Page 119 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
Later, after they’d done justice to the three delicious desserts Nessie had concocted and retreated to the drawing room to talk and exclaim and realign themselves with the less-dramatic demands of their normal lives, Caitlin found herself standing beside Gregory and listening as the others described Ecton Hall as they’d found it—an absolute wreck was the general consensus—and discussed what might now happen to the place.
Whether Gregory had ambled up to her or she had found her way to him, she couldn’t have said, but it seemed that he and she now felt most comfortable, most at ease, by each other’s side.
Together, they stood before the fireplace and chatted and laughed with the others as speculation as to who might take over Ecton Hall and what they might make of the old house grew ever more fanciful and wild.
Smiling, she surveyed the faces around her and detected a certain degree of smug happiness over being denizens of Bellamy Hall rather than of anywhere else, with secure and satisfying lives anchored by the place itself. Or more accurately, by what the estate had evolved into.
All those there—excluding only her uncle—plainly felt embraced, nurtured, and supported by the community that had grown within the estate’s boundaries.
It wasn’t anything to do with bricks and mortar or even land and lines on a map. Community was all about people, and they’d created a wonderful one there.
Her earlier thought of the Hall being her home echoed and resonated inside her. She knew that, within hours, she would have to make a decision and a declaration, but what that decision would be had never been clearer.
She glanced sidelong at Gregory and allowed her gaze to drink in his features—relaxed and plainly happy, indeed, content—and was struck by the simple epiphany that the biggest, heaviest, most powerful anchor holding her at Bellamy Hall was him.
Him and what he’d fostered there.
She was in no doubt that, had some other man come to fill the shoes of the owner of Bellamy Hall, this group and their collective contentment would not exist, not as it did now. The group as it was when he’d arrived would not have evolved as they had, into such a tightly knit crew, not without his input. Lady Bellamy had planted the seed, and Timms had steadily watered it, but it was Gregory who had given the entity the older ladies had created the opportunity and space to grow.
In that instant, she saw him clearly.
Just as she, fleeing from an untenable situation under her uncle’s regime at Benbeoch Manor, in taking refuge at Bellamy Hall on that long-ago winter’s night, had stumbled into her own true place—the role in which she fitted best and could do most good with her life—so, too, he had surely come to Bellamy Hall searching for his true place, and like her, he’d found it.
He’d recognized the possibility, seen the opportunity, and had carved out the role that now was his.
Smiling, she wondered if what they shared in emotional evolution was part of the attraction that simmered and thrummed beneath her skin.
Beneath his, too, as she was well aware.
He’d noticed her smile, and as his eyes trapped hers, he raised a questioning brow.
She let her smile deepen, boldly linked her arm with his, and eased a touch closer.
Under cover of the conversations rolling on around them, he dipped his head and murmured, “I suspect your uncle would like to have a word with you, and I would certainly appreciate exchanging several words with him regarding you.”
She glanced up, eyes widening.
Does he mean…?
He met her gaze and, with his own steady as a rock, murmured, “Are you up for that?”
Beaming, she let her answer shine in her eyes. “Indeed, I am.” Her uncle was chatting with Percy and Vernon while closely observing his sons. She waved in his direction. “Lead on.”
Chapter 17
With Gregory, Caitlin collected her uncle and cousins and led the group to the privacy of the library.
There, they settled in the armchairs about the nicely blazing fire, and Gregory handed out tumblers of whisky to her cousins and her uncle. The latter took one grudging sip, then, shocked, raised the glass and stared at the rich amber liquid.
Amused, Rory huffed. “It’s Glencrae.” He tipped his head toward Gregory. “He’s related to the earl.”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed on Gregory as he took a larger sip.
Smiling, Gregory smoothly said, “As I’ve already mentioned, I’m also related to the current Lady of the Vale of Casphairn and her twin, Marcus Cynster, who owns the old Hennessy estate and also helps his wife, Niniver, manage the even older Carrick estate, Niniver being the head of that clan. That”—he waved a long-fingered hand—“is by way of demonstrating that I have a connection with the area in which Benbeoch Manor lies and some understanding and affinity for Scottish ways as a prelude, Mr. Fergusson, to formally requesting your permission to pay my addresses to your niece and ward, Caitlin.”
Only a small flare of surprise gleamed in her uncle’s eyes; he’d suspected that request was coming. After a second’s hesitation, he snorted. “Do you think what I saw today will sway me to give you the nod?”
Wishing she’d asked more questions about what had occurred that day, especially between her uncle and her putative fiancé, she looked at Gregory.
