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She felt a buzz in her pulse, and broke into a smile.
"One thing few mentioned, but which occurred to me would be the pleasure of a tinkling fountain, a soothing sound."
"Yes," he agreed. "If water pipes could be installed. Perhaps at the rear wall where the sounds of water flowing might mask noises from the mews."
"I love the sundial. I am amused at how many people, particularly the gentlemen, approach the sundial, peer at it for a moment, and then take out their pocket watches to calculate its accuracy."
He responded with a warm laugh.
"I've done it myself."
"If there were children about, I’d suggest a swing. The ladies might enjoy it."
"Another good idea to draw folks further into the area," he said, gently swirling his cup.
"Can you light it in the evening? I could envision an interlude of music, a small ensemble after sunset, when people have returned from the strand, perhaps one or two evenings a week."
"You have excellent ideas, Miss Montgomery. I should repay your efforts."
Ronnie caught herself wishing again, as she so often had, that he might feel as warmly toward her as she did toward him.
"Actually, I could name a possible compensation I’d appreciate."
In surprise, he laughed.
"And what could that be?"
"You may think that I am far too curious, and even impertinently prying for asking, but I would like to know more about you - where you spent your childhood, your experience in the army. I know I risk your resentment, but I want to know how you got your injuries. And how you became a hotel proprietor."
For what seemed an eternity, he said nothing and simply stared at his empty teacup.
At last he looked up at her and shook his head.
"You do not want to hear all of that. My story has portions not suitable for polite conversation. But I can tell you how I ended up here at the Royal Arms, where I am not the owner, but merely an employee in day-to-day charge."
"Now," she said, "I am the one who is all ears."
"After I was released from the hospital, I came to Weymouth hoping that the sea bathing would return me to battle readiness. The cures certainly helped. But improvements were very slow. Eventually I'd been staying here so long, I began to help the manager and the chef now and then. They became good friends, and when that manager was recruited for a new position in London, he and Chef Andre talked me into trying a stretch running the place, strictly temporary. The owner agreed. That was two years ago, and I am still here. Rather enjoying it most of the time."
"You had no special training? No one in your family ran an inn?"
"Hardly. I suppose the owner thought that anyone who'd been directing army operations must have a talent for organisation. And they liked my rank. But I did have to change my name. I was born Andrew Haverstone-Smythe, but Captain Drew fit better onto my desk nameplate.
"I see," she said. "How do you do, Captain Haverstone-Smythe."
"Don't tell a soul."
"Then explain what landed you in a hospital in the first place," she demanded.
He scowled and spoke quietly.
"In Portugal. The battle of Buçaco, almost five years ago."
"I'm sorry to remind you, but," she paused to restrain the tightness in her throat. "But I care about you. Can I help?"
She reached for his motionless arm and lifted his hand to her lips, kissing the remaining fingers.
With his left hand he took back his right arm, returning it to the usual position.
