As she lay in bed gazing up at the canopy, she recalled her first meeting with Jonathan. Was it possible she had begun admiring him romantically from the moment they'd met?
She cast her mind back to their initial meeting about eight months before. Jonathan had been new to the parish, and had heard her father had been very unwell for some time. Her father had taken a sudden bad turn, which had left him confused and not able to use his left side very well.
Jonathan had visited with a basket filled with things easy for an invalid to eat, and his Bible.
"I'm sorry you haven't been able to leave the sickroom to join us in services. Would you be needing some spiritual comfort now?" he had asked.
"Oh, indeed," she had said gratefully.
She had been acutely conscious of her disheveled appearance, her plain dark day gown made of plain homespun and her stained apron. Her hair had worked it way out of her plain brown tortoiseshell combs to curl all around her damp temples. She'd felt mortified that any of her father's associates should find her thus. Especially one as handsome as Jonathan Deveril.
She'd been stunned when he had explained the true purpose of his errand. Only the poor state of her father's health had stopped her from bursting out laughing and telling him not to tease so.
As it was she was sure she had stared at him like a nodcock for an eternity, before recollecting herself and asking him to step into the small parlor.
She had immediately requested leave to fetch tea and be allowed to wash her hands, but he had taken her elbow gently, and seated her on a low chair, her favorite one in fact. He had pushed forward a stool, and lifted her feet onto it. Even through her petticoats the contact of his huge hard hands upon her ankles had sent a shiver of indescribable sensations coursing through her body.
Pamela had told herself to stop being so silly, that he was only the new vicar. But the plain fact was that for all his religious calling, he was an incredible man. Tall, with sandy hair, not quite blond, not quite brown, which topped the well-shaped head which towered over hers. His broad shoulders were, she was sure, twice the size of her own. His clothes were somewhat less than fashionable, but of exceedingly good quality.
Well, it was ever the fate of younger sons to have to go into either the Army or the Church, she had assumed when they had first met. No matter how ill suited they might be to either career, she had noted to herself, as she had sat staring at the most unclerical new vicar as though a huge tawny lion had suddenly appeared in her sitting room.
She had taken in his steel-gray eyes, high cheekbones, sensual lips which looked ready to smile or kiss at a moment's notice. She felt sure this man had to be a breaker of hearts. She had immediately tensed, on the alert, for often vicars could be exceedingly ambitious, and determined to marry well to make up for their deficiencies in their own material status.
But Jonathan had been nothing if not kind and gentle, not at all flirtatious. He had certainly appeared devout, and prayed with her. Then he had asked her if she wanted to confess her sins.
She had surprised herself by saying yes, and admitted in a small, pained tone that she found herself so tired all the time, and not a little resentful of all she had to do. How the burdens devolved upon her most of the time. She knew she should not resent it, for her aunt was silly and not even her father's relative. Her stepmother was too imperious, and not willing to take a turn in the sick room.
"I also know she has the four little ones to look after. So I'm the only logical person to nurse him, I know, yet I feel, well, so at sea. And, well, envious of others their easy life. Though I know that I did have a very easy one until this happened.
"It's just so unfair, him being so ill. He was always so hale and hearty, and I hate the thought of losing him. But no matter what I do for him, he gets weaker every day. I have to resign myself to his passing, but I'm just so angry and bereft. And so tired."
He had heard her confession in relative silence, but when she had finished he had looked into her eyes in such an intimate way that she had been torn between backing away and putting her head on his shoulder to weep.
In the end Jonathan had acted before she could do either, taking her hand firmly but gently in his own. She glanced down, blushed, and was fascinated by the way it fit so neatly into his enormous palm.
"You have no reason to feel guilty. There's nothing wrong with wanting some time to yourself. It's been a huge adjustment for you. You're very young, and it's been a terrible shock. Your emotions are in turmoil, as you said, grief and fear and loss. These are only natural, and do you credit as a good daughter.
"You've probably tried too hard to do your duty and show your love to him. You evidently haven't been looking after yourself. Long hours, scanty meals, it's bound to take its toll. You can't be can't be at ease in mind if you are not in body.
"Please, as soon as you feel calmer, may I go sit with him for a time? My sister Sarah will be happy to help as well. And perhaps there might be a nurse that the doctor can recommend? She can teach you to care for him more efficiently and relieve some of the burden you feel."
"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you all to--"
"I offered, Miss Ashton. Please, take a turn about the garden, or lie down, or pick up a book you enjoy and go sit in a place where no one will disturb you. Go away for at least an hour. I insist."
"But I've already been away for--" she began to object, looking at the clock.
He cut off her protestations. "It's all right. I'll ring for a servant if there are any problems. Show me to his chamber and I shall pray with and for him."
Pamela had hovered at the bedchamber door anxiously, but he had shooed her away with his hand. He'd given her a warm smile and wink. "Go on, little miss. Off with you."
"Are you certain?" she had asked in a doubtful tone.
"Go on now. I'll be here for as long as you need me."
From that day forward, Jonathan had kept his word. He had visited her father often, giving Pamela some welcome relief, some time to herself to rest, or to get some fresh air. His sister had helped as well.
The intimacy amongst the three of them had not increased, however, for she had usually been catching up on her sleep or just going out into the garden alone for half an hour. Some of the people she had considered friends of herself or the family had visited for the first few weeks, but gradually most of them had fallen off.
Only Sarah and Jonathan had remained steady visitors, and the Elthams and Stones had called several times to see if there was anything they could do. She was sorry now that she had not made a better impression upon them. She had been awed by the Duke and Duchess when they had come with Jonathan, and the Stones had seemed so wise and very different from herself.
Now she was friends with them, and the Duke and Duchess were to be her hosts just as soon as they were able to go to Bath. She was to have a second chance with them, show them that she was not some naive little girl. She was determined to make the most of it.
Pamela stretched and rose from the bed, berating herself for daydreaming when she could be doing something useful. She was also irritated at herself for being so worldly that she had not been as good a friend to Sarah as she ought to have been after all her many kindnesses. She had dismissed the dark-haired older girl as pretty but unfashionable, on the shelf, though not many years older, only in her early twenties.
As for Jonathan, she had always admired him, but she to admit now that she had expected to, well, charm him. That he would change for her, that she could make him fit into her world.
She had teased him about his clothes, tried to engage him in racy conversation, and been pettish when she had not coaxed the responses from him which she had hoped. It was very badly done, she admitted that now, but it was so hard to live up to his ideals.
As she went through her morning toilette, she acknowledged that they weren't his ideals personally, but rather the Lord's. Idle gossip could and did damage in her society. She though of the spiteful tabbies who gossiped about
lovely young Penelope Winston even after all these years, whispering behind their hands because her name was forbidden to be spoken of aloud in her family's hearing for having had an illegitimate child after having been ravished. She shuddered again at the recollection of Jonathan saving her from Mr. Prine.
Even the Duke of Ellesmere was whispered about, though she assumed it was because of his Radical politics. As such, it had been something she was sure she wasn't the least bit interested in listening to. Now she was glad she had turned a deaf ear. If the Duke was friends with Jonathan, that was good enough for her.
As Pamela stroked the brush through her hair, she reflected that Jonathan had done so much for her since that first fateful visit to her home that it was hard to imagine him simply leaving her alone in Somerset while he went off to war again.
She owed him so much, not least of which had been his appropriate handling of her father's funeral. It had been tasteful, not lavish, but certainly an indication of her love and devotion to her most excellent father.
Jonathan had taken the whole thing onto his own shoulders, dealing with everything in an efficient but reverent manner. He had contacted all their friends and relatives, consulted with her on essentials, but ensured that she had not been burdened by the almost overwhelming duties.
Her stepmother had played the widow prostrate with grief to perfection, Pamela recalled with a sigh. Almost too perfectly, for she had not even been sure that Mrs. Ashton would leave her bed for the occasion.
Pamela tried not to let that thought sour her mood. Not when she was looking forward to a brisk morning ride. Then she looked around. What on earth could she wear?
A tap at the door sent her scurrying behind the screen. For some odd reason she half expected Jonathan's head to appear around the door, and then laughed at her foolishness. It was of course only a maid with a choice of riding habits and gowns for the day.
"We'll have a bath for you for when you come back, and a good hearty breakfast, Miss."
"Thank you. These are lovely."
"And here is your own gown, all freshened up for you," the tiny dark-haired maid said, hanging it in the wardrobe last.
"Thank you. You are too kind. Are the others up and about?"
"Yes, Miss. But do take your time."
Pamela was so eager to see Jonathan again that she spent only about ten minutes climbing into her clothes and boots and plaiting her hair. What would have normally taken over an hour was accomplished in jig time. She remembered with a small embarrassed smile Sarah's point about her clothes and hair being more simple allowing her time for so many other things.
Pamela almost skipped down the stairs, and gratefully received a cup of coffee and some toast from Jonathan's own hand. He was standing by the sideboard when she arrived in the breakfast room, and looked astonished to see her.
"Up with the larks? Or does this mean you didn't sleep well?" he asked with a worried frown.
"No, I feel quite refreshed. We have much to do today, and the prospect of a good gallop is just too much to resist, especially on such a fine morning."
"It is rather cold, though."
"I shall be well wrapped up with my cloak and bonnet, never fear." She smiled at him, already feeling a warm inner glow.
After they had all eaten, they went around to the stables, and Jonathan helped her up onto a magnificent gray mare with a black mane.
"Oh, she's adorable."
"Come, Miss Ashton, I insist you use the mounting box. It is most slippery on these cobblestones."
He stood at the top and offered his hand down to her.
Glad of the contact, she took his hand, squeezing it warmly.
He smiled at her, and saw her safely into the men's saddle.
"I guessed rightly, I see."
"Er, yes, sidesaddle is rather expected at the hunt meets, but I much prefer riding like this."
Jonathan got down off the box and up onto his own mount. She admired his fluidity and grace. For so large a man he moved with an elegant economy which she found breathtaking to watch. His clothes were still dark and somber, charcoal gray today, but they set off his coloring to perfection, she noted.
He looked over and smiled at her again. She looked away guiltily and kicked her horse into motion.
The whole household had turned out for a ride after all. At first the seven of them rode sedately enough down the bridle path leading away from Stone Court and into the fields, but Henry could not resist challenging Jonathan to a race. To their complete shock, Pamela spurred her horse as well, and only missed winning over Jonathan by a nose.
"My, you certainly held the course," he praised when they finally reined back in to a canter.
"She did indeed. Good girl. You two ride on. I'm going to catch my breath." Henry fell back to wait for his wife to draw parallel with him once more.
"I can be most determined when I wish to be."
"But we did not set the terms of the race. What is to be your prize?"
"I have already had it, Mr. Deveril."
"Oh?" he asked, his finely arched brows raising.
"Being invited here, getting to stay, and be welcomed so warmly by such pleasant companions."
"Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for inviting me. And for all the rest of it as well."
He glanced over at her. "The rest?" he echoed blankly.
"It occurs to me that you have been a guardian angel to me ever since you came into the district. I never would have managed without your help, and Sarah's, until Father went to his final rest. And when that occurred you could not have been more helpful, without being at all intrusive. It was a beautiful service. You went out of your way to find his old friends and have each one of them say something nice about him. It shamed me deeply, I have to admit. But I was so glad."
His face fell. "Shamed you? My dear, I would never--"
"No, I didn't mean it in a bad sense," she said hastily. "Only that thanks to you I saw him as not just a father, but as a person, a man. I was very sorry to not have had the chance to get to know him better in that capacity. I loved him, but I think I could have liked and admired him more."
"I understand," Jonathan said, nodding. "I feel the same way about my father. We were estranged because I went to war, and took orders. Mother and I too when she took his part."
Pamela stared at him, hardly able to grasp what kind of people would not have been proud to have such a magnificent gentleman for a son. "They did not approve? I would have thought most parents would have been delighted that you were doing something to help end tyranny."
He shook his head. "Don't fool yourself, Miss Ashton. There are many people, from all political parties, who admire Napoleon and would not mind him winning. The Whigs favor appeasement, even now that we are obviously winning."
She stared at him in shock. "But Bonaparte is a tyrant!"
He shrugged one shoulder. "True. But people are sheep. They like to follow the flock. I'm convinced that half the time Napoleon was victorious because the soldiers simply wanted to lose. Or did not think they could win."
"And will you be going again?" Pamela found herself asking, though she wanted to bite her tongue as soon as the words left her mouth.
"Going?"
"Back to the Army. I should think you'd like to be with your friends and comrades again. I know you've renounced violence, but an Army chaplain--"
He shook his head and settled further into his saddle. "No, I'm not planning to leave," he said, his tone weighed down with a myriad of emotions she could only begin to guess at. "You're right, I admit. I wish there was more I could do. But my duties here, my obligations to the Duke of Ellesmere, who has given me my parish, and all manner of kindness, have got to come second to everything else. Except my own conscience, of course."
"Ah yes, quite so," she said, hoping she didn't sound as relieved as she felt. "The Duke gave you your preferment, and the living is, I imagine, a very good one."
"Yes, living the good Ch
ristian life amongst such wonderful friends is the best of all worlds," he said, his eyes taking on a strange, pained look.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so worldly. Not when you friend Michael is suffering such untold hardship."
"No, it isn't that. It's just me being plagued by the blue devils again," he sighed.
"I'm sorry. I know you were distressed yesterday. I thought you were wrestling with your conscience. About going back to war," she added when he looked at her strangely once more.
He fiddled with his reins almost nervously. "Quite so. No, my conscience is clear, upon that point at least. My family and friends need me here, so here I shall stay. I will admit that I feel awfully selfish at times about doing so. But I have vowed to love and serve God all the days of my life. I can only do that through continuous good works."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 80
