She almost snorted. “Yes, well, I can only stay until the luncheon gong sounds.”
His smile lingered, flirting about his lips. “I’m grateful for whatever time you can spare me.”
Lowering her arms, she walked to where she’d dropped her replenished sewing basket just inside the door. After shutting the door, she reclaimed her usual chair, bent to the basket, pulled out a piece of fabric, a thread, and a needle, and settled to hem the square.
“What are you stitching?”
“New napkins for the breakfast parlor.” She glanced at him. “What would you like to talk about?”
After a moment of thinking, he replied, “Tell me about the area. Are there any local festivals peculiar to the region?”
Without the slightest effort, they filled the next hour with a comfortable discussion, with an ease that Ellie, for one, had never before experienced, not with anyone else.
After savoring a sustaining luncheon of soup—not broth—followed by a thick sandwich crammed with slices of roast beef with pickles and cheese, Godfrey felt considerably restored. That his ill-fated excursion of the morning hadn’t dragged him down he considered a testament to his returning health.
Ellie had warned him that she would likely not be able to return until later in the afternoon, so he seized the chance to doze a little; he felt sure she would approve of that.
Wally woke him with a cup of tea and two more slices of seed cake. “Told them you liked it,” he explained.
“Thank you. That was kind of you and them.”
“Aye, well, we all want you to get better, and feeding you up seems to be agreeing with you.”
“Mm-hmm,” Godfrey mumbled around a mouthful of the sumptuous cake.
After he’d polished off both tea and cake, Wally hoisted the tray and carted it away. “I’ll be back with your dinner.”
Godfrey slumped against his pillows. What now?
The hour he’d spent chatting with Ellie before luncheon had soothed his restlessness to some degree. She was a sensible lady, and regardless of what either Masterton or Morris thought, he’d detected not the slightest hint of any real understanding existing between her and either gentleman, at least not in her mind.
Still…
Quiet voices in the corridor reached him. Wally had yet to fully close the door and was speaking to someone.
A second later, the door was pushed open, and a young man looked in. “Hello—I’m Harry. Ellie’s brother.”
Godfrey vaguely remembered the stripling had been present in the front hall when Godfrey had made his less-than-spectacular entrance. “Oh, yes—hello.” The questioning way the lad was looking at him made him grin. “Did your sister send you up to keep me occupied?”
Sheepishly, Harry returned the grin. “In a manner of speaking. She said you were champing at the bit, but were forbidden from getting up as yet. I can sympathize, so came to see if I could be sufficiently entertaining to distract you.”
Godfrey smiled and waved Harry to the wing chair. “Come, sit, and let’s see how we get on.”
Godfrey studied Harry as he sank into the chair, sitting upright with his hands between his knees. Ellie had mentioned he was nearly twenty-one and had recently returned from Oxford, which explained his neat but quietly fashionable coat and trousers. He was of average height, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes more brown than Ellie’s gold-flecked green.
“Before I forget, Johnson—our stableman—said to tell you that your bays are no worse for wear.” Harry’s expression lit, bordering on reverent. “I’ve been out to see them—they have outstanding lines.”
Godfrey smiled and volunteered that the pair came from the Cynsters, a name Harry recognized in relation to fine horseflesh, and that only deepened his reverence. From that promising start, they shifted to discussing the finer points of the horses one needed in the capital versus the horses one needed while living in the shires.
“There are some fine hunters hereabouts,” Harry said. “They do better over our sort of country.”
Godfrey agreed. “I grew up in Wiltshire and still visit there frequently. I do most of my riding there, so I ride hunters most of the time. I don’t keep a horse in town—if I need to ride there, I hire a hack from a jobbing stable.” He studied Harry’s eager face. “Do you have a particular mount here?”
“Yes—a gray gelding. He’s a real goer, too.” Enthusiasm shone in Harry’s eyes. “Mr. Morris bought him in York, but he—Captain—wasn’t really up to Mr. Morris’s weight, so Papa made an offer and bought him for me.”
That was an opening Godfrey couldn’t pass up. “Does Morris live close by?”
Harry waggled his head. “About three miles. He owns a reasonable-sized property—Malton Farm—out past Kirkby Malzeard.”
“I understand he’s an old friend of your father’s.”
“They were boys together at the local grammar school. Pyne as well.” Harry paused, then matter-of-factly said, “Now Papa is confined to a chair, they visit every Wednesday, which I have to say is good of them.” Harry met Godfrey’s eyes. “Papa can’t get out, you see.”
And he’d been fretting over being confined to bed for just a few days. “I hadn’t heard.” Godfrey hesitated, then asked, “It was an accident, I assume.”
Harry nodded. “Papa was riding with the hunt over by the dales, and he was thrown.” Harry paused, then went on, “It was nearly nine years ago, now.” He looked at Godfrey. “But that was why Ellie didn’t have her Season—she was supposed to come out under our Aunt Camberford’s wing and was already in London, but then Papa had his fall, and Ellie came home straightaway.” Harry faintly grimaced. “Which was just as well, because we needed her.”
That, Godfrey thought, explained a lot, including why Mr. Hinckley hadn’t come to see him. “So your father can only move about on the ground floor.”
Harry nodded. “He’s keen to meet you, but he can’t manage the stairs.”
“Please convey my compliments to him, and that I regret not yet being able to come to him.”
“I will. He’ll be pleased to know you’re improving.”
The door opened. Harry glanced that way and smiled as Ellie came in. He rose. “We’ve been entertaining ourselves very well.”
Ellie’s gaze went from her brother’s face to Godfrey’s. Whatever she saw there made her smile. “So I see. Thank you for assisting.” She caught Harry’s hand, then, with open fondness, lightly pressed her shoulder to his. He grinned and leaned against her for an instant, then she released his hand, patted his arm, and drew away. “I can stay until dinnertime, so you’re relieved of duty.”
With their expressive faces mirroring their feelings, both Hinckleys were easy to read. The depth of the affection that flowed between them was impossible to miss and struck Godfrey as of a different caliber—more open and freely given, more powerful and less restrained—than was usually displayed, certainly within his family. They might feel the same degree of emotion, but they drew back from so openly owning to it.