Page 45 of The Gentleman's Confession
Ian finally sat back and released a sigh. “If you won’t tell me anything, I can only make inferences based on observation. I could be wrong ... I hope I’m wrong. But I have to warn you. If I am noticing your odd behavior, who else is? Someone is liable to get hurt, Miles, and I am afraid that someone will be you. Because if it isn’t you getting hurt, then it will be Jemma or Lisette, and I cannot allow that.”
Miles nodded, knowing Ian’s words were out of protection for their friends and not because he cared any less for him. “Everything will work out as it is meant to.”
Whether he was left with a broken heart or not—he would know soon enough. There was not much time left until the six-week period ended and Jemma’s engagement was announced. Would that it were his name attached to hers when that day came.
CHAPTER 21
Jemma returned from her dailywalk, having taken longer than normal to purge her thoughts with alone time and fresh air. Lisette met her in the corridor up the stairs.
“There you are, Jemma! You really have the most wretched timing,” Lisette grabbed her hand and pulled her back down the stairs.
“Is something wrong?”
“You will see.” She did not stop until they were both in the drawing room. There, on the tea table, was a basket tied in ribbon. “It’s a gift from Mr. Bentley. I am sorry you missed him.”
“What sort of gift is it?” Jemma picked up one of several jars inside.
“Spices from the Bahamas as a thank-you for our support of his house-warming party.”
The jar in her hand was labeled pimento. She held it to her nose and took in the strong peppery scent. “How very kind of him. Did he stay long?”
“Over an hour. I did think you would be back sooner, but he did not seem to mind.”
Jemma sighed. “The man will be made a saint for all his patience with me. Thank you for entertaining him ... again.”
Lisette shook her head. “You would have done the same for me. Did you enjoy your walk?”
“It was just what I needed, thank you.” She set the jar back inside, her mind spinning. She couldn’t keep missing Mr. Bentley. She needed progress, not time to wallow in her problems. “I guess it wasn’t all I needed. In lieu of mycommitment to give Mr. Bentley more of my time, I suppose I will have to invite him over again.”
Lisette laughed. “Are we to have our own party?”
“No, I need something simple, with fewer guests.” And most definitely not with Miles. She made a mental list of summer activities, stopping on the perfect one. It was the perfect balance of work and play—just as Miles had taught her. “I shall invite him to our annual strawberry-picking contest! I often walk by the patch, and it’s brimming with ripe fruit.” The Mannings had a large patch and held a picking contest every June but generally kept the activity in the family.
“I can see him enjoying that.”
“You can?” She found she was holding her breath.
“He told us he loves plants after overseeing his plantations. Come, let’s go ask Mama what she thinks.”
Thankfully, both Mr. and Mrs. Manning were all too excited to add Mr. Bentley to the event. Mrs. Manning had even said it was right and proper to include him since he would be a member of the family anyway. They sent a note over to request his presence the following day, and it was returned not two hours later with an affirmative.
The weather the next day was picturesque, with enough cloud cover to make the temperature pleasant. Jemma dressed in a sturdier gown but one that also showed off her flair for style. Mr. Bentley smiled at her when he arrived, and they all filed out to the garden. With pails and baskets in hand, Mr. Manning staked out sections of the patch.
It was the perfect day to think of Mr. Bentley and only Mr. Bentley.
“There are only two rules,” Mr. Manning announced. “One, the winner picks the most strawberries in a half hours’ time. Two, no stealing from anyone else’s pail.”
“Easy enough,” Mr. Bentley said, discarding his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves.
When all were ready in position, Mr. Manning yelled time, and they shot forward, frantically searching the plants for the ripe, red berries. The best part wasn’t the picking. It was the half hour of exaggerated stories from Mr. Manning. Most were of past competitions he and his brothers had competed in. By the end, they were tired from laughing, groaning of aching backs, and congratulating each other on only one spilled pail—and it wasn’t even Jemma’s.
Mrs. Manning was declared the winner, and they all settled onto a blanket to sample the berries and drink cool lemonade. With Mr. Bentley seated nearest her, this was Jemma’s chance to engage him in a more private conversation. She wished she hadn’t spent so many years exerting her independence and trying to prove she did not need a husband or marriage. It would have benefited her now if she’d prepared herself properly.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Bentley, what sort of pastimes do you enjoy?”
“Interesting you should ask. I happen to be an avid fan of cricket. It’s been a few years since I’ve had a chance to play, but your friends have invited me to join a team. There is to be a match next week at Tom Harwood’s estate.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Jemma said, growing excited at the idea of a match in Brookeside. “I adore cricket. I make a good short slip, you know, and am a fair hand with the bat.”
