“I realize,” he said, “that the first three are relatively recent and presumably stalled because of Timms’s passing, but the earlier three are also still pending.” When she looked up, he caught her eye. “Is there a reason for that? I didn’t find any note of the proposals being rejected. They just haven’t progressed.”
Caitlin glanced around, then pointed to a bench set against the warm stone of the garden wall. “Let’s sit.”
Once they had, with the wall warm at their backs and the weak afternoon sunshine on their faces, blocking her senses as best she could, she handed him the list and explained, “There are limits to the decisions the business owners—as part owners of the Bellamy Hall Fund—can make regarding physical structures on the estate. All such decisions require the explicit approval of the owner of Bellamy Hall. Essentially, the Fund operates as a cooperative support for the businesses themselves, with the payments for upkeep and maintenance of the Hall viewed as being in lieu of rental.”
He frowned. “So maintenance and upkeep…”
“Those, we—meaning Cromwell and I—can arrange without referring to the owner.”
He nodded. “But capital works—unsurprisingly—require the owner’s specific approval.” He glanced at the list. “I had wondered if that was the case.”
Determined to ignore the impact of his nearness, she pointed at the first three items. “Those were, as you guessed, stalled because of Timms’s death, but with the earlier three, the owners decided that although all three would be required at some point, none were urgent enough to bother Timms. She was meticulous in reviewing the details of such projects, but at that time, she was already ailing, and no one wanted to unnecessarily add to the weight on her shoulders.”
She shook her head. “She simply didn’t have strength to spare. We wanted to keep her with us for as long as possible, so we put off bringing those projects forward.”
“But they’re not on the list you made at the start of this year.”
“They should have been.” She frowned. “I suppose we lost sight of them while working on projects we could advance.”
He flicked the list. “So as of now, we have six projects to pursue.”
The eagerness in his voice made her smile. “The group meets at the end of this week—on Friday in the study.”
He tucked the list back into his pocket. “Can I suggest we move the meetings to the library? Given the size of the gathering, we’ll be more comfortable there.”
He rose, and she followed suit, smiling as she dipped her head his way. “I’m sure everyone will agree to that.”
“Excellent.” He glanced at her. “You might spread the word that, on Friday, after the group has dealt with whatever is on their collective plate, I would like to discuss which of these six projects should be commenced first.”
They started toward the house, and she grinned. “You’ll make everyone very happy.”
“Including the chatelaine-cum-steward who looks after the Fund’s books?”
She told her leaping heart to desist and raised her chin. “The Fund’s accounts are exceedingly healthy, and to be frank, I’ll be happier seeing the money put to use—to work, as it were—instead of simply sitting in the bank.”
Gregory smiled at the prospect of being actively involved in seeing six projects to completion. “Speaking as the estate’s owner, I’m looking forward to making these proposals reality.”
That was the unvarnished truth; the thought of having a useful and necessary role to play warmed him. This was what he’d arrived at Bellamy Hall hoping to find, and salvation was there, waiting for him to grasp it.
They crossed the rectangle of lawn, making for the drive.
Caitlin felt deeply pleased by yet more evidence that he intended to be an active owner and also by his transparent readiness to oversee the projects in question, all of which were beyond her ability to manage. Construction wasn’t her forte, but his enthusiasm suggested he felt confident in that arena.
As the sunshine bathed them, she raised her face to the warmth and, lids low, acknowledged how content she was with the way matters were playing out.
The sole of her half-boot skidded on the edging of the drive.
“Oh!” She fought to regain her balance, but started falling backward.
A strong arm banded her back, and Gregory jerked her upright against him.
She smothered a squeal, but then her breasts pressed into his chest, and her eyes met his—and every last smidgen of breath left her lungs.
Even the desire to breathe deserted her.
Time froze while her senses rioted.
The peaks of her breasts crinkled tight. With her gaze locked with his, she fell into the rich moss green of his eyes.
