“You must accept the employment, Ben,” she said. “With my approval and blessing. I believe it will work wonderfully for you, though your family will think you have taken leave of your senses when they know. Go and be happy. And we will let Christmas take care of itself, shall we?”
“Yes. No commitments. No obligations.”
He got to his feet, and she noticed that she had not even poured the tea.
“Ben.” She hurried toward him, and he cast aside his canes in order to wrap his arms about her. “Oh, Ben. Be happy.”
“And you,” he said, his breath warm against her ear, his arms like iron bands around her.
They did not kiss.
And then he took up his canes again and made his way to the door.
“Shall I come out to the barn to see you on your way?” she asked.
“No.” He did not turn to look at her, but he smoothed a hand over Tramp’s head. “Take care of her, you great wretch of a hound.”
Tramp stood with his nose against the door after Ben had closed it on the other side, his tail wagging.
Samantha spread both hands over her face and drew a deep breath.
I have feelings.
She had not even said that much to him in reply.
22
Perhaps the most surprising and significant thing about the next few months, Ben thought later as he looked back on them, was that he commissioned a wheeled chair to be made for himself, one with which he could propel himself about. He used it a great deal and wondered why he had not done it years ago. He had been too stubborn, of course, to give up his dream of walking unassisted again. And he could not really fault himself for that dream. Without it he probably would not have walked at all ever again. But he was very much more mobile in his chair. In fact, it set him free.
He no longer thought of himself as crippled. He could ride, he could move about freely with his chair, he could and did walk, and he could swim. He tried to do it every day when there was the sea or a lake close by.
He enjoyed those months immensely despite all the hard work that was involved—or perhaps because of it. He started from a position of total ignorance and ended up knowing as much about the working of the mines and ironworks as anyone, his employer included. And his work was indeed the next best thing to being back with his regiment. He had always liked people. And he had always had a gift for getting them to like him, even those who were subordinate to him and subject to his command. He might well have been resented in his new role. He was English, he was of the privileged classes, he was half crippled, he was lamentably ignorant and inexperienced. And perhaps he was resented at the beginning. Wisely, he did not worry about whether he was popular or not. He did not set about being liked. And perhaps that was the secret of his success. For respect, liking, and loyalty came gradually as he earned them.
Mr. Bevan spent a good deal of time with him. Ben liked him and learned from him. Ben had ideas of his own too, mainly about transportation and shipping, for which Bevan hired outside companies at great expense. But he kept those ideas to himself at this early stage of his career. This was the time to listen and learn.
He did not write to any of his family or friends for several months. He did not want to hear or be influenced by their opinions on what he was doing. They were bound to be negative. And he did not want to confide in anyone until he was more certain about his long-term future. There was the whole question of Samantha too. He did not want to tell anyone about her until there was something to tell—if there ever was anything. He had told her he had feelings for her. She had not said she returned those feelings. And he had not been specific about his own.
He heard very little about her during those months. He made it a point never to ask Bevan about her, and sometimes he thought the man deliberately refrained from mentioning her himself. There were only a few stray snippets of information, tantalizing in their very brevity. She had had a pianoforte delivered to the cottage, Bevan mentioned on one occasion. How did he know? Had he seen the instrument? Or had someone told him about it? She had attended an assembly at the village inn in celebration of the harvest, but she had worn lavender to indicate mourning and had refused to dance. But had Bevan seen her there? Or had he been told?
Ben did not even know if she had a relationship with her grandfather. He did not know if time had erased him from her mind, or if she was glad he was gone. As for him, he had fallen in love during those brief weeks he had spent with her, and he remained in love, as he never had with any woman before.
Finally, in early November, Ben wrote three letters—to Calvin, to Beatrice, and to George at Penderris Hall. Calvin wrote back immediately and with a warmth Ben found surprising and rather touching. He and Julia had been frantic with worry, Calvin had written. Beatrice had informed them that he had gone traveling in Scotland, but as time had gone on and no one heard from him, they had been sick with apprehension, for they would not know where to begin looking for him if he never returned, and Scotland was a large country. Yet all the time he had been in Wales. He gave no opinion of what Ben had been doing with his time. His letter was filled with obvious relief over his brother’s safety and brief details of the harvest at Kenelston and other estate matters.
It seemed after all, Ben thought, that his brother loved him.
Beatrice’s letter was full of amazement and good-natured scolding for his long silence. Gramley, she reported, had given it as his opinion that his brother-in-law had taken leave of his senses, if it was true that he was working down a coal mine. Bea thought it was all vastly diverting and wondered when and if her brother would recover from the novelty of actually working for a living. She went on to complain about Mr. and Mrs. Rudolph McKay, whose presence at Bramble Hall was a severe trial to everyone else in the neighborhood—and to ask Ben if he had heard about Mrs. Samantha McKay’s fleeing back in the early summer, never to be heard from again. I do hope she is kicking up her heels somewhere exotic, enjoying life, she wrote. Apparently she was expected to go to Leyland Abbey under heavy guard, there to live at the tender mercy of the Earl of Heathmoor and that killjoy of a sister-in-law whom you met when you were here.