Page 101 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
Patrick looked flummoxed. “Doing what?”
Rory smiled—a genuinely happy smile. “Making musical instruments—wooden ones. I’ve orders rolling in, more than I can easily fill. They—those hereabouts—are saying I should perhaps take on an apprentice to teach, and I think maybe they’re right. I also consult with the local cattle stud—and for that, I admit, I owe a debt to Benbeoch. Not to you, but to old Smithy and the others who taught me all about breeding the beasts.”
Patrick was frowning.
Gregory suspected it was Rory’s smile—the real emotion behind it—that had given his father greatest pause.
After a tense moment, Patrick switched his gaze to Hamish, standing at Rory’s left. “And what about you, heh?” Patrick barked. “You found your calling, too?”
Hamish had relaxed somewhat while Rory had been speaking and stood at ease with his hands clasped behind his back. In response to his father’s goading questions, Hamish’s smile was almost as content as Rory’s. “As it happens, I have. I’m working with stone—both as a stonemason and also a sculptor—and I’ve more work than I can handle on both counts already, and I’ve only been here a few weeks.” He tipped his head Rory’s way. “I can already see, with orders building as they are, that like Rory, I’ll be thinking of taking on an apprentice soon. I also help the Home Farm here with their sheep.”
Patrick blinked and blinked, then shifted his gaze to Daniel. Considerably less aggressively—less confidently—he inquired, “And you?”
Again came a radiant smile, one of joy in a life that was fulfilling Daniel’s dreams. “There are other painters here, Da, and they’ve invited me to join their business, and I’ve agreed. We’re heading to London next week to show our pieces to a gallery owner there. He invited us at the recommendation of Sir Gerrard Debbington!”
Patrick made a scoffing sound, although it lacked his earlier certainty. “And he’ll pay you what? A few shillings for your daubs? How can you make a living from that?” Sensing weakness, Patrick was working up a head of steam. “And who’s this Sir Gerrard Debbington when he’s at home, heh?”
Evenly, Gregory said, “I believe my uncle is generally held to be the pre-eminent landscape painter of his generation. Consequently, in the art world, his recommendations tend to open doors to serious opportunities.” Smoothly, he went on, “Regarding the painters’ business, which runs out of the Hall and thus operates under the estate’s aegis, since inheriting the estate earlier this year, I have, of course, run my eye over the profitability of the businesses it supports. I can, therefore, testify that the business based on the painters’ joint efforts is very firmly in the black, with the income more than adequate to cover all associated costs as well as providing a nice personal income to the four gentlemen involved. Their pending expansion onto the London—and by that, I mean the ton’s—stage will only further elevate the return on their investments of time, effort, and creativity.”
Patrick was growing increasingly bewildered. No longer glowering, he stared at Gregory for several long moments, then said. “Are you telling me that”—he glanced at his sons, then flung out a hand at them and looked back at Gregory—“that being a maker of musical instruments and a carver of stone and a painter, for the Lord’s sake, are…are…”
“Worthwhile and profitable professions?” Gregory smiled. “Indeed.” He looked at the three brothers; they’d grown on him. “I believe I speak for all those living on the estate when I say that your sons have proved to be welcome additions to our ranks.” He caught Patrick Fergusson’s eye. “They’ve earned their places among us, and each is respected for the talents and skills they’re contributing to our broader enterprise.”
Now, Patrick looked concerned, albeit in a fatherly way. But after a moment, his resistance hardened, and he gruffly growled, “If you remain here, I warn you, I’ll disinherit the lot of you.”
Regardless of the words, anyone who heard them would know he didn’t mean them.
Rory sighed. “Da, you’ve known for years that we take after Mama. We’re artists of one stripe or another”—he tipped his head toward his brothers—“all of us. We’re never going to be happy or settled at Benbeoch. It never was our home.” He paused and slanted a glance at Hamish, who caught it and held it for an instant, then nodded. Rory looked back at Patrick and said, “And speaking of home, it’s not just Caitlin being here that makes us feel we’ve found our place. Both Hamish and I have met ladies”—Rory hauled in a tight breath and let it out with—“who we hope to ask to be our wives. If they accept us, then given Morgan’s not going to be ready to front any altar for years, your best chance at being a grandfather will be here.”
Patrick looked shocked, but in a taken-aback way. He clearly hadn’t thought of that.
Hamish stirred. “So, Da, no matter what you threaten, it won’t make us come to heel and follow you back. We’ve found our places here—”
“Doing what we love,” Daniel put in.
Hamish and Rory nodded, and Hamish went on, “So we’ll be staying here, alongside Caitlin.” Hamish’s, Rory’s, and Daniel’s gazes all switched to Gregory. “And,” Hamish continued, “we’ll be looking out for her, so you won’t need to worry about that.”
Patrick swiveled to look at Gregory. After a moment, he asked, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer, “Caitlin—what’s her place here?”
Gregory smiled as reassuringly as he could. “Your niece is the Hall’s chatelaine, but she also fills the role of steward. She accepted the post three years ago, when she first came to Bellamy Hall and the position was offered to her by the previous owner.”
“A relative of yours?” Patrick asked, clearly still harboring all sorts of suspicions.
Gregory inclined his head. “Mrs. Timms was my great-aunt Lady Bellamy’s companion for many years. All the Cynsters consider Timms a member of our family, although technically, she’s a close connection.”
Patrick was puzzled. “So what does Caitlin do?”
Rory grinned. “What you’d expect her to do, Da. She manages everyone on the entire estate.”
Gregory’s lips twitched. He straightened them, but inclined his head in agreement. “In a nutshell, that is, indeed, what she does.” To Patrick, he said, “There are fifteen active businesses—all profitable and expanding—that operate from the Hall estate. That’s not counting Rory’s new enterprise or Hamish’s stonemasonry business. As Daniel has joined an existing business, we now have seventeen businesses, and Caitlin organizes everything required to keep them running smoothly.”
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw with some surprise that it was nearly three o’clock. He frowned. “I could give you chapter and verse, which would underscore how vital to everyone—literally everyone on the estate—Caitlin and her abilities are, but…” He looked at Rory, Hamish, and Daniel. “I’m rather concerned that she’s not yet here.”
Daniel offered, “She told me she was off to the Osiery to speak with Mrs. Poole about an order.”
Gregory nodded. “But I would have thought she would have returned by now.”
The drawing room doors—which Cromwell had silently shut behind the brothers—were abruptly thrust open, and the normally correct butler, white-faced and close to panicking, pushed through, guiding a gasping William Poole, who was doubled over, trying to catch his breath.
