Oh, but everything had changed.
“Strangely, yes,” he said. “Come to the inn for some tea.”
But as they turned their horses back into the village, they were hailed by a genial-looking, gray-haired man and a plump, smiling lady.
“Mrs. McKay?” the gentleman asked, doffing his tall hat.
Samantha inclined her head.
“Pardon me for intruding when you are out enjoying your ride,” he said, “but I thought it must be you and the gentleman who is staying at the inn—Major Harper, I believe? I am Ivor Jenkins, the vicar here, and this is my good wife. We are taking a stroll along the front to look at the boats, it being such a lovely day and my sermon for Sunday all written. It is my pleasure to welcome you to our community, Mrs. McKay, and to hope that we will see you at church on Sunday?”
Mrs. Jenkins did not say anything, but she beamed up at Samantha and nodded her head.
“I shall certainly be there,” Samantha assured them. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. I shall look forward to it.”
“Marvelous,” he said. “I hope you will enjoy my sermon, which I think particularly clever. I always do, though my parishioners often do not agree. I know you will enjoy the music. It has been said that when the whole congregation sings, the roof lifts an inch or two off its moorings. I don’t suppose it is true, is it, or it would blow away in a strong wind, but it is true that if you want to hear singing as it was meant to be heard, you must come to Wales.”
He joined in Samantha and Ben’s laughter.
“Ivor.” His wife set a hand on his arm.
“I will not keep you any longer,” the vicar said. “I have a tendency to do that when my good wife is not present to remind me that people have other things to do than stand talking with me. I look forward to serving you in my capacity as vicar, Mrs. McKay. And I hope you will enjoy the rest of your stay here, Major. We do not have much to offer here except scenery and views, but they are without compare, I always think.”
He restored his hat to his head, and he and his wife proceeded on their way across the bridge to look at the boats.
“There is a welcome here for you,” Ben said softly. “You can make a home here.”
“Can I?” She looked at him with troubled eyes for a moment and then smiled. “The Reverend Jenkins seems kindly, and his wife looks sweet, though it would appear she knows how to keep him in line. Yes, let’s go for tea, Ben.”
The sky was leaden gray, Samantha could see when she woke up the following morning. And when she sat up in bed, she could see that the water was a deeper shade of the same color. There were raindrops on the window. They did not obliterate the view, and she could not hear any more pelting against the panes. But it was not a promising start to the day.
She was hugely disappointed. If they could not swim today, Ben would perhaps leave instead. There was really not much reason for his staying any longer at the village inn, was there? She had a more than decent house in which to live, she had servants, she had her own competence and more at a bank in Tenby. A few people had nodded to her in the village yesterday, and the vicar and his wife had stopped to introduce themselves and welcome her. Both the landlord of the inn and his wife had chatted amiably with them over tea. No, there was no reason for him to stay any longer.
She was tempted to burrow beneath the bedcovers again and go back to sleep. But she knew it would be impossible. Besides, Tramp would be ready for a walk. And she could hear Gladys in her dressing room and Mrs. Price down in the kitchen. She could smell cooking. What a lazybones she must appear to them. They had both walked from the village this morning.
Ben planned to spend the morning at the inn, working on all the notes he had made in his journal to see if he could organize them into some semblance of chapters for the book he hoped to write. He was to come to the cottage during the afternoon. It was with some surprise, then, that Samantha heard horses’ hooves in the middle of the morning. She had been sorting through the volumes in the book room and went to the window.
It was Mr. Rhys.
He had come, he explained, to satisfy himself that Mrs. McKay had found everything in order and that she approved of the servants his clerk had picked out on her behalf. He was at her service, he told her, if there was anything more he could do for her.
She did not really want to ask. Indeed, the very idea of doing so made her feel almost physically ill. But while she might have remained blissfully ignorant of the answer for the rest of her life if she had stayed in England, there was no avoiding it indefinitely now that she was here.
“Mr. Rhys,” she said, “you mentioned the money my great-aunt left my mother and that my mother in turn left me. I did not know of it until two days ago. Is it a great deal?”
“I have a statement from the bank here with me,” he told her, reaching into the leather case he had set beside his chair. “I thought you would wish to know. I knew the principal but not the exact amount of interest that has accumulated. You can see for yourself, ma’am. You will be pleased, I think.”
He handed her a sheaf of papers.
She lowered her eyes to the top page. Please God, let it be a smallish sum, a pleasant addition to her own modest resources, but nothing too—Her eyes focused upon the total, and then she closed her eyes and licked lips turned suddenly dry.
“It is a nice tidy sum, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Tidy, Mr. Rhys.”
“I hope you are not disappointed,” he said. “Mr. Bevan left the bulk of his property and fortune to his son, which was only natural, I suppose, when he was going to be the one continuing with the business.”