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?"