Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Miles was quite proud of his carriage. They were expensive, and for a single man, it was a luxury. Employing enough servants for driving it as well as owning a second horse, however, were not privileges he enjoyed. He did have Sean Beagle—a footman who acted as a groomsman. Sean wasn't very good at either position, but he agreed to drive the carriage so Miles might escort the ladies on his visits.

The trip was much bumpier than normal and a great deal faster. To Miles's chagrin, Sean was a mite liberal with the whip, but the women pretended not to notice, chattering on about how excited they were to be helping him.

"I am especially looking forward to gathering funds afterward for the Chios massacre," Lisette said. "I am removed from the happenings in the world and had no idea."

Jemma looked out the small carriage window as if she could see the faraway island. "I get upset every time I think about it. So many people brutally killed—even the children. The survivors deserve far more."

"I agree, but even a small act of kindness can bring comfort." Lisette met Miles's gaze. "Thank you for letting us join you, Mr. Jackson."

The use of his surname sounded strange coming from Lisette, but Mrs. Manning beside him was a stickler for propriety, so he understood the necessity. "You're very welcome."

Lisette grinned at him. He waited, as he always did, for her sweet smile to do something to his heart, but like past times, it did not move beyond feelings of friendship.

He glanced at Jemma, who was still gazing out the window, and immediately, a familiar ache in his chest pulled at him. The body and mind were finicky things.

After Mr. Bentley's party, Miles had agonized over how to outwardly react around Jemma—the only thing he could control. On their walk, being near her had only made him surer of his intentions. He had tried to gauge her feelings for him. They had to both want a relationship for his efforts to make any headway. And though he'd sensed she cared during their dance, for some reason, she'd pretended otherwise on their walk. He wouldn't force her to accept him. So, reining in his growing emotions, he silently agreed to bide his time. For now, at least.

Until he could convince her heart otherwise.

The carriage rocked to a stop at the Reeds' cottage first. Mr. Reed was a gentleman of no great means, but he had enough to meet his basic necessities. His girls, on the other hand, had a greater need. They were in want of cheer. Only the day before, a timely donation of two cloth dolls was left on the church doorstep. They were pretty things and in excellent condition.

Miles had seen it happen before in his position as vicar. When someone had need, someone else in the parish seemed divinely led to help. More often than not, it was a small gesture—a warm meal or a visit—just the thing to offer comfort to the downtrodden. Every once in a while, the gesture of kindness came from an unknown party—an earthly angel intent to serve without recognition. Miles wished he could have thanked many generous souls over the years, and this was one of those times.

He reached for the basket of dolls on the carriage floor, admiring the delicately carved wooden features one last time before covering them with a bread cloth. He had a mind to have Jemma deliver them.

When they were all descended from the carriage, he handed her the basket.

"I thought a gentleman always carried everything for the lady," she teased.

"Not this time. You get to make the first delivery."

Jemma looked at Lisette and Mrs. Manning for help.

"Lisette can be next," Miles added. "She has brought some stockings she knitted, which the Johnson family will greatly appreciate."

"Go ahead, dear," Mrs. Manning encouraged.

Miles could see Jemma's mind spinning a false tale. Lisette had made an offering to give. She would make the perfect vicar's wife. Miles hadn't planned the outing for this purpose, but that morning, the idea had come strong and clear. He needed to show Jemma that her gifts had a purpose in the vicarage too—and they need not be the kind one could put in a basket. Sometimes the greatest gift came from the heart, and Jemma had more heart than anyone he knew.

The ladies gathered into Mr. Reed's drawing room—a modest but well cared for space—while his daughters were summoned from the nursery. Miles ended up seated between Jemma and Lisette, and Mrs. Manning took the open chair next to Mr. Reed, using the opportunity to invite him to dinner. She had finally convinced him when the nursemaid brought in two dark-haired children around five or six years of age, their faces much too solemn for their size. One was just an inch or so taller than the other, but otherwise, they could be mistaken for twins.

Miles lightly tapped Jemma on the arm. "Are you ready?"

She studied the children, unmoving. "Do you think I looked this sad when my parents died?"

Miles froze. Had he unintentionally opened an old wound? Why had he not realized the possibility sooner? He would give the dolls to the children and hurry Jemma away—

Jemma sprang forward, basket in hand, before he could intervene. She went straight to the children and knelt in front of them. "Good morning. My name is Miss Fielding. Do you know I have searched all morning for two raven-haired girls to give a present to?"

Her voice was so intent, he held his breath.

The sisters shook their heads, the youngest putting her two middle fingers in her mouth.

Jemma continued. "There is only one way to find out if you two are the right ones I am searching for. Have you been very good lately?"

The older one shook her head no.

"It cannot be," Jemma said. "You see, my nose itches when someone is good, and it is itching mightily right now." She wiggled her nose and scratched it.

The youngest Reed girl giggled, and Miles found himself grinning too.

"And because you two have been very good, you may have a present." She extended the cloth-covered basket.

Neither girl moved to accept it.

Jemma set the basket in front of them and shifted away, giving them room to explore it themselves.

The youngest made the first move, tugging at the bread cloth and pulling it away to expose the dolls.

The older girl gasped and snatched one of the dolls from inside, quickly followed by her sister. Soon, they were on the floor playing, with Jemma narrating a pretend tea party.

Miles gave a wry smile. She was a natural at this. After all his experience, he knew he never could have won the girls over as quickly and effectively as Jemma.

They left the Reed house with two happy daughters and a relieved and grateful father. A sense of humble satisfaction permeated the air on their walk to the carriage. While the ladies settled in the conveyance, Miles gave Sean strict instructions to drive slower on their return. Then he climbed inside himself and sank into the seat beside Mrs. Manning again and across from Jemma.

Jemma smiled at him. "Is it always this rewarding?"

"Not always in the moment," Miles answered. "Some deliveries are outright rejected, while others are simply unappreciated. It's never convenient or easy, but giving is the only service compensated from the heart. It is a payment far more valuable than any other I have received." The carriage hit a rock and jolted them. He grimaced, suddenly wishing for a little less heart and a little more money. How he would like to invest in a proper driver.

After the last of the charity baskets were delivered, including the stockings and jars of broth to a sick widow, the foursome stopped by four families' homes, asking for donations to aid the Greek in their time of need. They were far more fruitful in their errands than they'd expected. News of the terrible slaughter by the Turks was spreading quickly and gaining much sympathy.

They were all exhausted when they reached Manning House, Jemma and Lisette leaning on each other, arms linked.

Miles walked them all to the door and expressed his gratitude for their assistance. "I hope I didn't wear anyone out. It was a longer day than I expected."

Mrs. Manning patted his cheek as though she were his own mother. "You are the best vicar Brookeside has ever had—along with your father, of course." She smiled warmly, letting herself inside first. He had a feeling Mrs. Manning would give the same compliment to any vicar, but he appreciated it all the same.

Lisette released Jemma's arm and stopped in front of him. Jemma glanced between them, bit her lip, and gave him a small smile in parting. She disappeared inside, leaving him alone with Lisette.

He didn't wait for her to speak first, worried that if they tarried too long, it would cement further ideas in Jemma's mind. "Thank you for gifting the stockings, Lisette. I know they were greatly appreciated."

"You're welcome." Her smile drooped. "Miles, I have a question for you, and it has nothing to do with today."

He nodded, encouraging her to speak.

"We are good friends, are we not?"

His hands stilled on his breeches. "Yes."

"Nothing has happened to make our friendship change?" Her slender, fair brows arched in the middle.

Guilt, regret, and sadness flooded him at once. Had he neglected her in his carefulness to not give her the wrong idea? It was a fine line and one he'd conscientiously tread for years now. "Nothing has changed." He hoped she saw the sincerity in his eyes.

Her smile grew only a fraction. "I am pleased to hear it."

"I am happy to reassure you whenever you need a reminder." He wasn't in the same hurry to leave now, but she stepped back and said goodbye. He tipped his head in farewell and watched her go inside.

"Well done, Miles." He took his hat off and hit it against his leg. Affections were not meant to be toyed with. He had tried his best to protect Lisette from himself and himself from Jemma, but it hadn't been enough. Irritated, he raked his hand through his hair, mussing it to match the mess of his love life, then stalked to the carriage.

He had his foot on the step of his carriage when the door of Manning House shut behind him. He dropped back down and turned to see who had exited.

Jemma?

She picked up her skirts, hurried down the steps, and jogged to meet him. "I thought you'd left." Her chest heaved, and she caught her breath. "I had to thank you again. Today fed my soul. I needed to forget myself, and for one day, I did. Thank you, Miles."

He smoothed his hair, suddenly self-conscious of the disarray atop his head.

"The wind must have picked up." Jemma pushed a curl off his forehead. Her touch sent his skin tingling. Their hands brushed in the process, and they both quickly pulled back. She hid hers in the folds of her skirt, and he dropped his awkwardly to his side.

"I'm glad today helped," he started, returning his hat to his head. "If you think another lesson would help, I have thought of a few more ideas." Ideas that could finally win him her heart.

Her expression turned sheepish. "I am not sure a dozen lessons would help me. Mr. Bentley might be stuck with a marriage of convenience."

Miles's hands involuntarily tightened into fists. Mr. Bentley would have to fight him for such a privilege. He forced his muscles to relax before responding. "Day after tomorrow, let's try the bench again." He wanted to plead for her not to give up. Not on the lessons but on him.

She was slow to answer, ducking her head as she did. "I will be there."

Even with the reluctance in her stance, her agreement gave him a whisper of hope. Another lesson meant another opportunity to be with her. Unless ... unless she started to develop feelings for Mr. Bentley. Miles wouldn't want to take that from her. But didn't she deserve to have a choice between them? If she wouldn't let him tell her how he felt, he would show her. He would tread carefully, examining her feelings with every move. It might just be the most important lesson he had left to give.