Page 74 of The Gentleman's Confession
Despite all her commitments against loving him, she didn’t care at all for the idea of him spending time with his adoring fans. No, she did not care for it at all.
In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she hated it. Good attitude be hanged.
“We are good friends now, are we not?” she said slowly, gauging Louisa’s and Cassandra’s reaction.
Both women nodded.
She licked her bottom lip. “Then, I am going to need some help rigging this auction.” She might have laughed at their surprised faces, but she was too serious about her intentions to feel any humor. It was time for her to spend the pin money she had so diligently promised to not spend in honor of her lesson on sacrifice. If she had to give Miles up, it would not be to his lady entourage.
CHAPTER 33
The cricket match had beengoing in their favor all morning, Jemma was on the mend, and the weather was fine. Miles had even received a written apology from the Bradford batsman about his unintentional involvement in taking out Jemma the day before. Not to mention, no one seemed to be whispering of any scandal from the day before. It was all he could do to focus on these positives, but they fled the moment he stood on the steps of Rivenwood for their thrown-together auction.
People still dotted the sidelines of the playing field, but the majority had made the short walk to watch or participate in the charity auction. The women pushed their way to the front, coin purses in hand and reticules swinging from their wrists. He recognized several of them, but there were others he had never seen before. The plan was to start with a few lesser items to rally excitement for the prize of the hour—him.
Lady Felcroft’s cook had whipped up some pies, Lisette had stockings to sell, and Louisa had donated several bolts of fabric from her brother’s mills that he’d left at their home on his last visit. It could have been a spectacular event had they had more time—and had someone else volunteered to be listed as Brookeside’s romantic. There were a few men who had agreed to be auctioned off for picnic lunches, but they weren’t the most polished gentlemen, and Paul said they might actually have to pay people to bid on them. It didn’t sound good.
Lord Felcroft stepped in as the auctioneer, and in minutes, all the pies were gone. One by one, the items sold while Mrs. Sheldon, Paul’s mother, collected the money. The women werein generous moods, and the other men were bid on, despite Paul’s misgivings, even if it was a pittance. All too soon, it was Miles’s turn. His feet would not move. Tom looked over his shoulder and motioned with his head for him to come forward.
Ian stepped in. “Think of Jemma.” With those words, he shoved Miles to the center of the steps. Cheers erupted.Women’scheers. This was by far the most humiliating thing he had ever done.
“Now smile and act like you like it,” Ian whispered into his ear, his chuckle far too happy.
Miles tried to smile, but his grimace had to be as attractive as a donkey baring his teeth.
Tom spread out his arms. “This has been a memorable few days, has it not? And our first Brookeside charity auction is off to a good start, thanks to your generous purchases so far. For the highlight of our event, we would like to auction off a picnic with Brookeside’s very own Adonis.”
Clapping, whistles, and more cheers rang in Miles’s ears.
“Quiet, please, while I share a short background on Mr. Miles Jackson.”
Miles was too busy gagging over the sugary words to catch the whole of Tom’s speech.Elusive bachelorstood out, as didpiousanddiligent vicar, and a bunch of other nonsense. There was a generous statement about how no one was allowed to ask for Miles’s hair to be made into a wig for them. He appreciated it. All in all, it was a thoughtful prelude to Miles’s sacrifice at the auctioneer’s guillotine.
Unfortunately, there was no quick ending for him. He did not sell as quickly as the pies or the other men. Had the town not heard of his indiscretion? They were acting a little too forgiving.
Hands were raised, and women yelled ridiculous amounts. Several, he was certain, did not have the money they were spouting in the first place. He knew the Chios cause was animportant one, but must they rob the women of the entirety of their precious pin money?
The numbers soared—the final bidders alarming him. It was down to Miss Hardwick, Mrs. Fortescue, and a woman he thought must be from Bradford, whose husband was arguing for her to stop. At one point, Miles glanced to the heavens to plead for the madness to end when he caught three heads peeking out of an upstairs window—Cassandra, Louisa, and none other than Jemma.
Two of them waved, and one did not. “The things a man does in the name of love,” he muttered. Jemma’s somber expression could not be read, but she did not seem to be especially sorrowful over their painful argument. It was unrequited love at its finest. Except, he knew a part of her did care for him. A part so hidden behind the cloak of denial that it would never see the light of day. That hurt worse than anything.
And then it was done. He had a picnic appointment with the one and only Mrs. Fortescue—a woman possibly older than his own grandmother. He had thought he had sufficiently shaken her from his trail, but by the looks of her gleeful smile, he had been terribly mistaken.
He didn’t steal a second look to see Jemma’s final response. She might not swoon over his sacrifice, but at least she would know his remorse over hurting her. Because even now, it was the only part he regretted.
y
Jemma had not only financed Mrs. Fortescue’s contribution to the charity but had made an older woman very happy. It almost made Jemma’s lingering headache worthwhile. Unfortunately, once she had rallied her courage, she had done something else too. Something she was bound to regret. She had asked Louisa to deliver a note to Miss Hardwick’s cousin. Though a veritablestranger, this cousin had been most obliging in her response, which was how Jemma had come to have Miles’s book of poetry in her hands.
It was not as thick as a novel, but it was larger than the little notebooks Miles generally carried around. It was a dark green with a gold floral pattern in the background and beautiful gold script. She hugged it to her chest. She hadn’t told the other Rebels about the book or even Louisa and Cassandra, but she had to know the contents. Why? Because a fierce ache tore at her insides. Because she couldn’t bring herself to rest. Because despite everything, she missed Miles.
The frustrating man was still her best friend, even if he had racked turmoil inside her. It was not as if she wanted to have a discussion about his writings with him. Not when she did not plan to speak to him again until after she was married to Mr. Bentley, but she needed a piece of him near her. His book was the only part of him she could allow by her side. She had thought it over a million times. Fewer people would be hurt if she avoided Miles than if she forgave him.
A glance at the timepiece on the wall told her she had a quarter hour before she needed to meet with Mr. Bentley. Cassandra and Louisa had assured her he still intended to marry her. She had heard of far more loveless marriages than not, and it was a perfectly acceptable path in life. Fulfilling the second half of her promise to Grandmother would have to wait. It seemed falling in love was not always something a person could choose ... just like falling out of love.
She sighed and tucked the book under her pillow to read later. For now, it was enough to have it near. She had yet to dress and had stalled far too long.
A knock sounded.
