He needed time to recoup—would have needed it regardless of any complications—but with his escalating fever and worsening cough, proper rest without any irritations was truly the only way forward.
She heard a soft snore and found her lips curving.
Quietly, she walked to the door. She was tempted to lock it and bar all comers, but that would be one step too far.
After one last, lingering look, she quit the room and left him sleeping.
Of necessity, Sunday service for the household was a cobbled-together affair held in the Hall’s chapel, built out from the central wing of the house.
That said, it wasn’t the first time the household had been snowed in; Ellie, her father, and her siblings used the same readings, prayers, and hymns they’d used in years past to lead their little congregation.
As well as the family, all the staff attended; most of the area’s families were Church of England parishioners.
Morris was there as well; he belonged to the same church and was devotedly regular in his observances. Not so Pyne, who failed to appear.
However, somewhat to Ellie’s surprise, Masterton arrived in good time and made himself useful by pushing her father’s chair into the chapel, then sitting with the family in the front pew and, at the appropriate time, helping her father reposition the chair so he could deliver the short sermon.
As with the readings and prayers, the sermon had been chosen to be uplifting and bolstering in the face of Nature’s icy challenge. The staff duly listened and stood and raised their voices with the family; they were all in this situation together and would stand together to see it through.
At the end of the truncated service, as she had in the past, Ellie felt the normalcy of worship left the entire household reassured that all would eventually be well. As if signaling that, in the final prayer, her father mentioned their guest from London and petitioned the Almighty to lend his aid in returning their visitor to health.
Once her father uttered the benediction, the staff rose with resurgent energy and quickly filed out, keen to get back to their duties. Ellie smiled at the Kemps, then waved Harry and Maggie up the aisle.
She waited patiently until her father, with Masterton again propelling his chair, headed out into the foyer, then she set about gathering the chapel’s hymnals and order of service sheets and making the place tidy once more.
She’d just finished stacking the hymnals on the shelf to one side of the small altar when Masterton returned and walked down the aisle toward her.
She straightened and faced him.
“I left Matthew in the library, bemoaning the lack of newspapers.” Masterton halted before her.
“Sadly, there’s not much I can do to rectify that.” She didn’t like the intent look in his eyes as they rested on her face; endeavoring to ignore it, she shifted to move past him and set off up the aisle.
He turned and fell into step beside her. “In a way, that’s pertinent to what I wished to say. You’re wasted here, Ellie, and while I applaud your devotion to caring for Matthew and the other two, you need to start thinking about your own future.”
She halted. “Michael—”
“No—hear me out. My offer still stands.”
“I’ve told you I won’t be accepting it.”
He met her exasperated gaze and had the effrontery to smile. “I know that’s your answer—for now. But I’m a patient man.”
She managed—just—not to glare. “I don’t know what I can do or say to make you understand that I have no intention of marrying—you or anyone else. Not now, not in any future I foresee. I’m content with my life as it is.”
He dipped his head and infuriatingly reiterated, “For now.”
When she opened her mouth on a heated rebuttal, he smiled with irritating arrogance and held up a hand. “No—I don’t wish to argue the point. I just wanted to remind you that my offer remains, laid at your feet.”
With that, he saluted her and walked on and through the chapel’s ornate archway, leaving her silently seething.
Apparently, through no fault of hers, Masterton believed that if he persevered, she would eventually weaken and accept his offer. Why he believed they would deal well together, she had no idea. Since he’d arrived in the district five years ago and introduced himself, he and she had often butted heads over what was best for the Hinckleys.
Over the past years, he’d been a constant visitor, yet in all conscience, she couldn’t claim he foisted his presence on them. He usually called no more than once a week, often on Sundays, and spent his time chatting with and entertaining her father and only rarely remained overnight when the weather turned foul, as at present.
She couldn’t say that he’d ever actually wooed her, either, which only made her even more determined that she would never sink so low as to accept his suit, one that, transparently, had no real affection attached to it. She didn’t understand why he even wanted a wife, other than perhaps it would help with his business. She had no idea what that business was, but she could imagine that having a hostess might be expected, and that rather than going out and finding himself a wife at the Harrogate assemblies, Masterton had, instead, fixed his sights on her.
Truth be told, she suspected her refusal had only served to focus him even more determinedly on her. Some men were like that—not being able to get something only made that thing all the more avidly desirable.
His jibe “for now” lingered in her mind. Glancing back at the altar, she saw the altar cloth was still in place and went to fold and store the heavily embroidered piece.
While her hands smoothed and folded, her thoughts circled her situation, and she winced. She’d claimed she was content, and as far as the present went, that was true. But this life wasn’t one she’d chosen for herself; Fate and circumstance had conspired to put hurdles in her path, blocking alternate avenues and maneuvering her into becoming the old maid she now was.
Admittedly, it had been her decision to turn aside from her London Season before it had begun and return here to care for her father and hold the household steady for her younger siblings. At the time, she’d seen no option, and even now, she did not for one minute regret her return, yet at that time, she’d believed she’d been merely putting off her Season, not permanently leaving behind the prospect of having her come-out and possibly finding a husband.
At the time, none of them had foreseen that it would take years for her father to recover, even to being able to sit in a chair. No one had imagined he would never walk more than a step or two again.
But life was life, and one did what one needed to do to care for those one loved, and looking back, even now, she saw no other path. But following that path had led to her having to lay aside her dreams—all of them. Not just of a husband and children of her own but of traveling farther than York and Harrogate, and she rarely visited even those towns anymore.
These days, the canvas of her life had reduced to the area around the Hall, from Kirkby Malzeard in the west, to Ripon in the east, and effectively marooned in such a backwater, with no reason or opportunity to venture farther, she found it difficult to see how or where she might meet an eligible gentleman who would overlook her advanced age and form a tendre for her.
That obvious circumstance undoubtedly fueled Masterton’s arrogant certainty over his indefinitely available offer; he knew he faced no competitors for her hand.