"Indeed. I was admiring all you've endured for the sake of others. Certainly not the killing, for that is expressly against the Ten Commandments. It's the struggle which is heroic, not the killing. The enduring of adversity. No one in Europe was willing to stand up to Napoleon until the British army went into the Peninsula.
"I will admit to never having thought about what war meant for all concerned. But I've never found killing anything to be worthy of praise. Thank you for letting me stay and hear your friend's letter," she said sincerely.
"And I should very much like to send him some things that you think he would appreciate, if you don't think it too forward of me. Any friend of yours must be a good man. And I take it he has no sisters? Is not married?"
"No, he doesn't. And isn't. But he will be most appreciative. As am I. He loves chocolate, actually. And tea. And sandalwood soap. And could most certainly use some lice and flea powder."
Pamela smiled. "If you will tell me how I may direct the parcel to him, I'll see that he gets all that and more. And other things his men might enjoy."
"Thank you. It is most kind of you."
"I'm only sorry I haven't done more."
He shook his head. "Your father was ill. You've had your own cares."
"Not compared with yours."
Jonathan looked at her sharply. "The Lord never sends us more burdens than we can bear."
Now it was her turn to touch his shoulder. "And a burden shared is a burden halved."
She started as he grasped her hand and kissed it. "Pamela--" He gazed into her eyes and leaned forward, until his lips were only inches from her own. "Pamela, I want to tell you--"
"Here's your wool, ladies!" Henry declared loudly.
Jonathan blinked and sprang away from her.
Pamela stared at him, then took the basket of notions from the younger Stone. "Thank you. Sarah, shall we leave the men to write their letters?" Pamela asked, managing to keep her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart and the sudden raggedness of her breathing.
"Yes, certainly. I shall add a postscript to yours, if I may, Jonathan, so please don't seal it."
"No, I wouldn't dream of it, Sarah. I still say you should set your cap at him. I can't think of a better brother-in-law."
His face fell again, and he ran his fingers through his sandy hair until he once again resembled a prickly hedgehog.
"Oh, you. For that I shall do my best to find one."
"You do that, dearest," Jonathan said quietly. "Nothing would make me happier. Now shoo."
Pamela gave him a last long look, but he seemed to have forgot all about her. With a little sigh she followed Sarah out of the room.
As she went into the small parlor to take up her new project, she wondered why it always seemed that just when she finally managed to get closer to Jonathan, he always slipped away into some private Hell of his own, far beyond her reach.
Chapter Ten
The rest of the evening went by in a whirl. Pamela was astonished at how quickly the time passed in such lively and intelligent company. As they chatted, she knitted row after row on a muffler with some fairly large-gauge needles until she had a long thick hank, which she then crocheted together. It wasn't terribly fancy, just an ordinary cable knit on two sides in navy blue, but Jonathan praised it highly, and actually sat next to her to watch her working.
"Michael will love it, and be thrilled to have a pretty girl to write to."
"Oh, I don't think--"
"He admires women, but isn't a rake if that's what you fear."
"But he's a viscount, destined to be the Earl of Hazelmere one day. He would not wish to know someone so plain and obscure as myself."
"It doesn't seem to stop the Earl of Ferncliffe, now does it?" he said a bit more sharply than he intended.
"No, I suppose not," she conceded, "but--"
His sandy brows knit. "Then where's the harm?"
"I would not like him to think me forward. That I was, er, encouraging him. Flirting." She blushed with every word. "If he has no sister, and I no brother, I should like to serve in that capacity. But I would never dream of anything more."
He looked both surprised and relieved. Pamela was glad when he did not probe further, for her feelings were so close to the surface that the least encouragement might have set them to bubbling up.
She told herself to stop being silly. Jonathan was a clergyman, and had shown no indication of particular regard for her. Even her presence here at Stone Court and the enforced intimacy were for the sake of the parish, and her own improvement as a Christian, she told herself, wishing all the while that it was not true.