Page 15 of The Gentleman's Confession
“I know many men in my position do not even claim to be especially religious. Many of them weren’t the prized firstborn son with a grand inheritance, and the church was an easy source of income. But it’s more than a job to me. It’s ...”
“A calling?” she offered.
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “How am I doing with the listening?”
His lips quirked like he was fighting his own smile. “You always were good at conversation.”
Jemma snorted, and they both laughed. Miles collapsed onto the bench next to her, much closer than before. His eyes met hers, and his smile suddenly faded. “Well, that ought to keep you until Monday. You were an exemplary student.”
She bumped him with her shoulder. “We cannot be done yet. I am certain your parish appreciates a brief sermon, but not me. I’m already seeing conversation in a different light. Tell me what’s next.”
“Conversation is the first step. Once you get to know ...” Miles cleared his throat. “Once you get to knowMr. Bentleyand listen to what his interests are, you can follow it with an act of kindness.”
“I like that.”
“Good. How about practicing on someone else first?”
“Like you?”
He shook his head much too quickly. “Not me, please. Think of someone you don’t understand. The first person who comes to mind.”
“The new maid at the Manning House. She walks around with this matted shawl at all hours of the day. I declare, it is swarming with fleas, besides being much too warm for this time of year. I would love an excuse to design a new one for her and have it made up in a practical fabric with an attractive pattern. I have already noted several options in my mind.” She mused, quirking a brow. “Maybe the art of conversation will aid my cause.”
“Perfect. Get her to talk about herself. Then, based on your conversation, think of something nice to do for her. When you serve someone, you start to think differently about them. It’s an amazing thing.” His eyes were lit when he finished. His passion for his profession always inspired her.
“Is this the sort of activity you engage in every day?”
He shrugged. “When I can. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Mr. Bentley.” He punctuated each sound of the name.
“You are very right. I shall attempt to apply what I have learned tomorrow night at dinner. You are coming, are you not?”
“To Kensington House?”
“Have you forgotten? I heard Lady Kellen convinced Ian to come. You really ought to join us.”
“Yes, I suppose I must.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“I won’t, then.” He stood and gave a dismissive nod with his head in the direction of the church. “Don’t let anyone see you. Someone has to worry about your reputation, even if you do not.”
She pushed off the bench and agreed. “Good day to you, Miles.” She went a few steps from him before turning abruptly. “I will repay you someday for all your help. You won’t regret it.”
He said nothing, turning to stare at the creek instead of her. She took one last look at the profile half of Brookeside was in love with. His dark curls hid the top of his ears, and a long lock fell across his forehead. And while his chiseled features weredecidedly masculine, he had thicker eyelashes than any woman she knew. She forced her eyes away, as she had trained herself long ago to do. Mr. Bentley might not be as handsome as Miles, but she sincerely hoped she would come to rely on him in a similar way.
CHAPTER 8
Miles sat at the massivedining table in Kensington House, trying to focus on the ornate candelabras, the bright and wild landscapes from the West Indies adorning the walls, or even the blue-rimmed chinaware. Anything besides Jemma. Her every movement caught his gaze, her words his attention, and her presence his heart. And she was completely oblivious.
As he wanted her to be.
Mr. Bentley said something from his seat at the head of the table, drawing a laugh from Jemma and Ian on the other side of him. Jealousy like Miles had never experienced ruined his appetite and darkened his thoughts. His own mother—a matchmaking accomplice to Lady Kellen—had bragged that very morning about the credit she deserved for helping to choose the perfect man for Jemma.
He loved his mother, but he liked her less after such an aggravating conversation.
“You’re not eating.”
