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Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Miles clenched the invitation to Mr. Bentley's party being held on the morrow tightly in his fist, crumpling the better half of it. After the incident at the pond the day before, he planned to politely refuse the invite and spend the evening reading. He had no sooner decided this when the older Mrs. Sheldon stopped at the church to drop off a few things to add to his charity baskets.

He tucked the invitation aside and accepted the items piled in her footman's arms. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Sheldon. Your donations are always appreciated."

"I love helping when I can," she said. Pausing at the church door, she added, "Paul and Louisa are looking forward to the party tomorrow night at Mr. Bentley's house. You will be there, of course, won't you?"

"Actually, I have had a long week and plan to sit this one out."

Mrs. Sheldon was rather thin and frail, but her grip on Miles's arm was surprisingly firm. "You cannot miss the party. What if you offend Mr. Bentley?"

He didn't want to offend anyone, which was why it would be better to keep his uncontrolled thoughts to himself at home. He bid goodbye to Mrs. Sheldon and began sorting through the items she had left him.

Not an hour later, Lady Kellen breezed through the church doors. She had come with a few prayer books to donate to the Sunday school they hoped to start for the children. The extra materials were greatly appreciated.

"Use them well, Mr. Jackson. I will see you tomorrow at Mr. Bentley's party."

It felt dishonest not to say anything. "I am not certain yet if I will be available." As soon as he'd said it, he hoped she would not press his decision.

She was a tall woman who carried herself with some unseen power. Her response was a quelling look that made him straighten. Then she said, "As the vicar, you must make it a priority to support Mr. Bentley. It is your duty to make him feel welcome."

Duty? He was tired of duty. "I will make it a priority to ... consider it." It was the best he could do.

Lady Kellen gave him another strong look and left him to his business. Well, he was not going to press his luck by sitting around the church. Who knew what matron would stop by to harass him next? He saddled his mare, mounted, and rode all the way to visit Mr. Reed—a recent young widower. If anything was going to clear his mind, it would be time serving someone whose lot was worse off than his own.

A few hours later, Miles left with a lighter heart. Mr. Reed was in mourning, but his perspective was inspiring. On Miles's ride home, he happened to pass his family's carriage on the lane.

His mother put her arm on the window and leaned her head out. Her dark hair, a mirror of Miles's, was framed in an elegant bonnet she had likely fashioned herself. "I was just passing by on my way home from town. I wanted to make certain you had received your invitation to Mr. Bentley's party tomorrow."

Not the party again. "Yes, Mama, I received it."

"And?"

And? What did the matrons of this town want from him? "And I plan to read a good mystery in my wingback chair, make toast by the fire, and sip melted chocolate instead." Or maybe he'd forgo the mystery and spend the evening with his favorite pen, corralling his feelings into the safe confines of paper—a much happier place than reality.

Her frown could have matched his own. "But you always burn your toast. Wouldn't the party's fare be better?"

His horse danced, likely sensing Miles's desire to keep riding. "They won't have melted chocolate, and I am in the mood for nothing else."

"Oh, botheration. You like your chocolate much too bitter anyway."

He smiled and responded gently. "I will add a drop of honey to it and think of you."

The suggestion did not inspire her warmth. "Miles, you must come. I insist, and you know I do not insist very often."

He bit his tongue. What mother did not insist often? He sighed. "Very well. I do not know why everyone thinks I need to attend, but do not expect me to stay long."

Immediately, his mother's grin was victorious. He knew the smile too well, for he had lost plenty of arguments to her. But pleasing his mother was often easier than dissuading her. Waving goodbye, he urged his horse forward. Once out of sight of the carriage, he took his hat off and swatted his leg with it.

How fortunate he was to have life smile upon him again today. The matrons of Brookeside were such a joy to interact with. Who needed a reprieve when he could spend his weekend watching Jemma dance with Mr. Bentley? It was such a sweet image, it would likely haunt his dreams.

y

Lisette and Jemma decided to get ready for the party together in Lisette's bedchamber. Jemma picked out Lisette's gown and fussed over her. "Can you look any more angelic?"

Lisette laughed under her breath. "It isn't a fancy ball in London, but it is nice to have something to look forward to."

"I like a big ball on occasion, but a party of close friends is far preferable to me." Jemma handed a pearl comb to the maid to place in Lisette's hair. "What do you think? I adore it."

"I like it," Lisette said. "But I do think you are fussing entirely too much."

"Me? Not at all. I know you are excited to dance tonight."

"Do you think our friends will take pity on me and be my partner?"

"Pity?" Jemma blew out an exasperated breath. "All the single men will be chasing you for the opportunity."

Lisette giggled. "However will I fend them off long enough to dance?"

The two of them laughed. When it was Jemma's turn to have her hair done, they chatted about what food would be served and if Tom would reenact the ballroom scandal and kiss Cassandra in public again.

When they finished, Jemma stood at the mirror next to Lisette. "I think you ought to wear Grandmother's lace shawl tonight."

Lisette's brow puckered. "But it is your favorite."

"I know, but it will compliment this dress so well." She wanted Lisette to feel like a diamond of the first water. Perhaps then the guilt simmering inside Jemma would fade. If she tried hard enough, everything could still fall into place as planned. One day of confusion was a minor setback. Tonight, nothing would tempt or sway her heart.

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