Page 16 of The Gentleman's Confession
Miles lifted his gaze to meet Lisette’s, who sat on his right. “Pardon?”
Her pale-blue eyes filled with concern. “You’re pushing your food around, but I fear you’ve not even tasted it. Are you unwell?”
Miles masked his feelings and managed a small smile. “I must still be full from my lunch.”
Lisette readily accepted his excuse, her eyes softening and her shoulders relaxing. Had she been so very worried about his health? His fierce jealousy moved aside to make room forsimmering guilt. He stabbed a bite of roasted duck and forced it down to set her at ease.
It was a delicate dance between being Lisette’s friend and trying not to give the wrong impression. The matrons always seated them together at dinner, so it was especially hard at parties. He cared for her as one did a sister, but he could not feel anything more for her. Still, he wouldn’t be unkind either.
Lisette leaned toward him once more, and thankfully, this time, her words were not about him. “Mr. Bentley seems like a wonderful man. Do you not agree?”
It was bad enough to have to eat at the same table as him, but must he talk about him too? “Yes, wonderful.”Wonderfullyvexing.
“I admit I was wary about this,” Lisette confided, “but I must give credit to the Matchmaking Society. Once again, they’ve proven themselves to have excellent taste.”
Miles mumbled his agreement. At least someone was pleased about this. Then again, Lisette never saw anything wrong with anyone. She always found a way to see the bright side. If only he could borrow her perspective this time. If only he loved Lisette and not Jemma. “I take it you have forgiven Jemma for not telling you about Mr. Bentley sooner.”
Lisette sighed. “How could I not? She’s been hurting deeply for months. Oh, I know I mourn Grandmother, too, but it is different for Jemma. She and Grandmother had a special relationship I always envied. I just want her to be happy again.”
Miles fingered his napkin, measuring his words. “And you think this is the answer?”
Lisette looked down the table at the intended couple, who were smiling over their shared conversation. “I can’t be certain, but it’s extremely promising.”
Exactly what he was afraid of.
He recognized Jemma’s canary-yellow gown of fine silk but noticed it had a new blonde lace trim across the neckline and along the short full sleeves. It was contrasted by robin’s-egg-blue netted gloves he knew were lying on her lap until she finished eating. He always noticed what she wore, knowing she loved to be complimented on her trend-setting fashions. She detested sewing herself, but last summer, she had begun exchanging drawings with two modistes overseas, one French and the other American, and her talent had only grown.
Sighing, he looked away ... again. He hated that he knew this about her. It inevitably served to remind him of his position. He could not provide her the lavish lifestyle she was accustomed to. She was never wasteful, doing over old gowns and donating others to the poor, but she deserved to have every comfort she was used to. With Mr. Bentley in the picture, she would be amply provided for and would likely travel the globe on his arm. He’d say nothing of her gown, not tonight or any other night.
How many times had he swallowed words of praise in an attempt to hide his feelings?
He suddenly wished the marriage over and done with so he could move on with his life. There were so many parish needs for him to focus on, and pining for Jemma was an unproductive use of his time. Almost worse were the lessons on love. But while he might not be worthy of Jemma, at least he could help her feel more of worth. If he couldn’t be the one to make her happy, he wanted someone else to do a proper job of it.
After the women left the table, Mr. Manning, Mr. Bentley, Ian, and himself remained at the table.
Miles forced a smile wide enough that he could feel the dents of his dimples. He might be somber by nature, but he wasn’t one to sulk. It was his job to be welcoming and embrace everyone into the community, and he took his responsibilities seriously—evenif it killed him. “I hope you’re enjoying the neighborhood, Mr. Bentley. The rest of us are quite fond of Brookeside.”
“It’s charming,” Mr. Bentley answered.
“Much like the ladies who reside here,” Mr. Manning said, raising his brow. Ian’s brow went up, too, and they all looked to Mr. Bentley.
“I must admit,” Mr. Bentley gave a self-conscious chuckle, “I have not met many others yet, but I am impressed by both Miss Fielding and Miss Manning.”
Miles squashed his immediate emotional response. “They are unparalleled,” he added, determined to be agreeable.
“So, what are we doing in here?” Mr. Manning asked. “Let us join them post haste so Mr. Bentley might know them better.”
Miles crumpled his napkin in his hand. It had been aggravating enough knowing their mothers were scheming against them, but this was further proof that the fathers were not without blame. First, Lord Felcroft had joined forces with his wife to match up Tom, and now, Mr. Manning was acting terribly suspicious.
“By all means.” Mr. Bentley stood. “Shall we?”
Miles followed the men into the drawing room, lagging behind while he mentally prepared himself for another grueling hour of practicing patience.
But he’d hardly suspected Jemma to snag his arm at the entrance and yank him to the side as she did now.
He looked at her hand on his arm and ignored the twist in his chest. “Don’t tell me you ripped another gown,” he said.
She was acting as strange as the first time she’d met Mr. Bentley.
