Page 10 of The Gentleman's Confession
“I know I have boldly declared I have no need of a man in my life, but I humbly retract the statement. I am soon to be engaged to Mr. Walter Bentley, the new owner of Kensington House.” The words cut when they tore from her mouth. She had betrayed everyone in the room, including herself. There was more than one gasp, but only one mattered: Lisette’s.
“Jemma, I don’t know what to say,” her cousin managed.
“Please, don’t be angry with me, Cousin. I promised Grandmother on her deathbed that I would marry and ...” She hesitated, deciding in the last moment to omit any mention of love. She couldn’t bear a discussion on that too. “And I couldn’t tell anyone because I was afraid you’d talk me out of it.”
Silence followed her announcement, and a heavy air of unease settled around the room. A year ago, she had been one of the ones most against arranged marriages. Her friends knew that. They knew the idea of marriage in general had never suited her. What must they think of her now?
“Did they give you time to become acquainted with Mr. Bentley?” Louisa asked, her ever-constant smile warming the room. Paul set his hand on his wife’s back, no doubt his silent support of her participation.
Louisa and Cassandra were as much Rebels now as the rest of them after the last year, so Jemma had no qualms answering. “We have agreed on six weeks. In fact, I met him just yesterday for the first time.” She glanced at Miles, but his eyes were still on his prayer book. Was he trying to keep his part a secret? She was grateful to have at least one person on her side.
“What did you think of him?” Cassandra asked.
“He was nice.” Jemma shrugged her shoulders. Hehadbeen nice, but why could she not think of a single other descriptor of him?
“Handsome?” Cassandra prompted.
She thought on how to answer. His features were not so perfectly sculpted like Miles’s, but it was not fair to compare anyone to Miles. “I believe many would call Mr. Bentley handsome.”
Lisette touched her arm. “Is this really what you want, Jemma? Because if so, you know we will support you.”
“It is,” Jemma reached over and took Lisette’s hand. “I know it’s hard to believe, and I know you must be angry, but I’ve been warming to the idea since Grandmother’s death. Now that I have met Mr. Bentley, I can truly invest in my decision. I know it sounds impossible, but in the last six months, I’ve started to see myself and the world differently.” She did not dare admit to any of her reservations. This was the time to convince them of her way of thinking, not to give them reason to sway her otherwise. “I hope you can all understand my decision. Not all my goals have changed, but I want what Grandmother had—a family—a legacy to leave behind. And after watching Tom and Paul, I’ve learned I can still be me and be married.”
“So long as Mr. Bentley is the right man,” Miles said, and all their gazes swung to him. His prayer book was closed on his lap, his expression blank.
Jemma frowned. What did Miles mean exactly?
Lisette reached for Jemma’s hand. “Listen to Miles. There is not a better judge of character.” She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling in adoration before returning to Jemma. “You ought not rush into anything.”
“I concur.” Ian rubbed his thumb across his prominent, dimpled chin again. “We must all get to know Mr. Bentley to see if he is Rebel material. Jemma deserves to be yoked to an equal partner in marriage, and we all know how rare that is.” He was likely speaking of his parents. Despite Ian’s grievances against his father and his parents’ marriage, Lady Kellen was a strong figure in Brookeside, who seemed content with her situation. If that was all Jemma was allowed to be after her marriage, certainly she could find a way to live with it.
“I am happy to help however I can,” Lisette said. Her cousin had earned her nickname of Angel a million times over, but this time might mean the most. Lisette’s happiness and friendship were everything to Jemma, and she had spent most of her life fiercely guarding their close relationship. She committed to never hurt her cousin again.
Looking across the Dome, Jemma beamed with relief. All her friends were the best in the world. Why had she doubted telling them?
Jemma met Miles’s gaze, and he held it for a moment. How she wished she could read him in moments like this. Was he prompting her to tell them about the second half of her promise? The part about falling in love? No, she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t possibly confess such a thing to anyone else. It was silly and ... personal.
But how she wanted to know what he was thinking. Did he detest Mr. Bentley? Approve of him? Why had he questioned Mr. Bentley’s worth? His brown eyes swung away from her, and she was left wondering. Tomorrow’s walk would give her the answers she sought. There was no time to waste. She neededMiles’s guidance if she were ever to figure out this love business, and dear heavens, he had his work cut out for him.
She believed a woman ought to make a fool of herself at least once in front of a man, if only to assure him she was indeed human and imperfect. She had accomplished that feat her first day in front of Mr. Bentley. But such a task was not usually thefirstimpression. Now she must enamor him before her awkwardness seared itself into his mind forever. She was depending on Miles to save her.
CHAPTER 6
Miles generally did not envythose who traveled to London for the Season, but he had missed gathering with all his Rebel friends while they’d been in Town. They hadn’t rallied together since Mrs. Fielding’s funeral, but now they were together in Brookeside again at last. They spent over two hours swapping stories, groaning, and laughing. Apparently, Tom had made a spectacle in the ballroom, kissing his wife in the middle of a dance set. Miles almost wished he could have been there to see the shocked and disapproving faces of the attendees. To Cassandra’s chagrin, the scandal had hit the Society papers, insisting the future baron had been inebriated. Tom thought the whole thing hilarious and showed not an ounce of regret.
Miles’s favorite story of the afternoon might have been the one Ian told. During a musicale, Paul, their friend who did not voluntarily touch anyone except his wife, had tapped Ian on the shoulder to tell him something. Ian, so accustomed to giving Paul his personal space, had been confused and tried to move out of the way. In the process, he’d knocked over his chair by the window. The back of it had hit the glass and cracked what had once been a beautiful stain-glass image of a candle.
Paul said the candle now looked like it had been lit and the cracks improved it.
Ian, on the other hand, insisted interrupting a musicale was not worth improving the appeal of a window and requested that Paul continue to keep his hands to himself.
To be with good friends was to be happy.
While the others exited to return to their homes, Miles leaned back in his seat to digest their conversations. With their joyful reunion over, he could better reflect on the initial reason for their gathering.
He had depended on his friends to tell Jemma how foolish she was being. Instead, their support, while well meant, had suffocated him. But since it had been the right thing to do, he had kept his mouth shut. Shutting out his feelings was another matter entirely. It unsettled him worse than a bad meal. He wanted his friends—and their distraction—to return.
Ian was the last in line to reach the door to the Dome, but instead of filing through, he pulled the heavy door shut. He turned on Miles and slung his arms across his chest. “Explain yourself.”
