She longed to puncture his swaggering self-belief, and one day, when he finally accepted she wasn’t going to be a part of whatever life he planned, she would. On that, she was resolved.
After laying the altar cloth inside the cedarwood box in which it was stored, she shut the lid, then placed the box on the shelf behind the altar.
Turning toward the archway, she cast a last searching glance around. Seeing nothing out of place, she walked purposefully up the aisle and into the chapel’s foyer.
“Ah—there you are, my dear.”
She swung to face Morris as he rose from the window seat on which he’d been sitting and, plainly, waiting for her. Politely, she inclined her head. “Mr. Morris.”
Like Pyne, Morris was the same age as her father. Of the three men, Morris had the heaviest build, yet he remained upright and active. He’d always struck Ellie as the epitome of what people meant by saying a man was a “John Bull” type; he projected the impression of having the brute strength and dogged determination to carry all before him. His dark hair was thinning, and his complexion was weathered and just a touch ruddy from the hours he spent outdoors, overseeing his acres.
He halted a yard away and smiled a touch self-consciously. “I would be honored if, when it’s just the pair of us, you would call me by my given name of Edward.”
Ellie managed not to blink in surprise, but she had known Morris for all of her life. Hesitantly, she said, “If you truly wish it…Edward.”
He smiled as if she’d given him some gift. “Thank you.” Then he sobered and met her eyes. “My dear, I realize that now might not be the best time to broach this matter, yet I feel that waiting to speak might be unwise.”
Oh, dear. A trickle of presentiment dripped down Ellie’s spine.
Blissfully unaware, Morris forged on, speaking earnestly and a touch forcefully. “I have long wished to make it plain to you that, if anything were to happen to Matthew or through any other happenstance you find yourself in need of a protector, out of the friendship I bear your father and, indeed, the respect I hold for you”—he broke off to bow to her—“I would be happy to marry you and act as your and your siblings’ shield.” He paused for a heartbeat, then, eyes hardening, added, “You have no need to fear being pressured into marriage by the likes of Michael Masterton!”
Damn it. He overheard Masterton.
Pressing her palms together, Ellie drew in a slow breath. “Mr. Morris—Edward. While I value your friendship, both with my father and through him, with me and this household, there is really no need for any such declaration.”
“Permit me to be the judge of that, my dear. None of us can know the future, and having a practical alternative to any opportunist’s offer cannot be a bad thing.”
She opened her mouth, on what words of denial she had no idea, but Morris held up a meaty hand.
“I require no answer at this time. I have only spoken to ensure you are aware that you do, indeed, have options.” Heavily, he inclined his head to her. “Now I have said my piece, I will retreat to the library and allow you to get on with your day.”
She drew in a deep breath, but instead of arguing further, she compressed her lips tightly and, somewhat stiffly, inclined her head to him.
She stood in the foyer and watched Morris walk ponderously away.
His words hadn’t come as a complete shock, but she had hoped they would never be spoken—at least not to her. Morris had, of course, sounded out her father about the idea Morris had taken into his head that, given his widower status, if Ellie received no suitable offers, then, ultimately, it might serve all concerned were she to become Morris’s second wife. Wisely, her father had mentioned the exchange to her, assuring her he had said nothing to encourage his old friend. As Ellie understood it, Morris had proposed that, subsequent to their wedding, he would move to the Hall and manage his acres from there, effectively pooling resources with the Hinckleys, at least until Harry reached his majority and took over managing the Hall estate.
In Ellie’s eyes, Morris’s and Masterton’s offers had at least two points in common; they were designed to improve the life of the offerer and had precious little to do with improving life for her, much less her family.
When Morris’s heavy footfalls had faded, she drew in a bracing breath, then shook her head. “Men!”
Lips setting, she set out for the stairs that would take her to the kitchen, to discuss Cook’s latest views on how best to bolster Cavanaugh’s strength.
On reaching the back stairs, she couldn’t hold back a “Faugh! Men and their notions of marriage! Hah!”
Chapter 5
Godfrey spent Sunday morning glumly languishing in bed.
He’d finally accepted Ellie’s wisdom that there was no point in him attempting to evaluate the Albertinelli until he was fully recovered—in his terms, that meant being well enough to stand steady on his own feet for at least a few hours. Realistically, that was how long he would expect to have to stand and walk before and about the painting, examining it from different angles, in close inspection as well as from farther away, to adequately complete his commission for Eastlake and the gallery.
At the moment, he could barely stand long enough to use the chamber pot, and even then, Wally had to steady him.
The fever had affected his balance, and the cough had stolen his strength. Or perhaps it was the other way around.
Regardless, that morning, while thinking of the household praying in the chapel, he’d sent up a prayer of his own and made a vow that to make his wish come true, he would abide by all Ellie’s strictures, down all the bitter broths the cook sent up for him, and in short, do whatever he was instructed to do in order to get better.
He hated coughing and wheezing only a touch less than he hated burning up with fever.
That morning, the fever had abated somewhat, but from experience, he knew it was likely to build as the day progressed. “So I’ll possess my soul in patience and lie here in this bed.”
Sadly, bearing with inactivity had never been his strong suit.
Listlessly, he picked up the book on Hinckley Hall. He was still leafing through it, but while he’d stumbled on points of interest here and there, he found it difficult to concentrate for more than ten minutes at a time.
When Ellie finally walked through his door, he was delighted to see her, but since he hadn’t talked for hours, his attempt to greet her only brought on another paroxysm of coughing.
She rushed to fetch a glass of some cordial Wally had brought up earlier that morning.
He obediently sipped, then lay back on his pillows and quietly said, “Hello.”
She noticed the book lying discarded on the bed. “Have you already finished it?”
“No.” He paused, then confessed, “It’s interesting, but I can’t concentrate for long enough to make much headway.”
“Ah, I see.”
He heaved a sigh. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve decided I should do all I can in pursuit of my own recovery, including doing precisely as you and Mrs. Kemp bid me.” He met her eyes and tried to infuse resigned obedience into his gaze. “Whatever you say, I will do—even if you tell me to lie quiet for a week.”