Chapter Twenty-two
By the time he arrived back with the cup of punch and ice, Jonathan had mastered his emotions, resuming once more the careful mask of polite distance which usually served him so well.
He was relieved to see that Aunt Susan had come to inquire after Pamela's well being. Unfortunately, Captain Breedon and the Earl of Ferncliffe were also hovering about expressing their concern and overwhelming sympathy for her supposed turned ankle.
Pamela seemed fine to him, though he noted her high color as she risked a glance at him when she accepted the punch. He also observed that she looked rather restive, if not outright bored. His lie had explained satisfactorily their sudden departure from the dance floor, but it also meant that she had had to refuse the offers to dance which no doubt had come in profusion.
Pamela had decided she'd had more than enough of the ball and almost all of its occupants, and couldn't wait to leave. Jonathan was right. It was a waste of her life to be continually listening to the latest on-dit, and watching the men and women flirt, gamble, and drink like fish.
She had been worse than a wanton in trying to make a conquest of the one man who had always been her truest friend. Who had supported her through the bad times, seen her potential and tried to improve her, not debauch her. He had never indicated anything more than respect for her gender, certainly not treated her in any improper manner.
And how had she repaid him? By simpering like some Paphian. Really, it was too shameful. It was not anyone's fault. He must have a commitment elsewhere which had nothing to do with her. It was a credit to him that he had maintained his attachment, even though it evidently made him unhappy.
She could never imagine him engaging in any wrongdoing, such as an adulterous liaison. Perhaps the woman had not seen his worth, and wed another? Or her family did not approve of a mere clergyman? Or...
She caught him looking at her once too often, and said in a low tone, "If you don't mind, Mr. Deveril, I should like to leave now."
"Are you sure?" he asked in surprise.
"Quite sure. I'm feeling rather fatigued."
Her aunt fluttered her fan in her face as if that would revive her. "You'll be fine. Just sit and rest a moment longer."
Jonathan managed to catch Vanessa's eye as she progressed around the room. She came over at once.
"Pamela would like to leave. Have you and Clifford had enough for one evening?"
Vanessa smiled at him. "He's engaged in a rather pressing conversation about livestock, but I'm ready to accompany the two of you. No, Mistress Bledsoe, pray remain where you are. I shall just tell my husband we're leaving. He will escort you home when you're ready."
"Are you sure it's no trouble?"
"None at all. I shall make sure your niece gets home safely, gets up to her room and is tucked in." Vanessa's pointed comment fell on deaf ears, however; there was no immediate offer to see to Pamela's comfort.
Vanessa returned a short time later with their cloaks. "All set. Jonathan, pick up Miss Ashton, and let us go."
"Oh, er, no, I can manage, truly."
But Jonathan would not be denied. He lifted her in his arms as though she were no heavier than a feather, and with his long-legged stride, cleared the Upper Rooms before anyone could come after them. He did not want a flock of gallants hovering. He wanted her all to himself, if the truth were told.
But barring that, he wanted her to have time to herself to consider his words of reproach, and assess her character and deportment. He could tell she was disturbed by what he had said because of her lack of chatter and the fact that she was completely avoiding meeting his gaze, even though their faces were so close that he could have kissed her if he had chosen.
He resisted the temptation, and they made it to the carriage without incident. Vanessa tried to keep up a steady stream of conversation, but she could see the effort it cost them both. She had no idea what had happened between them. She wondered if they were being willfully blind to the attraction which was evident to anyone with a discerning eye.
Vanessa knew what the loss of his beloved in terms of both mind, and eventually spirit, had cost him. But he could not expect to be obliged to keep faith with Jane Eltham forever, not even for the sake of friendship. Perhaps she should venture to say something to Jonathan? To Pamela?
Vanessa's unpleasant chain of thought was interrupted by the carriage jolting over a large stone, causing them all to tumble about dangerously. Pamela snatched for the coach strap, but not before she was flung forward and practically landed squarely on Jonathan's chest.
"Oh, Lord, save me," Jonathan gritted out.