Page 58 of The Gentleman's Confession
Lesson two: the importance of chaperones and the evils of eye connection.
When she finished, she had to sneak one of Miles’s chocolate biscuits to give her strength. The outside was crispy, the inside chewy and soft. One might not suffice, but she could procrastinate no longer. Donning her sturdiest pair of half boots and a lightweight spencer trimmed with ruffles, she trekked through the mud to the church. When she arrived, voices came from the side of the building, drawing her in that direction. She turned the corner only to pull back so she wouldn’t be seen.
Peering around the corner, she observed Miss Hardwick playing with the honey ringlets by her face. “Are they really talking about Mr. Jackson all the way in London?”
The woman next to Miss Hardwick shared similar coloring but with larger features. She squeaked with disbelief. “Then, no onein Brookeside knows he published a book? His poems and ideas are all the rage in the circles I know.”
Jemma gasped, quickly covering her mouth to silence it. Miles Jackson published a book! Why had he never told anyone? Why had he never told her?
“How long has he been married?” the unknown woman asked.
“Married?” Miss Hardwick laughed. “Cousin, Mr. Jackson is a bachelor.”
“Oh? Even better!”
Jemma frowned. She could barely stomach Miss Hardwick’s exuberant affection for Miles. Must she endure an equally enamored cousin?
“I am surprised to learn this,” the cousin said. “Mr. Jackson has such a beautiful view on relationships. One would naturally expect he had an abundance of experience and years of marriage. But come to think of it, there was a selection about heartache. Was he thwarted in love? Did his fiancé die?”
Miss Hardwick laughed again. “You are reading into what is not there. They are fictional poems with plain truths in their themes. Does that not satisfy you?”
Her cousin shook her head. “I should still like to meet Mr. Jackson. I will never believe a bachelor can be any expert on love unless I speak to him for myself.”
“And you shall,” Miss Hardwick assured. “Mama will invite him to dine with us next week. She is very regular with her company. Besides, I would not be surprised if Mr. Jackson were soon engaged and able to satisfy all your concerns.”
Jemma’s heart unconsciously stuttered.
“Engaged? Truly?” Miss Hardwick’s cousin bent an ear forward. “Do tell.”
Miss Hardwick flipped the long ringlet from her chignon over her shoulder. “I have set my sights on him, Cousin. It is only a matter of time until he is engaged to me.”
Jemma winced, even knowing there was not a single reason to be jealous of Miss Hardwick and her nonsense. Poor Miles though. His secret project had become famous. Knowing him, he would not be happy to know he had been found out. Selfishly, she was disappointed that she had not discovered the news before Miss Hardwick, and from Miles’s own mouth. All this time, he’d been scribbling away at poetry? Inspirational poetry, at that. And some obviously about love. Why had he never shared even one with her?
More depressed in spirit than before, Jemma let herself into the church. She waited a good half hour, but there was no sign of Miles. She could leave the biscuits. Sheshouldleave the biscuits. But now that she knew about his book, she wanted nothing more than to ask him about it.
She finally gave up after chewing off the top of one of her fingernails. It was better if she did not converse with him for some time, even if it hurt to not know his secrets. She forced herself to exit the church. The ladies were well and gone, thank heavens. Jemma’s eyes traced the path to the bench, and a sudden longing pulled at her. Miles wouldn’t be there. It wasn’t even the lunch hour. Her feet had a mind of their own, because they began the short trek down the path toward the copse of trees and the hidden stream.
The waterfall was fuller today after all the rainfall, and it drew her gaze. The bubbling sound filled her ears and soul. Nowhere on earth looked more beautiful than this did right now. Sentimentality hadn’t always colored her view of things. Maybe it was because she knew she would have to stop coming here, and deep inside, she wished otherwise.
Inevitably, her gaze went to the bench. It was empty, just as she had imagined. How lonely it looked without Miles sitting on it. She set down the basket of biscuits on one end where she generally sat, and went and perched on other end instead—theside Miles generally occupied. Her hand absently fell to the wood beside her, but no one picked it up and held it close. Even so, sitting where Miles did made her feel closer to him, in a way.
Her fingers ran along the rough grain. In coming days, would Miles bring Lisette here to share his luncheon? Would all his and Jemma’s memories here be forgotten? Such thoughts were torture to her, despite all her efforts to discipline herself.
She scooted to the very edge of the bench, shifting her weight to one hip so she might look at the seat as if Miles were still there. “Don’t even think of desecrating our memories. Marry who you want, but this spot is ours.”
“Is it now?”
Jemma startled and fell off the bench, her backside landing hard in damp soil. She did not care to look up, but the humiliation was inevitable. “How long have you been there?” She pulled her gaze behind her and into the trees. Miles stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his somber eyes on her.
“Long enough to know you’ve begun talking to yourself.”
“I was not talking to myself. I was talking to ... someone else.” She ran her hands down her skirts. It did not look good for her.
“Seeing how you were stroking the bench where I sit, I am inclined to believe you were speaking to me.”
Her entire face burned.
His steps were slow and deliberate, and all too soon, he was by her side with his hand outstretched.
