Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

When Lisette asked to accompany Jemma on her walk Monday morning, Jemma could not refuse her. "You may come but only if it is a short distance with plenty of stops to rest."

Lisette agreed. "I do not want to overtire myself, believe me. It would only mean more naps."

"You must be heartily sick of your bed."

"Yes, and grateful for fresh air."

The morning was crisp and the shadows cool, all traces of the flash storm from the day before gone. They took the long way around the perimeter of the estate before heading toward the road. The sparrows flitted about, chirping their greetings to them and making Lisette sigh with pleasure.

"The weather is perfect for a walk, is it not?" Jemma asked.

"Actually, I was thinking about how nice it was for Miles and Mr. Bentley to visit me while I was sick." Lisette pushed a large rock out of the way with her boot.

"Mr. Bentley has proven himself to be quite a gentleman." It took some effort not to talk of Miles and to focus on Mr. Bentley instead, but Jemma forced herself to expound. "I want you to know I was the picture of a lady and did not say or do anything capable of censure. You will never believe this, but I did not want to run from the room when he was with me, and I believe, neither did he."

Lisette's soft laugh caught on a breeze, muffling it. "I am happy to hear it. I am always pleased to see Mr. Bentley, but I admit I enjoyed Miles's visit particularly."

Jemma swallowed. "Oh?"

"It has been a while since I have felt close to him."

Jemma's stomach clenched. This was what she had wanted, but envisioning it did not settle well. Miles had listened to her wishes, despite his cryptic note. The words rang in her mind: May I correct one mistake in your accounting? I did not fall in love for the first time that day on the ice.

She shook her head to block out his puzzling words. He had already begun to transition his feelings back to Lisette since she had done everything to reject him, so it did not matter. And yet, no sense of satisfaction bubbled up inside Jemma; instead, her eyes pricked with tears. "We should turn around now."

"We haven't made it very far."

She kept her voice steady. "You promised, remember?"

"Very well." Lisette groaned, turning about. "You truly appreciate the change of scenery and the beauty of nature when you cannot have it, but tomorrow, it will still be here."

Jemma kept her head averted; her watery eyes trained on the field dotted with sheep on the side of the road. "And you will have even more energy to enjoy it if you are careful today."

They both had need of being careful.

Lisette smiled, oblivious to the pain Jemma felt. "You are very right."

Jemma was happy to see the color back in Lisette's cheeks and her strength returning, just like she would be happy to see Lisette with Miles. Though the thought was far more forced than ever before. Her willpower had to last only a little longer before her engagement was announced. Mrs. Manning thought that after the cricket match would be best, while everyone was gathered. Once it was official, everything would fall into place, including her and Miles's misplaced feelings.

y

Tuesday and Wednesday, it rained again, leaving the ground soggy and damp Thursday morning. Jemma was about to forgo her walk when Mrs. Manning came into her bedchamber, carrying a small basket.

"Good morning, Jemma. I am so glad I caught you before you left on your walk. Could you deliver this to the church for me for Mr. Jackson? I believe you walk that direction on occasion."

She did walk the route fairly regularly. But deliver something to Miles? With some hesitation, she peered into the basket to see at least a dozen chocolate biscuits the size of walnuts. They were stamped with a pretty heart and dusted with sugar—obviously made with particular care. Mrs. Manning carefully folded a tea towel over the top.

Jemma chewed on her lip. She had hoped to avoid Miles until the cricket match. If she visited him now, it might give him the wrong idea. "Actually, I—"

"I was so pleased by his visit to Lisette," Mrs. Manning cut her off. "Mr. Jackson does so much for the community and, yet, on his busiest day, came here to see to Lisette's welfare. Of course, I did want Lisette to deliver this, but I do not want her out in this damp air, and I have a meeting with my musical club today."

After all the Matchmaking Mamas had done for Jemma, the delivery of biscuits was the least she could do in return. Especially if they were said to be from Lisette. Besides, Miles deserved to have them, even if Jemma was reluctant to see him. The Mannings' cook was one of the best she knew, and Miles had such a liking for sweets.

"I would be happy to take it to him." She said it without enthusiasm, knowing she would likely regret her decision.

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Manning handed her the basket and left the room.

Jemma stared at the basket before setting it on her writing desk. If she was going to see Miles, it would do good to safeguard her heart first. Her intentions had to be clear to the both of them. In fact, this would be a good chance to send him another written lesson. She pulled open the desk drawer and fingered the stiff, folded letter he had dropped on the library sofa several days before. She didn't have to open it to know what it said. The words hadn't left her alone since she had read them earlier.

I did not fall in love for the first time that day on the ice.

No signature or a single detail more. He knew her curiosity would drive her mad, but she would not ask for clarification. He was baiting her, she was sure. But why? No, it did not matter. She was to blame for insisting on Miles's coaching her through her courtship.

She shut the drawer with too much force, the sharpness of wood against wood reverberating in her ears. Determined to forget a few puzzling words and even more complicated feelings, she picked up her pen and began composing her response.

Lesson two: the importance of chaperones and the evils of eye connection.

When she finished, she had to sneak one of Miles's chocolate biscuits to give her strength. The outside was crispy, the inside chewy and soft. One might not suffice, but she could procrastinate no longer. Donning her sturdiest pair of half boots and a lightweight spencer trimmed with ruffles, she trekked through the mud to the church. When she arrived, voices came from the side of the building, drawing her in that direction. She turned the corner only to pull back so she wouldn't be seen.

Peering around the corner, she observed Miss Hardwick playing with the honey ringlets by her face. "Are they really talking about Mr. Jackson all the way in London?"

The woman next to Miss Hardwick shared similar coloring but with larger features. She squeaked with disbelief. "Then, no one in Brookeside knows he published a book? His poems and ideas are all the rage in the circles I know."

Jemma gasped, quickly covering her mouth to silence it. Miles Jackson published a book! Why had he never told anyone? Why had he never told her?

"How long has he been married?" the unknown woman asked.

"Married?" Miss Hardwick laughed. "Cousin, Mr. Jackson is a bachelor."

"Oh? Even better!"

Jemma frowned. She could barely stomach Miss Hardwick's exuberant affection for Miles. Must she endure an equally enamored cousin?

"I am surprised to learn this," the cousin said. "Mr. Jackson has such a beautiful view on relationships. One would naturally expect he had an abundance of experience and years of marriage. But come to think of it, there was a selection about heartache. Was he thwarted in love? Did his fiancé die?"

Miss Hardwick laughed again. "You are reading into what is not there. They are fictional poems with plain truths in their themes. Does that not satisfy you?"

Her cousin shook her head. "I should still like to meet Mr. Jackson. I will never believe a bachelor can be any expert on love unless I speak to him for myself."

"And you shall," Miss Hardwick assured. "Mama will invite him to dine with us next week. She is very regular with her company. Besides, I would not be surprised if Mr. Jackson were soon engaged and able to satisfy all your concerns."

Jemma's heart unconsciously stuttered.

"Engaged? Truly?" Miss Hardwick's cousin bent an ear forward. "Do tell."

Miss Hardwick flipped the long ringlet from her chignon over her shoulder. "I have set my sights on him, Cousin. It is only a matter of time until he is engaged to me."

Jemma winced, even knowing there was not a single reason to be jealous of Miss Hardwick and her nonsense. Poor Miles though. His secret project had become famous. Knowing him, he would not be happy to know he had been found out. Selfishly, she was disappointed that she had not discovered the news before Miss Hardwick, and from Miles's own mouth. All this time, he'd been scribbling away at poetry? Inspirational poetry, at that. And some obviously about love. Why had he never shared even one with her?

More depressed in spirit than before, Jemma let herself into the church. She waited a good half hour, but there was no sign of Miles. She could leave the biscuits. She should leave the biscuits. But now that she knew about his book, she wanted nothing more than to ask him about it.

She finally gave up after chewing off the top of one of her fingernails. It was better if she did not converse with him for some time, even if it hurt to not know his secrets. She forced herself to exit the church. The ladies were well and gone, thank heavens. Jemma's eyes traced the path to the bench, and a sudden longing pulled at her. Miles wouldn't be there. It wasn't even the lunch hour. Her feet had a mind of their own, because they began the short trek down the path toward the copse of trees and the hidden stream.

The waterfall was fuller today after all the rainfall, and it drew her gaze. The bubbling sound filled her ears and soul. Nowhere on earth looked more beautiful than this did right now. Sentimentality hadn't always colored her view of things. Maybe it was because she knew she would have to stop coming here, and deep inside, she wished otherwise.

Inevitably, her gaze went to the bench. It was empty, just as she had imagined. How lonely it looked without Miles sitting on it. She set down the basket of biscuits on one end where she generally sat, and went and perched on other end instead—the side Miles generally occupied. Her hand absently fell to the wood beside her, but no one picked it up and held it close. Even so, sitting where Miles did made her feel closer to him, in a way.

Her fingers ran along the rough grain. In coming days, would Miles bring Lisette here to share his luncheon? Would all his and Jemma's memories here be forgotten? Such thoughts were torture to her, despite all her efforts to discipline herself.

She scooted to the very edge of the bench, shifting her weight to one hip so she might look at the seat as if Miles were still there. "Don't even think of desecrating our memories. Marry who you want, but this spot is ours."

"Is it now?"

Jemma startled and fell off the bench, her backside landing hard in damp soil. She did not care to look up, but the humiliation was inevitable. "How long have you been there?" She pulled her gaze behind her and into the trees. Miles stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his somber eyes on her.

"Long enough to know you've begun talking to yourself."

"I was not talking to myself. I was talking to ... someone else." She ran her hands down her skirts. It did not look good for her.

"Seeing how you were stroking the bench where I sit, I am inclined to believe you were speaking to me."

Her entire face burned.

His steps were slow and deliberate, and all too soon, he was by her side with his hand outstretched.

She stared at it. She had missed that hand.

With a brave and, perchance, foolish breath, she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

He didn't let go.

But then again, neither did she.

His hand was warm. Very warm. His eyes dull and his cheeks ruddy. She frowned. "Miles, are you well?"

He raised his brow. "Why are you here? I have no more lessons to teach you."

"I wish it were the truth. Apparently, you have much to teach everyone." She slipped her hand from his and stepped back, stumbling on a tree root. Miles's hand came up to catch her, but she waved it off. "I, er, brought you some biscuits from Mrs. Manning, but you were not at the church. Miss Hardwick was, however, and I overheard her talking to her cousin about a book you published."

Miles eyes grew from almond shaped to as round as chestnuts. "How did they know?"

She walked sideways to spare Miles the worst of her dress. This had not been the most graceful month of her life. She again took a seat on the bench, effectively hiding her dirty backside. This time, she sat closer to the biscuits and far away from the edge. "Your book is a favorite of many, it seems. A shame you did not share it with your closest friends."

"You are angry with me?"

"No." She stared at him. She could stare at him forever. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Certainly. I know you value your privacy. I might also be slightly jealous that so many others have read it and I have not."

He studied her. "It's about love and relationships."

She swallowed. "A topic you are passionate about." Did she really say that? Her cheeks burned. "I, of course, know little about the topic, which is why I need a copy, I suppose. What is love anyway? I daresay, I will never understand it."

"Love?" Miles walked to the bench, sinking into his normal place, facing the stream with eyes glassed over. "It's a natural emotion. Some would even say they wish they had greater power to suppress it."

Something was definitely off about his color and the tone of his voice. "You are not well, Miles."

He laughed bitterly. "For once, you see me plainly."

Her brow pinched. "Should you return inside? Perhaps lie down?"

He didn't answer.

She was by his side in an instant, throwing out all her reservations about touching him and setting her hand to his head. "Miles, you're burning with fever! We need to call a doctor and get you home to bed."

"No doctor."

"Tom, then. Or Paul or Ian?"

In one short motion, his head fell on her shoulder. "I will not trouble them."

Her pulse raced, and she wanted nothing more than to smooth his curls with her hand and be the one to comfort him. "Why can you not trouble them? I cannot carry you to your horse."

"Can't you try?"

She looked down to see a glimpse of a grin. She sputtered a laugh. "Certainly not."

She should pull away, but he was ill ...

"Would you carry Mr. Bentley?"

"You're being absurd."

"I suppose I am." He lifted his head up and stood. "Can you manage to keep your seat on the bench if I leave you? I would hate for you to ruin another pretty dress."

She stood, too, no longer caring about the damage to the back of her gown. "I promise not to fall twice." She wished such a statement applied to her love life as much as her clumsiness. "Now, go home, Miles Jackson. I will send the others to look in on you." On a whim, she tucked her letter into his hand and stepped back. She pointed to the path. "Go."

He did not reply, his gait tired as he walked back up the path. She whispered a prayer for his health. She wanted to rush to his side and let him lean into her, but she resisted. Part of binding up her heart meant letting someone else be the one to tend him. She stabbed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. It was much harder in real life than in her head.