Page 55 of The Gentleman's Confession
Sitting up again, he ran a hand over his jaw and pulled out his own sheet of paper to record his response. When he finished, he stared at the finished product. He didn’t want to get Jemma in trouble by sending it to the house. He would have to hold on to it until he saw her again. Who knew when it would be since she had clearly not forgiven him for trying to kiss her.
Despite her resistance, he knew she cared in her own way. He sensed it when she looked at him, when she let him hold her hand, and when she confided in him her fears and worries. Love either existed, or it did not. His devotion to her was real and tangible, like the air he breathed, but it wasn’t that simple for her. Mr. Bentley had crept into the picture, and Lisette was already its center. Perhaps Jemma did not know her own heart.
Perhaps she did not truly know his either. If she thought a lesson on romance could sway his feelings, let her try. She would fail.
He had lost the choice to fight or feel. His heart had awakened, and it wouldn’t sleep again.
y
Miles had not expected an opportunity to deliver his letter to Jemma to come so soon or for it to be because of an unfortunate circumstance.
“Lisette is sick?” Miles met Tom’s and Cassandra’s solemn gaze after church services.
“I stopped by Manning House yesterday for some strawberry starts, and Mrs. Manning told me.” Cassandra had her arm tucked into Tom’s. “They think she caught an illness during their charity visits. She has a fever, but the doctor said she is faring well.”
From their charity visits? The widow Talbridge had had a fever too. It was Miles’s fault for taking the ladies with him to see her. “I will ride over this afternoon to see if there have been any changes.”
“We thought you would want to know.” Tom squeezed his shoulder in parting, and the couple made their way to Lord Felcroft’s carriage.
As soon as Miles gave out his bag of sweets to the eager children and said goodbye to the last parishioner, he mounted his horse and rode to Manning House. By the time he arrived, the air had grown heavy and the sky had darkened with a thick layer of ominous clouds. He pushed away any concerns about the weather along with his uncomfortable thoughts of speaking with Jemma again. This would force them to see each other on neutral ground—as friends once more. If it were even possible.
The butler let Miles into the drawing room to wait for anyone who could attend to him. Miles wasn’t in the mood to sit, so he studied the garden painting above the mantel and the knickknacks from the Mannings’ travels. Nothing seemed to keep his attention. Not with Jemma somewhere in the house and Lisette ill.
Mrs. Manning greeted him from the doorway. “It is always a pleasure to have you visit, Mr. Jackson.”
Miles stepped away from the mantel and toward her. “Mrs. Harwood said Lisette has a fever. Is she any better today?” He searched Mrs. Manning’s face, but besides a few fatigue lines around her fair eyes, she seemed relatively cheerful.
“After three days, she is finally up from her bed. She requires more rest, but the doctor assures us it is a fairly mild case.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Fevers were unpredictable in their longevity and power.
Mrs. Manning patted him on the arm. “Lisette will be so happy to know you have come to see how she is doing. She is anxious tobe back on her feet. I am afraid she is tired of being tucked away from everything.”
“May I sit with her for a time?”
Mrs. Manning hesitated. “A generous thought, Mr. Jackson, but we would not want our vicar catching an illness.”
“Please, I feel responsible. After all, I chose the locations of our charity visits. The least I can do is provide a distraction for an hour or so.”
Mrs. Manning finally let slip a smile. “How very kind of you. Let me show you to my sitting room.”
Miles had been upstairs only once in the Manning House, many years ago, during a game of hide-and-seek. Nothing was terribly familiar except for the general layout, a sort of box design with the corridor forming an angular circle. Mrs. Manning’s sitting room was around the first bend on the right.
Mrs. Manning knocked on the door and stuck her head inside. “Dearest, you have a visitor.” After a moment, Mrs. Manning motioned him inside, leaving the door ajar. “I’ll return to sit with you in a trice.” Jemma stood from a chair beside Lisette, and his attention was immediately arrested by her wide, green eyes. She looked well. Thank heavens. He nodded a greeting to her.
Jemma seemed neither happy nor unhappy to see him, but there was no warmth for him either.
“Please, sit here. I will take my leave.” She collected her lace shawl cast aside on the chair, one that reminded him of the late Mrs. Fielding, and quickly stepped around him. He caught her brief scent of roses, but it dissipated all too soon.
He hated how she felt the need to flee from his presence, but he did not let any emotion show on his face. Now was not the time to think about Jemma. He slid into her vacated seat, a maid hovering nearby, and took in Lisette’s pale complexion. Her flaxen hair was pulled into a loose bun at her neck, and strandshung limp by her cheeks. She wore a collared dressing gown with a blanket across her lap.
She gave him a tired smile. “You did not have to come, Miles. I am not dying, as you can see.”
“I am relieved to see it. You will forgive me for taking you to see the widow Talbridge? I feel terrible that you caught her illness.”
“Is she faring better?”
“How like you to worry about someone else when you yourself are unwell. She did not attend services today, but her neighbor said she is on the mend.”
