Page 12 of The Gentleman's Confession
“Love.” Ian spat out the word.
Miles gave a slow nod. “She has been displaced. She might be resilient, but she still has emotional needs like the rest of us. She might not even know it herself, but love is what she wants more than anything right now.”
No response formed on Ian’s lips. He wouldn’t like knowing Miles was right. No one was against marriage more than Ian. But even he was softening. First, Paul, Ian’s closest friend, and now Tom had married—and both were undeniably happier than they had been before their unions.
Ian’s sigh was long and tired before he finally spoke. “Let’s say I believe you. It brings me back to my initial question. What is bothering you?”
Miles clasped his hands together, his lips unmoving. Part of him longed to unburden the secret he’d carried for more than a decade. He’d penned his thoughts in journal after journal because talking about it wouldn’t change the situation for the better. It would inevitably bring certain pain to their otherwise amicable group. For as much as they loved Jemma, they loved Lisette. No one would see their sweet angel friend hurt. “I am notready to say goodbye to how things were before, I suppose.” It was a partial truth.
Ian sobered. “I understand. We’ve been lucky so far with Louisa and Cassandra. They have readily melded into our group. But even so, our friendships are not the same. We are not needed like we were now that they have each other. A good problem, even if it’s hard to swallow.”
Miles rued the day when Jemma wouldn’t turn to him first in her hour of need. She had always come running to him—whether to vent about some political wrong or to argue about moral rightness of opinions or to share her fears and dreams. The very thought of her distancing herself stabbed at his chest, sending a resounding ache through the whole of him.
Some change would always be bitter.
CHAPTER 7
There was nothing worse thanbeing a guest in one’s home. Jemma loved her time at the Manning House with her aunt, uncle, and cousin, but after all these months, she still felt like it was another summer visit. No one expected anything of her, but she lacked other freedoms she had grown used to before her grandmother had died.
Mrs. Manning, sweet and well intentioned, coddled her. Lisette followed her lead. Mr. Manning touched on the lightest of subjects, careful not to mention any suffering or loss and quick to overapologize if he did. There was nothing natural about any of it. And so it was because Jemma loved them so much that she wanted to marry and leave them—to give them back their home and their lives without her stuck in the center of them.
Grandmother had known it would be this way, while Jemma had had to learn it for herself. Such knowledge might have solidified her motivation to marry Mr. Bentley, but it did not make the long days pass any faster. And she still had six more weeks to endure. Thankfully, she had an escape every day with her reading and long walks.
Today would be even better, too, because she had a destination for her walk in mind—the next step in her new life plan—her lessons on love. So at the noon hour, Jemma set out walking to the church in search of a certain vicar. Miles had been a constant in her life, much like the Mannings, but because he was not a relation, nor was he driving her half mad from his hovering presence, she needed him more than ever.
And she knew exactly where to find him. Not many were aware, but Miles was a creature of habit. Taking the narrow, winding path behind the church, she weaved through the trees in search of him. He always took his midday meal outside when the weather permitted, having a great love and reverence for nature.
The trail ended at a little stream. Years ago, someone had placed a simple backless wooden bench on the bank that overlooked the blue-green creek and the mossy hill behind it. Most days, a trickle of water chased down the hill in thick, majestic tears streaming into heavy rivulets. But after a good rain, it turned into a small but beautiful waterfall. She spotted Miles on the bench, his legs extended in front of him and a sandwich in his hand.
“Mr. Jackson.” She made her voice boom, making Miles jump in his seat and drop his sandwich.
She smothered her giggle with her hand. “Sorry, it’s just me.”
He gave her a sheepish shake of his head and reached for his sandwich, now covered in dirt. “For what reason do I owe the honor of your presence in this humble corner of nature today,Miss Fielding?”
“I had to thank you. You know, for the way you handled the horrific turn of events Monday afternoon at the Manning House. I should never have asked you—or any man—to assess the damage of my dress.”
“It was mortifying,” Miles said plainly. “I may never sleep again.”
She smothered another laugh and approached the far end of the bench. “Good, then it wasn’t so very bad after all. I am quite relieved.”
Miles smirked. “If it had been anyone else, Jemma ...”
“I know, I know. My reputation. I feel terrible about it. Honestly, I do. Thank you for coming to my rescue. For ... everything.”
Miles gave a slow nod, breaking a piece of bread from his sandwich and throwing it into the creek. “How did you know to find me here anyway?”
“You always come here this time of day.”
His hands stilled before he could throw another crumb of bread. “How did you know?”
“The same way I know that when you are finished eating, you’ll dust off your hands and take out your little black book, where you write down any inspiration that comes.”
“You mean my prayer book.”
“No, I mean your little journal.” She’d asked him two summers ago about his writing, but he’d always brushed it aside. She’d respected his privacy since then, but she had burned with curiosity to know what sort of things he recorded. “One of these days, I plan to peek over your shoulder when you aren’t looking and get a glimpse of it. Someone should know what you’ve been scrawling away at all these years.”
Miles tipped his head back a little and looked down his nose at her. “I believe you take pleasure in spying on me.”
