It didn’t take long for Gregory and Caitlin to explore the work available for a stonemason in a locality littered with brick- and stone-built houses and cottages, let alone garden walls and terraces. Once they had, they’d explained to Hamish that, his work with Malcolm aside, he quite literally held in his hands the ability to establish a very lucrative business of his own.
“Stonemasonry plus sculpting.” Hamish’s tone suggested he’d glimpsed Nirvana. “It never occurred to me… Well, up north, we don’t have so many houses built of stone blockwork, not like down here, and anyone can throw together a rough stone wall.”
They’d had that conversation this morning. Now, with the afternoon sun finally strong enough to strike through his coat and register as warm, Gregory followed Caitlin’s trail. According to Julia, whom he’d found admiring her repaired wall, Caitlin had headed into the rose garden.
He found her checking the new growth bursting from the heavily pruned branches.
She heard his footsteps, looked up, saw him, and smiled, and warmth of a different kind blossomed in his chest.
He smiled back, confident and assured. “There you are.” He caught her hand, raised her fingers to his lips, and kissed them. Then he settled her hand on his sleeve and turned her toward the bench at the end of the central garden walk.
She looked at him inquiringly. “You were looking for me?”
He nodded. “Given Rory and Hamish’s arrivals, and what I’ve gathered from what they’ve let fall, I wanted to ask about your family. Your uncle and your other cousins, and any others who might be relevant to”—he caught her gaze—“us.”
He was delighted with the way Rory and Hamish had settled into life at the Hall, but felt it would be wise to prepare for the predictable future.
She smiled and, when they reached the stone bench, drew her hand from his arm and sat. She waited until he’d sat beside her, then said, “Well, of the immediate family still at Benbeoch Manor, there’s Uncle Patrick and Daniel and Morgan, his younger sons. Daniel is twenty-eight years old, and Morgan is twenty-three, the same age as me.”
“I gathered that your uncle was pushing hard to promote a marriage between you and Rory.” When she nodded, he went on, “Is there any chance that with, as far as your uncle knows, Rory vanished and out of the running, that he’ll press you to marry one of the others? Obviously not Hamish, either, but what about Daniel or Morgan?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Daniel is quiet, but he would never be a party to that, and Morgan is like my annoying little brother.”
“But does Morgan think of you as an older sister?”
She tipped her head, then grinned. “Now you mention it, he does.” She met his eyes. “‘Siblings’ would be an accurate description of our relationship.”
He nodded. “All right. Is there anyone else with aspirations to your hand that I should know about?”
She laughed. “No. And even Rory, as you now know, wasn’t any real contender. First to last, that was my uncle’s idea.” She studied him. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m trying to get some inkling of what hurdles might stand in my path when I apply to your uncle for permission to offer for your hand.”
She blinked.
Less certain than he had been, he pointed out, “I should, you realize. Even if, legally speaking, you might not need his permission to marry, he is your guardian, and I’m sure there are clauses in that guardianship we’d rather not have to fight. Yet you won’t turn twenty-five for eighteen more months…” He blew out a breath. “Well, I really don’t want to wait that long.” He couldn’t read her expression and felt compelled to ask, “Do you?”
“No.” Lips firming, she shook her head. “And you’re right. That’s a difficulty we’ll have to overcome—gaining Uncle Patrick’s permission.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the house. “And now Rory and Hamish have deserted his cause and allied with me. I hadn’t really thought of that, of how Patrick might react.” Eyes a trifle wide, she looked at Gregory. “What if he refuses?”
“We’ll negotiate our way around that impasse once it occurs. Let’s not invite trouble.”
Caitlin sighed and faced forward.
Gregory studied her face, then murmured, “Are you happy here—as chatelaine of Bellamy Hall?”
She looked at the fresh, bronzy-colored shoots sprouting on the bare rose canes. After a moment, she replied, “When I first came to Bellamy Hall, even though it was the height of winter, and we arrived in the middle of a raging blizzard, it felt as if I’d landed in a place that was warm and encouraging, with the perfect conditions for me as a person to bloom and grow. Here, I was instantly appreciated. My skills and talents, such as they are, were recognized, and I was encouraged to use them. That started virtually the day after we arrived. Then, weeks later, as the thaws set in, Timms offered me the position of chatelaine, and it seemed to fit so perfectly that I accepted without hesitation.”
She paused, thinking back. “From my first evening here, I’ve been happy—happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve found fulfillment and satisfaction. That’s why I’ve never even thought of leaving.” She glanced at him and faintly smiled. “I could have, you know. I had and still have significant funds at my disposal. Rory and the others insisted that I had enough to see me safe for quite some time.”
Throughout her revelations, Gregory’s gaze had remained steady on her face. Now, voice low, he asked, “So you’ll be happy staying? And even remaining as chatelaine-cum-steward, not just for a year or two but for very much longer?”
Her gaze on his eyes, she tipped her head. “Are you asking if, as your wife, I would want to stop being the estate’s chatelaine-cum-steward and instead…what? Embroider in the morning room all day?”
His lips twitched, but he stilled them and, with an admirably serious expression, said, “Given the situation, I’m sure you can see that it’s a point on which I need reassurance. If in marrying you, I have to find a new chatelaine-cum-steward—”
“Don’t even think it.” Reaching across, she grasped his lapel and drew him to face her. Obligingly, he swiveled, and she drew his lips to hers, but paused with their lips a whisker apart to state, “If you are here, I’ll be perfectly happy to remain at Bellamy Hall for the rest of my days. And if I am here, then there’s no possibility you’ll ever need anyone else to act as chatelaine-cum-steward. No power on earth will prevent me from filling the role I’ve spent the past three years making mine.”
His lips had curved long before she finished speaking, and as the last syllable fell from her lips, he replied, “I hoped you’d say that.”
