The Escape (Survivor's Club) (39 page)

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.

“I am going to have a servant carry the tray and show you the way to your room,” she said. “You are in pain, Ben. And you may not deny it. I recognize the signs.”

“I suppose,” he said, “I am smiling too much.”

“Not too much,” she said, “but in too wolflike a way, with your teeth clenched. Quite frightening, in fact.”

He laughed at her as she straightened up and led the way to the door. He made his excuses to the group around him and followed her.

She had not forgotten, then, that travel did not agree too well with him. She had noticed that he was in pain though he had made an effort to disguise the fact.

Ah, Samantha.

I
t should seem like a sign of defeat that he was propelling himself about in a wheeled chair instead of walking with his canes, Samantha thought as she dressed later for dinner and the grand ball. Yet it was not. Somehow it was quite the opposite.

I am no longer ashamed to admit that my legs do not work as other people’s do. I am as I am
.

Despite the fact that he had been in obvious pain—obvious to her, at least—she had been able to see a new confidence in him. He looked like a successful man who had found his place in the world and was at peace with it. And yet he was working for a salary for a man who was not even a gentleman by birth, while he was a titled gentleman with property and a fortune of his own.

Sir Benedict Harper was a fascinating mixture of contradictions, with which he seemed quite happy.

She had come to Cartref yesterday, bringing a delighted
Gladys with her as well as Tramp, of course, who had taken up happy residence in the kitchen, where he had become a favorite during the past months. Ben had been expected yesterday but had not arrived even though she and her grandfather had waited up late for him. And today he had been the last of the guests to arrive. Each time someone else came, she had hidden her disappointment and growing sense of gloom behind smiles of welcome. He was just not going to come, she had concluded at last. Something had changed his mind. Perhaps it was the prospect of seeing her again. Perhaps he just could not face telling her that he had moved on since early summer, that he had no desire to renew or to further their acquaintance.

And then, when the gloom of early evening was already settling in, he had come.

She had forced herself to remain in the drawing room with everyone else while her grandfather went downstairs alone to greet him. It had been something of a shock to see him wheel himself into the room in a chair. She had sensed something different about him at the same time as he had looked so achingly familiar that it had amazed her she had not always been able to bring his face into clear focus in her memory.

His greeting had been warm despite his cool hands. Certainly he had watched her with steady eyes as she approached across the room. But he had been in pain, and their journey from County Durham had rushed back to her memory. Of course he was in pain—and hiding the fact behind smiles and warm handshakes, the foolish man, and so there had been no chance for further conversation with him.

Ah, but if she had ever doubted it during the last few months, she doubted no longer. She loved him utterly, totally, pain and lame legs notwithstanding. She loved
him
.

But perhaps he had come here only to discuss business with Grandpapa.

“There, Mrs. McKay,” Gladys said. “I do like your hair with some curls and ringlets. And you look awfully good in royal blue. The color would swallow up most women, me included, but you can take it with your bold coloring. I wish
I
was dark like you. I bet all the single men will have an eye for you tonight and some of the married ones too, I don’t doubt, though I oughtn’t to say it out loud, ought I? My mam says it comes natural to men to look at women no matter if they are married or not. That major is here, isn’t he? I thought he was ever so gorgeous back in the summer there. I was disappointed when he went away and nothing happened. Disappointed for you, I mean, not for me. That would be silly. But he has come back even if he
was
late and almost missed the ball. I bet
he
will have an eye for you. He did back then, but I suppose he knew you was in mourning for Mr. McKay and it wouldn’t be right to press his attentions on you, didn’t he? You aren’t now, though. Are you glad to see him? I bet you are.”

“It is very pleasant to see him again,” Samantha said.

“Ho, I bet it’s more than pleasant,” Gladys said. “Even more than
very
pleasant. There. Your necklace is done up. I always have trouble with that particular catch. You are ready to go. Oh, you look a treat.”

“Thank you,” Samantha said, laughing, and she wondered for a moment what Matilda would think of a maid like Gladys. But Matilda was someone from her long distant past even though it was considerably less than a year since they had been living together at Bramble Hall.

She went downstairs early in order to step into the ballroom to see that all was ready for later. Not that it was her responsibility. Her grandfather had made all the arrangements.

The ballroom was large and two stories high. Floor-length mirrors on both long walls made the room seem even larger and multiplied the effect of all the Christmas greenery with which it was decorated. The wood floor gleamed. There were instruments on the dais—the orchestra members would be downstairs having their dinner. Three great chandeliers rested on the floor. All the candles would be lit just before the ball, and they would be raised to hang from the ceiling.

It seemed an extravagance to have such a room in the depths of the country, but her grandfather had told her it had almost always been used several times each year for balls and fetes and grand banquets.

She did not linger. It was time for dinner.

Samantha was seated at the foot of the table as her grandfather’s hostess. He had arranged the seating though she had offered to do it for him. She had Mr. Morris, his white-haired lawyer, on her left, Ben on her right. She was surprised by the latter placement. She would have expected him to be seated higher at the table. But when she glanced along its length, her grandfather’s eyes twinkled back at her.

He had been matchmaking from the start, of course.
Interfering
, she had called it back then. But after Ben had left, he had scarcely mentioned him, and she had concluded that she must have been mistaken. She knew now she had not been. Wily old Grandpapa had known that they must be separated so that her new neighbors would not be scandalized, that she must be given time to live out the year of her mourning. And now, just as he had planned it from the start, he had brought them back together—on the day of his grand festivity. He had set the stage and hoped they would play their parts.

Would
they?

She had not seen Ben for the past several months, and
she knew something fundamental in him had changed. Did she have any part in his new life?

Samantha turned her attention to Mr. Morris while Ben conversed with Mrs. Davies, wife of one of Grandpapa’s Swansea friends, on his other side. But before the first course was finished, Mrs. Fisher, wife of Grandpapa’s physician from Tenby, claimed Mr. Morris, and Samantha glanced at Ben. He was gazing steadily back.

“You are in fine looks, Samantha,” he said. “Finer than fine, in fact, even if you are looking a little less sun-bronzed than when I last saw you.”

He was looking very fine too in his black form-fitting evening coat, gold-embroidered waistcoat, and gleaming white linen. His starched shirt points were high but not ridiculously so. His neckcloth was tied in an intricate style that had drawn glances of envy from two of the younger male guests in the drawing room earlier. A single diamond winked from its folds.

“You have changed.” She leaned a little toward him. “You have found what you were looking for, have you not? Down a coal mine.”

He smiled at that. “There are worse places,” he said, “though I cannot for the life of me think of any.”

She had always loved his smile. It was the expression she had remembered best through the past months, she realized. He had white, even teeth, and his eyes narrowed slightly and crinkled into laugh lines at the outer corners.

“You are happy?” she asked him.

“I have enjoyed the experience,” he told her. “And I have learned a great deal from it, both about the job and about myself.”

“What
about yourself?”

“Mainly,” he said, “that I can work with my handicap rather than let it work against me. Indeed, I do not even think of it as a handicap any longer.”

She beamed at him and leaned slightly to one side while a servant removed her plate.

“But do you intend to keep working for Grandpapa?” she asked.

He seemed to give his answer some thought while his own plate was being removed. “That depends,” he said.