Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

"Jemma?" His arms were around her in an instant, bracing her. "Are you hurt?"

She rubbed her nose. Miles would never forgive himself if he'd broken it, let alone bruised it.

"I ... I am well. Simply confused by your presence. What are you doing here?"

Miles was generally a careful man. He'd merely been struck by an intense wave of curiosity. Or should he say, jealousy? He dropped his arms awkwardly to his side. At least he had an excuse to offer, weak as it was. "You scheduled a lesson with me today, or did you forget?"

She dropped her hand, revealing a slightly pink nose. "I didn't forget exactly. I had hoped to come see you later." She squirmed. "Oh, all right, I forgot. I'm sorry, Miles. I didn't mean to forget, honestly. I was consumed with the idea of redeeming myself from spilling tea all over my dress when Mr. Bentley visited last."

Miles frowned. "I hope it wasn't hot."

"It was, but not enough to cause any blisters."

He winced. "That isn't like you. He didn't scare you or bother you in any way?"

She absently rubbed one of her arms. "No, it was all my doing. I am a complete ninny from all these nerves."

Was she simply trying too hard? She was too levelheaded for such behavior. "Is your vision changing? No vertigo?"

"Nothing but a little damage to my pride. But do not think my problems are going to distract me from your behavior. If you want to see Lisette, why not join us?"

"Have I ever called on Lisette in all these years?" Miles hadn't meant to pose such a question, but it fell from his lips easily. "Outside of family dinners, which, admittedly, are frequent, or matters of health or the duties of my profession, do you see me single her out?" Even if Jemma had no interest in him for herself, couldn't she, of all their friends, recognize there was no room for Lisette in his heart?

"No, but I do not judge you for it. I know you are shy where she is concerned."

"Shy?" He bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Is that what she thought? She wanted him to act honorably and marry Lisette, and he wanted someone to give him permission otherwise.

"Well, yes. I have always wondered if your father had something to do with it too."

"What would Daniel Jackson have to do with my reservations? If anything, the rector would love to officiate at my wedding."

"I did not mean Mr. Daniel Jackson, but Mr. Wilson."

Miles drew back at the mention of his real father.

Jemma had seen what no one else had. It was true his mother had encouraged him to take on his stepfather's surname to elevate his future opportunities. It was also true that he had never felt himself equal to his friends, whose stations were lofty in comparison to his own; however, his station did not keep him from marrying Lisette, but it did keep him from feeling worthy of Jemma.

"My birth and childhood will always influence me." He swallowed hard, forcing his tone to stay light. "Another reason you ought to seek lessons from another person. If I haven't achieved any personal success, I can hardly be an adequate teacher to advise you."

"We are Rebels, Miles. We see the world differently. We see you differently. None of us thinks any less of you because of your birth. In fact, it is quite the opposite. All of us admire you."

She said the last part with such feeling, it amazed him. She had no idea the impact of her words and how they eased the old wound he carried. He had never felt worthy of Jemma Fielding, so now he did not know how to respond.

She must have sensed the conversation was growing too personal, because her gaze flitted around. "As I said, you have much to offer. I do not live here year-round, but I have heard all the stories. You've helped heal many relationships in the town with your clerical advising. As for me, there is no one's advice I respect more, so it still has to be you as my teacher."

He shook his head. For a logical woman, she was surprisingly decisive about this absurd notion, but neither could he continue to argue with her about it when he wanted to make the most of their time together "Very well, but only because I enjoy our lively discussions. Did you reach out to your maid, or did you forget that too?"

Jemma grimaced. "I have been under a great deal of stress, but it does not excuse me for not following through. Heaven knows I need the help, what with these wardrobe malfunctions and clumsiness. I want to force this love business along, but I should do it properly, like you suggest. I will do better, I promise. Without a concerted effort, I will never win his affections before we are wed or learn to apply my own heart properly."

"It cannot be so bad. You will gain your steady ground again soon enough. He would be a fool not to like you."

She avoided his gaze. "You have to say that."

He looked away too. "No, I do not. If he is worth pursuing, he won't care a fig about a few accidents."

"I suppose. I wish I could know for certain. You couldn't hear anything through the window, could you?" Her voice was much too curious.

"What?" He whipped his gaze back to hers. With her eyes narrowed like that, he could imagine her thoughts were on the wild end.

"I will only listen in for a moment. After all, if a vicar can do it, an ordinary person like myself shouldn't feel any shame." She darted by him before he could object, weaving through the ornamental shrubbery lining the Manning House.

He followed after her. His very un-vicar-like behavior had not been meant to justify her own unladylike decisions. "Jemma!"

But it was too late. She'd reached the window. Hunched down beneath the ledge, she slowly straightened her back until she could see through the corner. She darted back down and waved him nearer.

Shaking his head, he crept closer. "You can't hear well enough from here. It would be better to listen from the drawing room door."

Her eyes widened. "Why didn't you say so to begin with?"

Crouched beside her, he couldn't help but chuckle at their amusing position. "Because Jemma Fielding is headstrong and doesn't always wait for someone to advise her."

She stuck out her tongue at him, which made him laugh again. She hadn't done that in years, and he suspected the impulsive act of juvenility was to cover her blush. "I might not be thinking straight these days," she muttered.

Oh, he could have told her that the minute she'd walked into the church with her ridiculous confession about marrying a stranger. But underneath her stubborn exterior was a rather tender heart, and he sensed she did not need to hear a list of her mistakes at the moment. "How can I help you?"

She shrugged. "Grandmother let me have my freedom, but she rooted me too. I was so sure about my future. I didn't know she would die or that all my goals would change. Some days, I feel no different from a cottonwood seed adrift on the wind. Meeting Mr. Bentley has at least given me a sense of purpose."

He wished he could tell her a list of alternatives to fill her needs instead of the man on the other side of the window. Cheering her up, though, was Miles's first priority. "I know you, Jemma. Someday, this cottonwood seed will find fertile ground and grow into a strong tree no gust or gale can penetrate."

Her brows rose. "Promise?"

"I promise. Until then, I will help you spy on Mr. Bentley through the drawing room door so you can be at ease."

This time, the corners of her lips rose too. "And then you'll stay and visit with Lisette?"

He hesitated before giving in. "If it pleases you."

Jemma grinned. The simple smile fueled him with satisfaction and made his ridiculous effort to seek her out worthwhile. "What will you and Lisette talk about?"

Just like that, his satisfaction withered away. "Talk? I don't know. Maybe we'll play a game of chess or something."

"Chess?" Jemma shook her head adamantly. "No, that wouldn't do. Lisette doesn't care for it. Besides that's our game. Or did you forget?"

"Our game?" He smirked. "Is that what it means when you force me to play you every summer so you can beat me?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "So I'm never allowed to play with anyone else?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose not. I like being the one who trounces you.

They both laughed. "Come on." He motioned her to follow him. A nagging thought did not allow him to go more than a few feet. What she'd said earlier about her feeling adrift had not settled. He stopped her when they were out of view of the window and could stand again. "One more thing: you know you have friends who would do anything for you, don't you? If you need to speak to anyone or vanquish them soundly at chess, you're not alone. I'm here for you."

She set her hand lightly on his arm, her eyes suddenly glistening. "Thank you, Miles."

"It's not just me. All the Rebels are eager to support you."

She nodded. "I'm quite happy to know we're all back in Brookeside together. I suppose it isn't only Grandmother I mourn but my stability too. At least I know Grandmother lived a full life, and it was her time, but I wish I could be so certain about my own future."

The hurt in her eyes said more than she had. He longed to remove all the heavy burdens she bore. "Change isn't easy, and I'm proud of you for trying to make the most of it."

Her smile seemed just for him. "I needed to hear that."

On a whim, he grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze of reassurance. He didn't linger like he had at Mr. Bentley's dinner party but dropped it and turned away so she would not see his feelings written all over his face. She had no idea how she affected him, and it was getting harder to hide it.

"Er, Miles?"

He shifted back toward her. Her cheeks bloomed into fetching roses. Had she finally felt what he had? His breath suspended. "Yes?"

She cleared her throat. "You ... you tore your breeches."

"What?" His eyes followed her gaze to his backside. He looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was an inch tear along the seam of his seat. When had that happened? His eyes flashed to where they had hovered by the window. How had he not noticed? He quickly angled himself to hide the unsightly rip, his hands going behind his back. Cringing, he muttered, "I suppose I was due for a new pair."

Amusement danced on her features. "Oh? I heard pantaloons as drafty as old houses were all the rage."

He caught her reference to his joke from when she had torn her dress. "Very funny."

She laughed merrily and started walking. "Be glad it was I who discovered you. I happen to believe such folly comes upon the very best of people."

"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 love to 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.