Much like a dog with a bone.
The analogy made him wince, but…
He prodded the protective and distinctly possessive feelings that Ellie—simply by existing—had caused to burgeon and grow. “Compulsive” didn’t come close to adequately describing their power.
It occurred to him that Masterton might be similarly afflicted. If so, perhaps he should cut the fellow some slack.
Dwelling on that, he tried to see Masterton and himself through Ellie’s eyes. Tried to weigh their relative pros and cons from her point of view.
He didn’t know Masterton well enough to make a viable comparison, but if the opinions of London’s grandes dames, hostesses, and matchmakers were worth any consideration at all, then all presumptuousness and arrogance aside, he felt cautiously optimistic that, once he was free to openly woo her and give her the choice, Ellie would choose him.
That was his goal, and he was prepared to do whatever was required to achieve it.
Chapter 8
After taking luncheon on a tray in his room, Godfrey waited for Ellie to arrive; she usually looked in on him in the early afternoon.
Sure enough, her distinctive tap on the door sounded at two-thirty.
“Come in,” he called and smiled when she appeared.
She smiled back, closed the door, and walked to where he sat before the fire.
He spoke while she was gathering her skirts to sit in the chair opposite his. “I believe I’m now well enough to view the Albertinelli.”
Ellie froze, then slowly sank down. She regarded him for a moment, then shifted her gaze to the pile of documents on the side table to his right. “You’ve finished examining the letters and declarations?”
He nodded. “They’re as remarkable as I—and the gallery—could hope for. Your ancestor was exceedingly thorough in noting everything pertaining to his purchase, and his descendants are to be commended for preserving the fruits of his endeavors.”
A wave of relief flooded her. “So the painting is genuine.”
He paused, then tipped his head from side to side, calculation gleaming in his hawklike eyes. “The documents certainly suggest it is, but I still need to examine the painting itself before I can declare it’s an authentic Albertinelli.”
She regarded him levelly, then sighed and admitted, “I’m as keen as you are—we’re all as keen as you are—to have you view the painting, especially after a whole week of delay.”
“I could do it—or at least commence my examination—this afternoon.”
“What do you actually do when assessing a painting?”
He paused, then said, “To begin with, I need to stand before it and view it in different lights, from different angles with the light striking the surface from various directions. Then I need to see it in good strong light to closely examine the canvas, the paints themselves, the brush strokes, any drawing still visible, and also examine the composition in detail to see if it matches what’s already known of the particular artist’s work.”
“Is much of that done while standing?”
He grimaced. “Virtually all of it. Sitting…for some reason, at least for me, doesn’t work as well.”
At least he’d told her the truth.
She studied his face; his color was much improved, and he’d barely coughed on both occasions she’d seen him that day, and even when he had, the sound was shallow and no longer concerning.
“Very well.” She rose. “Let me summon Wally to help you dress. Until we’re certain you’re steady on your pins, I would prefer not to have you striding about alone.”
He agreed readily enough.
She tugged the bellpull and met Wally at the door. “It’s time to see if he can manage standing and walking about. If he can, I’ll take him to see the painting.”
“He’ll want to get dressed, then.” Wally nodded. “I’ll see to him.”
She left and went to her mother’s parlor. Located at the end of the family wing, the room had essentially been shut up, its curtains drawn, since her mother had died nearly nineteen years ago. Her father’s grief had been so great he hadn’t been able to bring himself to allow anyone to remove her favorite things with which the room was adorned. Every knickknack and statuette remained, every painting.
The Albertinelli hung on an outer wall, in the space between two windows that looked out toward the river. Not that anyone could see the view, with the curtains so tightly drawn.
Ellie halted before the painting and, through the dimness, allowed her eyes to trace the figures she knew were there, posed before an archway. After a moment, she said, “I’m sure, Mama, that you won’t mind us selling this, given we so need the funds.”
She was the only one of her siblings who truly remembered their mother; she’d been nine when her mother had faded away. But her memories—of a smiling face and a soft embrace that had wrapped her in love made manifest—assured her that her mother would have been the first to urge her father to sell the painting. Although she’d had many pretty things, her mother had valued people—and the Hall and all who lived in it—more highly.
Ellie debated, but in the end, left the windows curtained. Once she and Godfrey entered, she could dramatically push aside the curtains and reveal the painting in all its glory.
Smiling at the thought, she hurried back to his room.
She tapped on the door, and at Wally’s harried “Come in!” she entered to see Godfrey garbed in fashionable dark coat and trousers—and heavens! Clothed and upright, he was a great deal taller and more impressive than she remembered, with his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs on elegant display. Then she noticed he was frowning.
He looked at her and tried to take a step, only to weave—causing Wally to dart in and steady him.
“Damn!” Godfrey muttered, then looked at her, simultaneously apologetic and woebegone. “Apparently, I’m not as strong as I thought.”
She went to take his arm. “You’ve been lying abed for a week. It’s hardly surprising that you need a little time to get your legs working properly again.”
With Wally on one side and her on the other, he essayed another step, then, with slightly more confidence, another.
Briskly, she said, “The drifts are still blocking the roads to carriages, so you can’t yet send any report. Taking the evening to exercise a little before viewing the painting isn’t going to make the slightest difference to anything.”
“But”—he took another step—“I am going to view the Albertinelli tomorrow.”
“Yes. Provided you can stand without assistance, you can definitely view it then. However, I would suggest that, for today, a few short walks to help regain the use of your legs will serve everyone better.”
Godfrey had to swallow the unpalatable truth that he wasn’t yet up to the hours of standing that the examination of the painting would entail. But she had agreed he would see it tomorrow, so… “In that case, I believe my first short walk should be to the stairs and down them. I would like to meet your father before I view the painting.”
She bit her lip. She looked adorable, and the impulse to kiss her welled. He firmly quashed it, but the temptation lingered.