He also kept his word and called upon her one day, spending the entire afternoon and evening going over the most pressing affairs of the estate, showing her how to track their investments, and keep her checkbook balanced.
They paid out all their bills for the month, and she made notes to send to Gareth Cavendish describing their affairs, the number of head of cattle, acreage and so on.
With one thing and another, they saw each other almost daily, for Pamela had also taken to visiting many of the poorer families in the town and the outlying villages, occasionally with Sarah, and sometimes running into Jonathan whilst there. If some of the meetings were unlikely coincidences, she was too happy to question her good luck. She was being useful to many, and taking no small amount of pride in it.
Jonathan was very pleased with the fruits of Pamela's efforts. Many of them were actually with regard to him, if he did but know it. He couldn't seem to keep away from her. Just a few minutes in her company was enough to lift his grimmest mood.
Everyone in the parish was delighted to see the change in their vicar, his improved looks and better attention to his modest if fine wardrobe. They saw a new spring in his step, and even heard him whistling and singing under his breath.
His sister Sarah was stunned. Why, he had not sung since his poor fiancée Jane Eltham had ruined herself by eloping with the fiendish Herbert Paxton.
There were only two clouds on the lovely blond woman's horizon. Both Pamela's Aunt Susan and the Earl of Ferncliffe tried to discourage Pamela in her charitable endeavors.
The older woman declared she did not hold with helping the poor, though where Aunt Susan herself would be if they did not provide for her themselves, Pamela had no idea.
The Earl was less outspoken in his beliefs, but derogatory remarks about the reading lessons paired with mutterings about trained monkeys left her with a decidedly bad taste in her mouth.
"The poor are the poor. It is sad, but there is no help for it," he declared with an arrogant toss of his head as he sipped his tea in their drawing room one early spring afternoon.
"So that means we should not try to alleviate suffering wherever we can?" Pamela demanded, trying to keep her tone level and not quite succeeding.
"One person simply cannot make a difference," the Earl said politely, though she could see he was bored by the discussion.
"I don't believe that. And even if it were true, does it necessarily follow that the best course of action is simply to do nothing, and allow the suffering to continue?"
"You can do as you like, my dear. But any wife of mine would have to put the needs of myself and our children first. That is the proper sphere for a woman."
Pamela rolled her eyes and would have offered to show him the Defoe essay, but he returned to his favorite topic, his plans for the Castle. It was a run-down place, with scarcely a single room made habitable.
He had shown them the property one late winter's day.
"Of course, it's little enough to start with, but with the right management and economy, and a good help-meet in life, it shall be splendid."
Pamela thought he was being most optimistic considering the dank, drafty corridors, lack of roof, and number of nesting birds and rodents. However, as her aunt said, an earl was an earl, and not to be despised.
"But why is there no well-run family home? Why only this ruined pile? And why do I get the feeling he is not all as he seems?" Pamela had asked her aunt.
Her aunt shrugged and turned back to her tatting. "He was not intended as heir. You heard him say so himself. It fell to his line purely by chance.
"The main home is in Ireland, but he wants to have an English residence close to Bath. He may not have a very promising establishment at the moment, but that will improve over time, thanks to us." Her eyes took on an obvious twinkle. "I believe it's very telling that he's asking you for help. He is obviously quite taken with you, my child. You will have to be patient, while he gets himself set up a bit better. Just remember that a title goes a long way in our world. Being the wife of an earl would be your crowning achievement."
"I believe my good works and Christian life will be my crowning achievement. As for a title going a long way in our world, so does some soap and water, and firewood," Pamela had said, wrinkling her nose.
The Earl thanked them for taking so much trouble over his plans, and invited them to come as often as they liked. But the ruins of the Castle filled Pamela with misgivings, reminding her of the mad house to which the heroine had been confined in the novel Maria.
It was only a morbid fancy, she told herself. But she could not escape the feeling of being walled up and entombed every time she was with Ferncliffe.
Yet everyone told her that if he offered for her, it would be an excellent match.
"I'm sorry, but I'm to go to Bath in a few days, and from thence to London. I shan't be able to devote quite so much time to your household affairs. But you can certainly send notes if you have any questions," she had told the importuning earl.
When her aunt berated her for the coolness, she shrugged. "Do you want me to marry him immediately, and thus save the expense and inconvenience of our trips to Bath and London?"
Aunt Susan's face fell. She decided that perhaps becoming engaged so young was not such a good thing after all.
Pamela smiled to herself. She had managed to put off her aunt for now, but she was not going to be so easy to manipulate as the Season went on, and she put more and more pressure on Pamela to make a good match.
She actually began to wonder what a 'good match' was. The Earl seemed to think that women should do nothing but knit or crochet doilies, do needlework, and make tatting. Certainly not be educated, or useful around an estate. She looked at Sarah, a model of intelligence and useful endeavor, and observed the contrast.
She also noted her own inconsistencies. A few short months ago, she had thought Jonathan a pleasant acquaintance, no more. They had seemed to have so little in common. Compared to the other handsome young men in the neighborhood, he had seemed a rather unlikely first choice of companion.
Now she found she could hardly wait to see him on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and looked forward to running into him in the village. The prospect of daily meetings with him at the Duke's house in Bath was more than she could bear. She anticipated it with unalloyed delight.
Chapter Sixteen
During the first week of March, the weather turned so warm and fair that it was agreed by all parties that the time for their departure for Bath had at last arrived. With all the boxes loaded, and farewells exchanged, Pamela took Jonathan's hand, and felt as if she were jumping from a great height down into a swirling sea.
He was an entertaining companion, pointing out interesting landmarks from the coach window, and regaling her with the history of the Baths.
"They were first used by the Romans, you know."
She nodded, and hung on his every word with an intensity which was both flattering and a relief to the handsome young vicar. He was becoming more and more convinced that her feelings for him were moving beyond mere friendship.
He knew it was unfair of him, after all his promises to his former fiancée Jane, to the whole Eltham family. But lately he had begun to wonder if he was not indeed being gifted by God with a rare prize.
But what to do for the best? How could he move forward, act upon his feelings, without sacrificing every principle he had ever sought to live by? He had promised God he would devote himself to Christian works. How could he turn his back on the poor mad soul who needed him?
It took the little party a couple of days to get settled in the house in the Royal Crescent, but the tall, raven-haired Duke of Ellesmere, and his charming and equally dark-haired wife Charlotte could not have been more kind.
The home was the most splendid townhouse Pamela had ever seen. From the vast marble entry hall, the house split into two.
Pamela and her aunt were given the best rooms in the eastern portion. Her chamber was decorated i
n peach and cream, her aunt's in pale green and gold. Both were lofty, with large windows nearly floor to ceiling and vast four-poster beds. The furnishings were rich and valuable, but not ostentatious. Pamela was pleased to see she had a very fine desk in her room, and someone had placed a goodly array of reading matter there.
Once they were unpacked and had bathed and changed, they went into the drawing room to get to know one another better, and form their plan of attack.
In addition to the Duke and Duchess, and his sister Elizabeth, a pretty dark-haired sixteen-year old with green eyes, she renewed her acquaintance with the Stones. She was delighted to find Vanessa as unpretentious a daily companion as she was educated, and was astonished at how quickly time passed without them ever once leaving the townhouse.
Little Arthur Stone was now almost five months old. Pamela took great delight in playing with the baby as they sat chatting. She was shocked to find Vanessa did everything for him herself. She was more than a bit embarrassed seeing her breastfeed the child.
Noting her obvious dismay, Jonathan pointed out it was the most natural thing in the world, and said that it put him in mind of the Madonna and child.
"After all, Mary didn't not have a wet nurse, now did she?"
"No, I suppose not. But most fashionable women--"
"What, better to appear fashionable than to do the utmost for one's child?" he asked, his brows knitting.
She blushed and shook her head. "No, of course not. It's just, well, a different way of doing things that did not occur to me. Step-Mama had several nurses for the girls, that's all."
"I am of course a mere man, but nevertheless I am entitled to my opinion. It's a lovely thing to see, not the least disgusting, and any good husband would most whole-heartedly agree."
"But the, um, smell and mess?" Pamela whispered.
"What of women's monthlies? Or pregnancy? No man who is any sort of decent gentleman would find his wife less than lovely in all her aspects," Jonathan said firmly, his eyes glowing.
Pamela shrank down on the Turkey red sofa in the small drawingroom, her cheeks scorching with embarrassment and the oddest mix of emotions.
He saw her face flame, and shook his head. "I'm sorry if my outspokenness shocks you, but these absurd pretensions to refinement really grate on me. I have seen life in its most raw forms during the war. I've slept on the ground, and eaten things my dog would have turned its nose up at. You've heard Michael's and Blake's letters. You might want to rethink your notions of shocking or disgusting, Miss Ashton."
She blushed to the roots of her hair. "Indeed. Not disgusting, certainly. If you don't object, I certainly don't."
"Not even if your aunt does?" he challenged.
"No," she said with a lift of her chin. "As you say, it's all perfectly natural. The Lord gave us our bodies. Who are we to think His creation any less than perfect?"
"Hmm, perfect, yes," he said with warm smile which set her heart aflutter. "That should include the act of procreation itself, with the correct partner, a lawfully wedded spouse, or at least two people committed to each other body and soul."
Pamela stared at him in surprise. "You cannot possibly approve of extra-marital sexual relations?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "No, but I can see reasons for it, such as not being able to wed quite quickly enough for their tastes. I can understand circumstances where the couple might not be able to help themselves, where affection and intimacy might go too far. But no affection and intimacy should take place if they are not committed. And adultery of course is expressly forbidden."
"Of course." She blushed and rose. She moved across the room to where Vanessa was just refastening her bodice.
"May I help change his napkin or something? I should very much like to learn. I'm ashamed to say I was too self-centered to be interested in aiding with my sisters. But I admire you for your maternal devotion, and would like to improve myself as a person in every way I can."
"Of course, my dear," Vanessa said with a kind smile. "Why not try to wind him? Support his head, like so, and rub gently but firmly. Some people pat on the back, but I believe stroking works just as well."
Pamela did as she had instructed, and laughed in delight as the baby brought up a belch that would have made a stevedore proud.
She smiled over at Jonathan, who was looking at her with a piercing stare. She flushed hotly. Was he being critical of her again, thinking her silly and immature for knowing so little about babies?
She had to admit that many women wed far younger than she, and had families immediately, often one child after another. Those women who were fortunate enough to carry to term, of course, and whose babies survived.
At that thought she grew almost nervous. But torn between the two contrary impulses of handing Arthur back in horror, or cradling him to her, she chose the latter action.
After a time she relaxed and let him snuggle against her bosom. She laughed again in delight when he began to doze on her shoulder, and made the most remarkable little snuffling noises reminiscent of a happy kitten.
It was a moving, almost sensual experience, one which filled her head with all sorts of swirling, vibrant images featuring a certain handsome man with steel-gray eyes.
"There's no great secret to being a good mother," Vanessa said softly. "Food, warmth, love, tenderness. Not so very different from being a wife, actually, except a husband's needs are slightly more complicated, but also far more thrilling. For both of you."
"Oh, er, yes, so they say." Pamela blushed.
"If you marry the right man, of course."
Pamela confessed, "I must admit I used to think about marriage with a great deal of enthusiasm, but now that I've been spending so much time with Jonathan I find my mind has altered considerably."
"Oh?" Vanessa said, her eyes widening, her lovely patrician features settling into a worried frown.
"Pardon me, I don't mean that the way it sounds. Not at all. He is a most marvelous gentleman. Any woman who secured his regard would be most fortunate," she forced herself to say, though it pained her to picture him with any other woman by his side.
"I simply meant that he and Sarah have shown me that I should not be so hasty. That I'm not worthy to be anyone's wife or mother until I learn more about the world, and myself. And how to be far more discerning about the company I keep."
Vanessa raised her brows. "Indeed?"
"The world is full of temptations and pitfalls. I did not see it until we performed Pilgrim's Progress. I now fully grasp the dangers of Vanity Fair. And people who scoff at the notion of being a good Christian."
"Not all of the Rakehells are devout. Indeed Jonathan was not always so. But he was always willing to try to be better. If you can accomplish that, it should be more than enough to make you worthy of a good man's love one day. When you feel you're ready to share yourself so intimately with another human being, that is."
Pamela looked down at the carpet shyly and whispered, "And is it as wonderful to, ah, share, as the novels would have you believe?"
Vanessa nodded enthusiastically. "If you're truly in love, yes. Even better. But only with your soul mate."
"But how can you know, be certain?"
The auburn haired woman smiled. "Time. Oh, I know love at first sight does happen, but even it has to be sustained by a solid foundation of true regard, mutual caring and respect."
Pamela gave a slight smile. She was doing that with Jonathan, was she not? Entering into his world fully, getting to know all aspects of his character, and he of hers.
"Thank you for your honesty," she said, relieved. "And now, tell me more about babies."
Vanessa laughed. "Where do I begin! Not that I'm by any means an expert. I had no younger siblings. I suppose you just learn as you go along, like any parent. And if you're lucky, you'll have a husband who's equally nurturing and keen to help. But here, let's start with the basics."
Pamela learned to change his napkin and dress him. For the first time she began to
appreciate the enormous joy and responsibility a child was.
She knew she never would have been fit to be a wife and mother a year ago. But now she was determined to move from girlhood to womanhood, with the right man by her side, of course.
She suffered momentary pangs of jealousy seeing Jonathan and Elizabeth together, laughing and easy with one another. Miss Eltham was certainly a beauty, and her fortune and family connections would have tempted a saint. Yet Jonathan treated her with the same indulgence as his own sister, with warm and fraternal regard, but nothing more. He was certainly a most remarkable man.
At supper their first evening they dined en famille. The dining room at the Duke's townhouse was capable of fitting sixteen comfortably, and was decorated beautifully in burgundy and dark woodsy colors. Many fine pieces of china and silver were on display. She felt the contrast between her own home and this one keenly. It made her ashamed to think she had ever counted herself as above the Deverils.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 83
