Page 3 of The Gentleman's Confession
“The Rebels are your closest friends.” His too. They made it their job to right Societal wrongs. It could not be good if she would not confide in the group at large. His amusement slipped. “You did do something, didn’t you? Well, so long as you did not kill someone, it cannot be too dire.”
“It’s worse.”
Miles coughed. “Worse?”
Jemma nodded emphatically, then followed it with a grimace. “I’m getting married.”
His next breath did not come. Or the next. When he finally inhaled, his head swayed from dizziness. “You are ...” He cleared his throat. “You’re getting married?”
She propped her elbow on the desk and rested her hand upon it, releasing a deep sigh. “I told you it was dreadful.”
A weight settled in his stomach. This meant one thing. “Have the Matchmaking Mamas found you a husband?” He did not care for their unusual methods, even if they were upstanding members of their community.
“Not yet, but I do hope they hurry. It’s been three months since I requested they find someone for me. I know it was in the middle of the Season, and they are down to only five members with Grandmother gone, but they are not being at all helpful by drawing this out.”
Miles pinched his nose and shook his head. “Wait. You’re telling me you solicited their help ... of your own free will?” This was not the Jemma he knew. Was this the result of her mourning for her grandmother? Mrs. Fielding’s death six months ago had upended the entire community but especially Jemma and their dear friend Lisette—Jemma’s closest cousin. Miles had also felt the loss acutely. It had resurrected old feelings of loss from whenhis father had died. Miles had been but a boy then, yet it had forever changed his life.
No, Jemma couldn’t have wanted this for herself. It contradicted her long-standing hopes for her future. Her life’s dream was to be a rich spinster who spent her days changing the world for the better.
“If you don’t believe me, the others never will.” Jemma stood and started pacing, which was quite difficult, considering the small perimeters. “It’s not like I want to be married. It’s more, Ihaveto get married. I promised Grandmother over her deathbed that I would put aside my recalcitrant ways and settle down.”
Miles shook his head, his normal, calm presence fading under his mounting shock. “You would never promise something so absurd.” Mrs. Fielding was not the type to blackmail her own granddaughter, but nothing would have made Jemma change her mind so easily.
“She was in so much pain, Miles. She would not give up the ghost until I agreed. What was I supposed to do?”
“Lie,” he blurted.
Jemma glared at him. “This is not the time to be sarcastic. Honestly, a vicar telling me to lie. I hope no one overhears you.”
He had forgotten his position for a moment and where he was sitting. “Forgive me. It was a very poor joke.” He loved Mrs. Fielding. He missed her. Of course he didn’t mean what he’d said. But Jemma couldn’t marry. It would ruin everything.
“There’s more. I promised to ...” Her mezzo voice, like music to his ears, dropped into a contralto tone before fading completely.
Miles leaned forward in his seat. “You promised to what?” What could be worse than Jemma’s requesting the matrons of the town to handpick her spouse?
“I promised to fall in love with him.”
Those slowly spoken words made his jaw slacken. She might as well have announced she had a fatal disease, for this revelation gutted him all the same.Say something, man. Anything.“Oh.”
It was the best he could do. Just the thought of Jemma loving someone else made his blood run cold. He supported marriage—even performed marriages—but with Jemma, it was different. She had been untouchable before, safely secured from any persistent suitors or vile men wanting her dowry and beauty for selfish reasons, and mostly thanks to her own unflappable determination. There had been no reason to worry overmuch about his own position being so far beneath hers. A lowly vicar for a friend suited well enough, but not for a husband, not when she could have a titled man, if she desired. She could never have been his, but at least she would never have been anyone else’s either.
When he caught her eye, she stared right back. “You have to help me.”
Relief surged through him. She regretted her choice. Good, at least she saw the error of her plans. He blew out his breath. “It won’t be easy. The Matchmaking Mamas are relentless. But I shall do my best to convince them of your mistake. The other Rebels will help too. You can depend on us.”
Jemma frowned. “You haven’t been listening.”
How he wished it were so. He never missed anything Jemma said. Unlike other debutantes, she never pretended to be anything other than exactly who she was. She was both intelligent and innocent, brave and kind, fierce and gentle. What she said always carried value. Yes, he always listened.
“I don’t need you to save the day, Miles, or step in as my clergyman. I am quite determined to marry whomever the Matchmaking Mamas choose. I could never trust myself with such an overwhelming decision. No, I am here to request a favor. I am in need ofMr. Romantic’sassistance.”
His friends still bandied about his adolescent nickname, but he did not like the way she employed it now. Without any effort of his own, women seemed to think him some Adonis. Whatever charm he possessed, it worked on everyone but the lady in front of him—the only one who truly mattered. “You’ve made up your mind? There is no convincing you otherwise?”
She shook her pretty head, the tenacious, unyielding pink line of her mouth haunting him.
He relented and collapsed back in his seat, still reeling from shock. “What ... what is it you expect of me?”
She came to his side and tapped his chest right over his heart. He winced, though her touch had been light. When she pulled away, he quickly covered the aching spot with his hand.
