Page 35 of The Gentleman's Confession
“Fish?” She glanced at Alan and caught on to his subtle clue. “Yes, I came to fish.” She pushed her skirts to the side and took a seat on the opposite side of Miles, tucking her legs under her dress as she did. He rather liked that after all these years, she still could be at ease in a natural setting, despite the finery of her gowns.
She leaned her head toward his, chasing away any thought he’d had ofhimbeing at ease. “If I’d known we were fishing, I would have brought my lucky rod.”
He pulled his gaze to the slow-rippling water. “You don’t have a lucky rod.”
“I could have had one made, and it would have out caught yours.”
He laughed under his breath. “Impossible. All the other lucky rods you claimed to possess in the past didn’t do the trick. We’ll see what you can do with an ordinary, luck-free rod, shall we?” He reached for his own rod, lying unused beside him, and handed it to her.
She inspected it carefully. “Does this one catch husbands?”
Miles was beginning to despise the word. “Indeed. The smelly, fishy kind.”
“My favorite. I will take a dozen, please.”
He gave a short laugh and turned to Alan. “What would Miss Fielding do with a dozen husbands?”
Alan scrunched up his nose and shook his head.
Miles chuckled and placed a worm on the hook at the end of his rod, rinsing his hand in the water when he finished. “Let’s start with catchingone, shall we?”
Jemma cast her line with a smooth flick of her wrist. For a moment, they sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the hum of insects and feeling the alternating cool and warmth on their cheeks while the sun grew higher.
“I’ve missed this,” Jemma breathed.
He nodded. “It’s like the old days, is it not? I can see Paul swimming laps, Tom pushing Ian in when he isn’t looking, and you and Lisette paddling around in the old rowboat, barely big enough for two.”
“I can imagine the very scene. You would have been on the old rope swing, hollering and whooping before you dropped with a splash.”
“Now you know why I picked this backdrop for our next lesson. I thought we ought to discuss the concept of work and play.”
Jemma grinned. “An odd choice, I daresay, but one I think I will like. But will Mr. Bentley like it? A few weeks have passed, and I’ve made little progress.”
“You will have to trust me.”
“After seeing your admirers flock to your sermon on Sunday, I am convinced you know what you are doing. Go ahead, teach away.”
He chose to ignore her ridiculous statement about women flocking to him. He had one woman—one—he desired to run to his side, and she came to criticize him in lieu of Lisette or to beg for advice. He’d wanted to be done with these ridiculous lessons, but when given a chance to be with her again, he would cave every time.
Blinking away his dark thoughts, he recited his prepared lesson in a dry, dull voice, refusing to get too excited about the subject matter, for Alan’s sake ... “From what I have observed, a couple tends to do one of two things: work too much or not enough. This is the same for both the poor and the rich. There seems to be a fine balance in which relationships hang on the pendulum. When out of balance, the couple suffers. Frivolity, relaxation, or social engagements, whatever form of play it is, can be tiresome in its excess. It, too, requires the utmost care of balance. Do you understand why diligence in this matter can affect love?”
Her dark lashes lifted as she looked up at him, but it wasn’t tears of boredom he saw there. She was paying rapt attention. The silly girl valued his words. He frowned. Did she really appreciate his abstract theories? He’d never spoken them aloud before. His heart stuttered at her impressed expression.
“You’ve always had a way with words, Miles. You make me think about the ordinary things in a whole new way.” She set her hands behind her on the dock and leaned back against them. “Balancing work and play sounds simple enough, but it makes far more sense for a wedded couple. How do I apply it to Mr. Bentley and myself while we are courting?”
As if he would tell her such a thing. “I think the student ought to come up with the application herself.”
“I think I already know the answer,” Jemma said. “If I am too involved in my Rebel efforts, even letting them occupy my mind with abundance, I won’t be making enough room for Mr. Bentley.”
Jemma had always been a quick study. “Yes, but not exercising your efforts and talents for a good cause would make you a dull companion.” Miles didn’t finish his thought, but he wanted to tell her that no matter what, she couldn’t give up her time with the Rebels. Him aside, it was her calling as much as his was the church.
Jemma didn’t seem to notice his inner struggle. “I quite agree with everything you’ve said. Mr. Bentley and I will also need leisure time together, like this.” She leaned toward Miles. “Thank you for bringing me here and helping me remember better times.” She held his gaze a moment too long, and a kind of sweet tension settled in the air around them. She might speak of Mr. Bentley, but her gaze said something else entirely. Her lips tugged at the corners, drawing his eyes to them. Miles wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss her.
How he wished he knew how she would respond to such a gesture.
How he wanted to find out right now.
“Close your eyes for a moment, Miles,” she whispered.
