As he drew closer to the white house on the hill above Fisherman’s Bridge, Ben could think only of the fact that he was within a couple of miles or so of Samantha, that he would see her again soon. Perhaps at the ball tonight if she was not estranged from her grandfather? Perhaps tomorrow at her cottage if she was—and if she was willing to receive him. But there was no reason, surely, why she would not even if she did not wish to continue their acquaintance.
Had she forgotten him? That was a ridiculous notion, of course. Certainly she would not have done so. But … had she moved on with her life to a point where he no longer had any place in it? Her official year of mourning was at an end. She had been here several months. Was there someone else by now? Someone who did not remind her in any way of the late wars? And did she have any sort of relationship with her grandfather? Bevan had not said either way, and Ben, of course, had not asked.
He took his canes from Quinn’s hand when he had descended from the carriage and made his slow way up the steps and into the house. He was immediately cheered by the welcome warmth given off by twin fires on either side of the marbled hall, which was decorated with festoons of ivy and bright-berried holly for the season. His host was waiting for him and came forward to greet him, right hand extended, a broad beam of a smile on his face.
“Major,” he said—he always called Ben that even though the rank was not really a part of his name any longer. “You must be frozen and fatigued. And you are the last of my guests to arrive. It is quite dusk out there already, isn’t it, even though it is still only late afternoon. Never mind. Today is the darkest day of the year. Things can only get better from now on. What? No wheeled chair today?”
“Bevan. Good to see you.” Ben clasped his hand. “Unfortunately, no one has yet invented a chair that will climb or descend steps. Besides, I am not a cripple and feel the occasional urge to prove it.”
“I don’t think anyone in his right mind would think of calling you any such thing,” Bevan said. “Come upstairs to the drawing room. Never mind your appearance. The tea tray is still there and more hot water will be brought. I’ll see that some brandy is added to your cup, purely for medicinal purposes, of course. Come and meet my other guests.”
It took a while, as usual, to climb the stairs, but Quinn was waiting at the top with his chair, into which Ben sank gratefully. He would more easily be able to greet the other guests and shake hands with them if he did not have to cling to his canes while trying to ignore his discomfort.
There were a dozen people or so in the room. A few of the men, Ben had met before since they were business colleagues of Bevan’s. Others were strangers, as were all the women.
Ah.
Except one. He inhaled deeply and held the breath.
She was coming toward them across the room, a smile on her face, both hands extended. She was wearing a wool day dress of deep forest green to match the greenery with which the drawing room too was decorated. It was obviously a new dress, far more elegant and fashionable than anything he had seen on her in the early summer. Her dark, almost black hair was swept back in a sleekly elegant chignon. She was smiling warmly.
He exhaled slowly.
She was a part of her grandfather’s life, then.
“Ben.” She set her hands in his, and his fingers closed tightly about them. They were warm while his were still cold from the outdoors.
“Samantha.”
For a moment they gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. But then she stepped back the length of her arms, though her hands remained in his.
“But what is this?” She was looking at his chair. “Oh, don’t answer. It is obvious what it is. You have not—grown weaker?”
“Stronger,” he said. “I am no longer ashamed to admit that my legs do not work as other people’s do. I am as I am. I still walk, but I can get around much faster and more efficiently with my chair.”
Her smile deepened and she squeezed his hands before releasing them and looking up at Bevan.
“Grandpapa, shall I introduce Ben to everyone else, or will you?”
She had the faintest trace of a Welsh lilt to her voice, Ben noticed. It was very attractive. Indeed, it sent a slight shiver up his spine.
“I will, my dear,” her grandfather said firmly. “You look after the major’s needs. Call for more hot water if you will and pour him some tea. And add a touch of brandy. He looks frozen.”
“Yes,” she agreed before turning away. “The tip of his nose is red.”
Ben’s hand went up to cover it as though he would be able to feel its redness.
He was soon involved in a round of introductions to those he did not know, an exchange of greetings with those he did. Everyone was in a sociable, festive mood. Conversation was brisk and hearty, and Ben settled to enjoying himself despite his undeniable fatigue.
And despite the fact that his head was spinning from seeing Samantha again. He had forgotten just how very vibrant her beauty was.
Had her greeting been anything more than sociable? He had thought so, but he noticed now that she spoke as warmly and with just as bright a smile to everyone else during the minutes before she brought him his tea.
Was she glad to see him? More than glad?
Of one thing he was certain. The months he had spent apart from her had not dimmed his feelings for her. Quite the opposite, if anything. Seeing her again now, he knew that he was more than just in love with her. He knew she was essential to his happiness.
And then she did come with his tea and a piece of fruit cake on a tray. But she did not give them to him or set them down beside him. Instead she bent to speak quietly to him.