Page 11 of The Gentleman's Confession
That demanding, intimidating expression might work on the rest of England, but not on Miles. “Merely cataloging my day before heading out.” Miles stretched his arms for good measure. “The Goodmans delivered a new baby last night. Mr. Reed, a new widower, if you recall, requires a visit. And I am to collect items for charity baskets again.” Miles stood and straightened his waistcoat. “Enough resting; I had better get to it.”
“Sit.”
Miles immediately obeyed, perching on the edge of the sofa. Perhaps he wasn’t so immune to Ian’s ways as he’d thought.
“You knew, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Miles kept his face impassive. “Why do you say that?”
“You came in without the curiosity of the others. You buried your nose in your prayer book while the rest of us were engaged. Not to mention, your prayer book was upside down.”
Miles drummed his fingers on his leg. “Is it a crime to keep a friend’s confidence? If so, I am guilty a thousand times over.”
Ian crossed the room and took the nearest seat to the door instead of his usual throne. “It’s not a matter of keepingJemma’s trust; it’s the tension about you. Why is this match any different from the others?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“From the beginning, you were the strongest advocate for marriage. I am supposed to be the surly one.”
“Are you implying I am surly?”
Ian raised his brow. “You’re not championing her cause, are you?”
Miles looked over his knees to the tips of his polished boots. How could he champion the idea of Jemma marrying someone besides himself? He could not.
“Dash it all, Miles, if I have to support her, I want to know I am doing it in good faith. Is there something about this Bentley fellow I should be concerned about?”
Miles shrugged. “I hadn’t heard of Mr. Bentley until I met him yesterday. He made a decent impression. Afterward, I asked around a bit, trying to learn all I could about him. You know how it is in Brookeside. We have our trusted circle, but people like to talk. The man’s been out of the country for the last several years, and his wealth is significant. And you know your mother. She is nothing but thorough when choosing her matches.”
Ian’s toe bounced. “So, what is bothering you?” It wasn’t said in a compassionate tone but more as an order. Ian’s heart was far bigger than he let on, but he wasn’t the best at expressing himself. “Do you feel the anxiety to marry yourself? You know Lisette will be ready the moment you are. I daresay, she has been waiting since the day you played hero to her as children.”
He had never wanted to marry Lisette—not then or now. He’d vowed not to a thousand times to himself. But somehow, it had become expected of him. He’d been young and had thought the idea of him and Lisette would blow over, but he’d stayed silent too long. Impressions had been set. Plans made. How couldhe compromise his honor as a gentleman? Or worse, Lisette’s reputation should he snub her?
It pained him to think that someday, a proposal would be imminent. He would doanythingto delay that day forever. “I will leave the anxiety you speak of for my mother. She enjoys worrying about that topic enough for the both of us.” The pressure from every corner in his life was maddening. “No, it’s Jemma.” Saying her name felt akin to a confession. He couldn’t meet Ian’s eyes. He wasn’t ready for his friends to know his greatest secret.
Ian sighed as if those three short words said it all. “I know.”
“You do?” Miles quickly looked up.
“I didn’t believe it at first.” Ian shook his head. “I thought Jemma would be devastated, not determined.”
Miles repeated the words in his mind, realizing Ian hadn’t picked up on his true feelings at all. He cleared his throat. “Yes, her decision is baffling.”
Ian rubbed his chin again, his signature thinking pose. “Can a person so adamant against marriage change their mind so easily?”
“They can when faced with the mortal separation from the one they love most. The death of Mrs. Fielding ripped Jemma’s feet out from under her. Overnight, she lost a grandmother, a parent, a friend, and a home.”
Ian scoffed. “So, marriage is her way of finding security again? I cannot believe it. Jemma is the most independent woman I know in every sense. She retains her sizable dowry, and through harassing our favorite Rebel barrister, I learned she has an impressive inheritance to her name. She’s three and twenty and has access to the funds should she want them.”
Miles hadn’t heard of any inheritance beyond her known dowry. It merely put him more beneath her than ever. Hecleared his throat. “Knowing her, she will give it all away to charity.”
“Paul cautioned her against it, advising her to be wise so she might support a variety of causes. She cannot help someone if she, in turn, becomes the one in need.”
“I appreciate his guidance.”
“Yes, but none of this explains Jemma’s motivation. Can this all be in the name of grief?”
Miles had observed many different responses to death, and he felt he understood Jemma, even if he did not agree with her. “You heard what she said. She wants a family. It’s more than security.” It hurt to finish his thoughts, but it had to be said. “Jemma needs affection—love.”
