Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Miles glared at the back of their host's head—not a practice he usually condoned but not one he could help either. Mr. Bentley, unaware of the visual daggers pointed his way, led the austere Lady Billforth across his drawing room to introduce her to another of his many dinner guests. All the Rebels were in attendance, along with the entire Society of Matchmaking Mamas. A few other townspeople were smattered throughout the room, too, but until Jemma made her entrance, Miles kept his gaze riveted on Mr. Bentley.

How he wished he could hate the man. He almost did after he heard Mr. Bentley had sent his carriage for Jemma and the Manning family. Did he have to be so upstanding? They had their own carriage, so why send his? There could be but one reason: Mr. Bentley desired to make a clear statement of claim on Jemma Fielding.

Miles gave a childish huff.

"Are you overheated, Mr. Jackson?"

Miles turned to find Lady Felcroft, Tom's mother, observing him amid the chatter in the room. He had not even noticed her sit on the same sofa as him. He set his jaw and shook his head. "I am perfectly well. How do you do, Lady Felcroft?"

"Splendid." The baroness studied him for a moment, his answer apparently not satisfying enough. She did not have the same regal, commanding presence as Lady Kellen, but Miles thought her quite elegant all the same. Then again, anyone who mothered his friend Tom couldn't be too pretentious.

Miles cleared his throat. "How is young Master Alan?"

Her suspicious features softened into a smile. "He is a real joy. I love having a child about the house again."

"Alan is a special young man."

"He can be a bit restless, but he is always polite. I daresay, his heart is bigger than he is."

A commotion sounded at the door, and the last guests arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Manning entered first, followed by Jemma and Lisette arm in arm. Before Miles could so much as inch forward on the couch, Mr. Bentley was at Jemma's side, with Lady Billforth in tow.

"Don't they look well together?" Lady Felcroft asked.

"Hmm?" Miles muttered. "Oh, yes, I suppose." He had eyes only for Jemma. She was beautiful in her pink muslin. The wider neck line emphasized her creamy skin, while the pink brought out the color in her cheeks. He had no desire to study Mr. Bentley or how well he and Jemma looked as a couple, but he could study Jemma all night.

His mother came and took a seat on the other side of him, her dark hair pulled into an elegant coiffure and her high cheekbones rosy from the warmth of the room. His glimpse of her in the carriage had been similar to all their meetings these days—never long enough for much conversation. Even though the parsonage was not far from the rectory, both of them were very busy.

"Good evening, Mother. I wondered when you would come greet your oldest son."

"Oh, Miles," she said, not even hearing him. "Look at them." He followed her gaze to Jemma and Mr. Bentley. "What a handsome pair they make." Her small squeal of pleasure sickened him. How could his own mother betray him? She never should have agreed to support the latest so-called match.

Miles squeezed his hands together in his lap, popping a knuckle or two in the process. He had come to the party because of three nosy, persistent matrons. So, must they now torture him by spending every breath gloating about their triumphs? The frustration brewing inside him pushed him to his feet. "Excuse me."

The Rebels surrounded him before he could make it far, everyone except Jemma, who still stood in conversation with Mr. Bentley. They took no notice of Miles's inner turmoil, naturally coming together in a room as they always did and including him in their circle.

"Mr. Bentley seems like a friendly chap," Tom said, his wife, Cassandra, on his arm. "It was kind of him to invite a few strangers to his welcome party."

"And he and Jemma seem to get on well," Louisa added, her signature smile a little too bright.

Miles gritted his teeth. Lucky him. More conversation in which Mr. Bentley and Jemma were the central topic. Was he the only one noticing the way Jemma wrung her hands together? He took no pleasure in seeing her so uncomfortable. She was trying too hard to force something that wasn't there to begin with.

"Miles," Paul said as if hearing his inner pleas for a change in subject, "I do believe I saw you when I was out riding today. I wanted to greet you, but you were just stopping at Mr. Reed's."

"Yes, you saw correctly."

"How is he? I was sorry to hear his wife died."

"He is devastated, as you can imagine. He and his wife shared great affection for each other." It was heavy to think about it for too long. Would if he could borrow Mr. Reed's inner strength to drive away his jealousy.

"At least he had happiness for a time," Lisette said. "Everyone deserves that." Her gaze met his, and her soft-spoken words permeated through him.

Everyone? It wasn't the way of things. Happiness was an attitude, and marriage was too often an act of convenience. As a result, one chose to be happy with whatever lot one was given.

He wanted to believe Lisette over Society's stance.

He was still thinking on her words when dinner was announced. It was far more formal than he'd expected, the couples entering the dining room by rank and sitting in assigned seats with name cards set around the table.

Mr. Bentley mentioned in passing his gratitude for Lady Kellen's assistance with the placements. Knowing this, Miles frowned when he saw his name card. He was seated between Cassandra and Jemma. Lisette sat farther down, at the end of the table. It wasn't like Lady Kellen to get something wrong. She had a motive for everything.

He waited while the footman held out Jemma's chair for her to sit before slipping into his own seat. The air beside him rippled with tension. It meant one thing: Jemma hadn't forgiven him yet. She proved his gut right when she studiously ignored him through the first course.

"Jemma," he whispered, putting his glass to his lips. "You cannot ignore me forever."

Her back went rigid. She chewed her food with slow deliberation. When she swallowed, she finally answered, "Yes, I can."

He had a sudden urge to goad her until she smiled. "Does that mean you won't dance with me tonight? I was hoping to ask you for the first set." He was an idiot bent on suffering, but the invitation had to be made. He couldn't let her stay mad at him.

"I cannot. I was going to save that dance for—" Her bright-green eyes met his, and she visibly swallowed.

It took him a moment to process what would have been the rest of her answer. "I didn't think about Mr. Bentley. A later dance would be better."

She gave a short nod and turned back to her food. She did not seem pleased with accepting him at all, but she had also not seemed capable of refusing. Where Lisette was quick to forgive, Jemma often took coaxing. That she hadn't guilted him a little longer had to be a good sign. Maybe she had thought on his answer at the pond, and her heart had softened on the matter.

When dinner ended, the footmen pushed the furniture up to the walls in the drawing room to clear the floor for dancing. His mother took a seat at the pianoforte, her fingers trilling out the first notes. The couples began to pair up. Mr. Bentley claimed Jemma's hand, and they lined up with the others.

Miles committed himself to being patient—to being long-suffering. But something about confessing his feelings about Lisette to Jemma had weakened him. Seeing Jemma and Mr. Bentley's smiles bending toward each other was too much. He couldn't stand to see them so near each other, their gazes locked in practice for the rest of their mortality together. Miles turned away, but it was not soon enough. Inside him, a sharp blade formed by years of longing now ran jagged with disappointment as it ripped its way through his heart.

Any small chance he'd had with Jemma had passed long ago.

Raw and bleeding inside, he surmised one thing as he stared blankly at the wall: he had to leave Brookeside. Soon. But fleeing this room was his first priority. His feet moved before he could think twice. In his haste, he stumbled around Lord and Lady Felcroft and mumbled an apology.

Once through the door and in the corridor, he blindly walked until he found an empty room. The library. The safest haven in the house. Sinking onto a chair by the fire, he resisted the urge to throw his fist into the stone mantel. Anger didn't suit him. It never did him any favors or changed any situation for the better.

He would go to his sister and brother-in-law in Shropshire until a position could be found for him. Throwing his head back into the cushion, he groaned. How it would pain him to leave his parish. He loved all of them. He loved Brookeside. His family was here. His friends.

But he couldn't live seeing Jemma as Mrs. Bentley forevermore. How could he bear it? He'd turn down her silly lessons and ...

The lessons.

His brow furrowed. Those two little words circulated in his mind like a nondescript answer. The lessons were his last opportunity to be with Jemma. Dare he take advantage of them before he was gone forever? The very idea seemed immoral. She was practically engaged.

Unless she wasn't.

He sat up in his seat, his mind whirling. He loved Jemma, there was no doubt about it. Could he fight for her? Could he risk Lisette's heart to recover his own? This question had teased him a thousand times, but this time, it stayed at the forefront of his mind, marinating and burning into his thoughts. He heard in his mind Lisette's words telling him everyone deserved to be happy.

What if his own happiness mattered as much as the happiness he dearly wanted for his friends? He felt loathsome and selfish to even consider it. He'd devoted his time to caring for others and bringing them joy. Didn't Lisette deserve to find someone who loved her like he loved Jemma? His eyes widened with the revelation.

Life was more than just keeping others happy. He saw now how merely pleasing others was a careful kind of love that brought a surface level of happiness to him and those around him. It didn't require him to be vulnerable and lulled him into thinking he was being selfless.

In protecting everyone by keeping his feelings to himself, he could hurt himself—but he could also hurt everyone else too. He couldn't eliminate anyone's opportunity for growth, much like he could not take away those experiences for himself. If he loved his friends, he would want them to develop tenacity, character, and the kind of joy that didn't always accompany a smile.

He would always want to serve everyone and care for them, but those things were only the beginning. True love meant wanting more than happiness. It encompassed so much more—and he understood now why love was the root of joy. He wanted to love and be loved, and he wanted for all his friends to have the same.

So, was he brave enough to chase what he knew was right and good? The path had an unclear ending and was fraught with living obstacles—people he cared for.

He couldn't think too far ahead, or it overwhelmed him. There were two lessons left. Two opportunities to convince Jemma to marry him instead. Miles grasped the hope in his mind, tightening his resolve around it. Mr. Romantic was about to become the best teacher Jemma Fielding had ever had.