him in case he awakes.”
Ellie had any number of household tasks begging for her attention, yet… “Thank you, but there’s no need at this time.” Sensing Pyne’s inclination to argue, she added, “Mrs. Kemp believes he might start a fever, so we need to keep a close eye on him for now.”
The hint of an unknown, unpredictable, and possibly contagious illness was enough to dissuade Pyne from pressing his case. He and Morris exchanged looks, then with mumbled assurances that they would keep her father company instead, the pair retreated through the door, and after one last look at Cavanaugh’s unmoving figure, Masterton followed.
The door clicked shut, and Ellie breathed more freely.
She’d seen the hard, assessing quality in Masterton’s gaze. Six months ago, Masterton, a distant cousin on her father’s side, had made an offer for her hand, which she’d declined. Firmly and resolutely. Despite that, she got the impression that Masterton was simply biding his time and was intent on renewing his offer. Regardless, offering for her and being refused did not afford Masterton any rights over her—over how she behaved or whose sickbed she tended.
Yet there’d definitely been an element of that sort of thinking in Masterton’s last long look.
She knew that Morris and Pyne, with their long-standing friendship with her father, had nothing but her family’s best interests at heart, yet they could be meddling and were rather stuffy, and their points of view often ran contrary to hers. As for Masterton…in her view, he kept his own goals, his own reasons for supporting her father in this or that, uppermost in his mind, yet as to exactly what those goals were, she’d never got so much as a hint.
She was glad the three had gone; to her mind, their connections to her family did not afford them any right to stick their noses into the family’s business with Cavanaugh.
After another look at the sleeping man, she walked to the fireplace and settled in one of the pair of wing chairs before the hearth. From there, she could keep an eye on Cavanaugh while making inroads into the mending.
She was rehemming one of Harry’s shirts when the door opened and Maggie peeked in. Her bright brown eyes scanned the room and found Ellie. Maggie grinned and slipped inside. After closing the door, she pattered across on light feet to claim the other wing chair. Leaning closer to Ellie, Maggie whispered, “How is he?”
Ellie smiled. “Sleeping. Earlier, he stirred and rambled a bit, so I don’t think he’s unconscious anymore—just asleep.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Without waiting for any reply, Maggie forged on, “He’s not at all like how we envisioned him, is he? Not old and scholarly with a white beard and a cane, or a fusty old university don puffed up in his own conceit.” She glanced at the bed and, after a moment, conceded, “He might be a painter, but he’s certainly not an old painter.”
Muting a grin, Ellie admitted, “No, he’s not anywhere near as old as we expected.” After a second, she added, “Masterton thinks Mr. Cavanaugh is in his early thirties.”
Tipping her head in a birdlike way, Maggie allowed, “That seems about right.” She transferred her keen gaze to Ellie. “It was so dramatic, the way he fell in a heap at your feet.”
“It was a shock.”
“Yes, but he was trying to do the pretty by you, even in extremis as he was.”
Ellie glanced up from her stitching and saw that Maggie—eighteen years old yet still a free spirit—had stars in her eyes.
“He’s so very handsome, Ellie. And his voice! It’s so deep and smooth.”
You’re beautiful. Ellie heard the words in her head, in that deep, smooth voice, and fought to quell a shiver. She looked back at her needle. “He is very well-spoken.”
Maggie all but bounced in her chair. “I can’t wait until he wakes up, and we can speak with him and learn what sort of man he is.” Maggie caught Ellie’s admonishing eye. “Aren’t you curious?”
Intensely. “Apparently, his groom is compos mentis, so even if Cavanaugh continues to sleep, his man should be able to tell us more. Enough, at least, to sate our curiosity.”
Ellie told herself that given the dearth of personable gentlemen in and around Hinckley Hall, hers and Maggie’s rampant curiosity—indeed, the curiosity of the whole