“No.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound.
“It was not wicked of either your father or your mother,” he said. “I had done nothing to earn her love, and I did not deserve yours. I ruined my own life and your mother’s over grief for what I could not have. And all the time I had a treasure in my grasp that I did not recognize until it was too late.”
“You married again,” she said.
“A year after your mother went to London.” He sighed. “I wanted a son. I wanted someone to hand everything on to. Perhaps I wanted some redemption too. I wanted to try again, to see if I could do better than I had done the first time. Isabelle was a good woman. She was better than I deserved, and we were contented together despite the age difference. But we never did have children. We were denied that blessing. She died two years ago.”
Samantha said nothing. But she turned her head to look at Ben, her eyes wide and blank.
“I am sorry,” Bevan said. “The most useless three words in the English language when they are used together. I wish I could go back. I have wished it year after year since the night I smashed that glass above your mother’s head. But that is something that is not granted to any of us. None of us can go back. I thought at least you must know about me, though. I thought your mother would have told you.”
“No,” she said. “But she ought to have done. Ben said to me yesterday that we all have a story to tell. My mother had a story, but she never told it. Perhaps she meant to. Perhaps she thought I was too young. I was only twelve when she died. My father did not tell it either, but I suppose he felt it was not his story to tell. Except that I ought to have known.”
“You know now,” he said, and he got to his feet to pull on the bell rope, “and it is not a pretty story. I cannot think of anything to add that might make you think it worth your while to accept me as your grandfather, Samantha. I wish I could, but I can’t. I obviously did terrible damage to another human being, my own daughter, and I have no excuse for that. And no right to lay any claim to the affection of her daughter.”
“I have no one,” Samantha said.
“Your brother?”
“Half brother,” she said. “No.”
“Your uncles and aunts and cousins on your father’s side? Your father- and mother-in-law and your sister- and brothers-in-law?”
“No.”
He turned his eyes on Ben and gazed steadily at him.
“And when are you leaving, Major Harper?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” Ben said.
They looked at each other for a few moments longer, taking each other’s measure, until a servant answered the summons of the bell.
“You can remove the tray,” Bevan told him, “and have Major Harper’s carriage brought around to the door.”
He waited until the servant had withdrawn and then looked at Samantha’s bowed head.
“You can have me,” he told her. “If you want me.”
She looked up at him. “I want to live in peace at my cottage,” she told him. “I want to be alone. But perhaps one day I will tell you my story. Perhaps I will tell you everything that led up to my coming here. But not yet.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her words.
“It is time for you to go home, Samantha,” he said. “The major will see you safely there.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. It has been a pleasant evening.”
“It has, indeed.”
He shook Ben by the hand, kissed Samantha’s cheek, and was again the smiling, genial host.
21
They traveled back to the cottage in silence. And when the carriage stopped and the coachman opened the door and set down the steps before withdrawing, neither of them spoke for a while. He took her gloved hand in his.
“Samantha,” he said at last, “would you like me to stay for a few more days? Until you have had time to digest what you have heard and made some decision?”
Ah, she was so tempted to say yes. To cling to him. To use him as an emotional prop. And to postpone the inevitable goodbye just a little longer.
“No,” she said. “I need to be alone for a while. Everything I have known about my life has been turned upside down. I need to do some thinking.”
Alone. She was going to be alone. Without him. Forever.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
“Shall we say goodbye now?” he asked her. “Or shall I call here before I leave in the morning?”
She almost panicked then. She almost threw herself against him. She almost begged him not to go, never to go.
And yet she had spoken truth. She needed to be alone.
Would she be able to deal with goodbye better in the morning? No, she decided. There was never a good time for goodbye. And it would be unfair to him. He would want to be on his way.
“Now,” she said. And she turned on her seat and took both his hands in hers and raised them to her cheeks. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I do thank you, Ben, for all you have done for me. And I thank you for the past week. It has been a great pleasure. Has it not?” She turned her face up to his and tried to smile.
“It has,” he agreed. “Samantha—”
“If your travels ever bring you back to Wales,” she said hastily, “perhaps … No, that would not be a good idea, would it? I will remember with pleasure. I hope you will too.”
“I will,” he said, and he leaned toward her and set his lips to hers in a long, lingering kiss while they clung to each other’s hands.