Page 23 of The Gentleman's Confession
“Is that so?” He was inclined to blame his frugal nature and procrastination in updating his wardrobe.
She nodded and laughed again. “Do let me know if you would like me to sketch you a dashing pair of trousers. Perhaps a blue pinstripe or a nice dust-colored cotton?”
“I don’t know if I should be honored or humiliated that you wish to make a dandy of me.” At least his embarrassment had made her genuinely happy again. He fell into step with her as they weaved their way through the landscaped perimeter and onto the sidewalk.
Miles drew up short, barely holding in a Bible swear. Jemma, beside him, likewise froze in her step.
“Mr. Bentley,” Jemma blurted.
He had just descended the steps, and neither of them had heard him coming.
Mr. Bentley looked from Jemma to Miles, his discomfort likely mirroring their own.
Jemma pointed to Miles. “Miles and I ... I mean, Mr. Jackson and I were just ...”
“We were waiting for you,” Miles finished, adopting his sincerest expression. “Jemma was hoping to see you to your horse.”
Jemma’s desperate eyes caught on to his suggestion. “Yes, my ... my headache is gone, thanks to this fresh air. I would loveto walk you to the stables and make up for my hasty departure earlier.”
Mr. Bentley glanced toward the topiary bush they had just exited, but some things were better left unexplained. “I, uh, would enjoy your company on my way to the stable.” His smile was conflicted, but he extended his arm to Jemma.
Jemma accepted it, and the two of them left Miles standing alone. She did not even look back at him.
He sighed and took a seat on the stone steps of the Manning House, no longer caring an ounce about his confounded trousers and how awkward it would be should someone catch him there. What had he been thinking, coming here today? He should have rejoiced when Jemma had not come for any lessons. Instead, he’d searched her out, uselessly worried that something had happened to keep her away.
What a fool he’d been. What grown man became suspicious after seeing another man’s horse in the stable and had to spy through the drawing room window to assure himself?
He’d done a good thing, sending Jemma off with Mr. Bentley. The right thing. So why did each time he saw them together get harder instead of easier? He had never intended to tell Jemma how he felt—never intended to marry her. Even if Lisette were not in the picture, Jemma would never see him as anything other than a good friend. Despite what she’d said about his father, she was in a league of debutantes all her own, and no one deserved her. So nothing about how he felt made any sense.
It seemed Jemma wasn’t the only one struggling with change. He rubbed the persistent ache in his chest. Perhaps he needed to have his heart sufficiently broken before he could move on for good. He would savor every last minute with her, and then do the hard thing, and let her go.
CHAPTER 11
From a distance, Jemma sawa small group of women milling around the church door. She had a feeling it was not a group of enthusiasts come to discuss the Bible. Her hand went to her hip. Such determined women would encroach onhertime with Miles. She blinked the thought away as quickly as it had come. She had meant it would shorten herlessontime.
No, even that sounded poorly. She was acting jealous when she had no right to do so. She dropped her hand and repented of her selfish thoughts. Vicars performed important responsibilities. It was not right for her to assume these women did not haverealneeds or that hers came first.
Nearing the scene, Jemma drew up short. Was Miles pinned against the door? She stood on her toes. Indeed, he was! His tight smile said plenty about the four women who were far closer than was respectable. One even had the audacity to stroke his hair.
Jemma’s lips pinched tight. She took back her remorse. Mr. Romantic’s lady entourage was entirely too much, and she wouldn’t stand for it. Didn’t they know Miles was nearly engaged to Lisette Manning? Everyone in their town expected it. Were they taking advantage of the fact that Miles had not made anything official?
She crowded in with the other women, catching Miles’s eye to show her disapproval.
He shrugged helplessly.
Ridiculous man. He was too nice to run them off but clearly was not trying to encourage any of them. And now he wastrapped by their cunning. She didn’t care to make a scene and have anyone think she was after him, too, but she supposed sheshouldhelp. Casting her eyes to the heavens, she took a resolute breath and leaned toward the closest woman to her, hovering just beyond the others. She was likely a farmer’s daughter, similar to Jemma’s own age, and in need of a fichu to cover more of her chest. She seemed the type to do anything to attract Miles’s attention, which made Jemma far angrier than she deserved to be.
Amid the clamoring for Miles’s attention, Jemma whispered into the woman’s ear the first thing she could think of. “Did you hear there is a sale at the emporium on ribbon? Mr. Jacksonlovesribbon.”
The woman pulled away from Miles. “He does?”
Not as much as she, but Miles wouldn’t mind if she stretched the truth for a good cause. “He uses them to mark his prayer book. Don’t you want him to think of you every time he prepares a sermon? Now, I cannot remember the exact price of the sale. Thirty percent off?”
The farmer’s daughter’s eyes rounded. “I would hate to miss it. And I would get there before the others.”
Jemma nodded, grateful she kept apprised of prices on not just fabrics but also all the embellishments. “Better hurry, then.” Jemma watched her go. One down, three left. And the best part? She hadn’t even come close to making a spectacle of herself. She dusted off her hands, eager to take on a second woman. But who to start with? Jemma knew a little about the two of them: Miss Hardwick was asking Miles to pray for the puppy in her arms, and Miss French wouldn’t stop touching his hair, no matter how many times he pulled her arm away. The third possessed a vaguely familiar face tipped beguilingly toward Miles as she begged him to eat her scones. Good heavens. A ribbon sale wouldn’t distract these women.
Miss Scones, first. Jemma glanced at the scones made with dates and raisins lying in a basket on the woman’s arm, then glanced up at her deceivingly sweet, large eyes behind a pair of spectacles. She was pleading again with Miles.
