Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Miles and his brother dressed for their second day of cricket. The first day had ended in a draw. While Brookeside was up a few runs, neither team had bowled the other out twice.

However, it wasn't cricket on Miles's mind. An uneasy feeling had settled over him from the moment he had awoken. He shook it off now as best he could. Nerves were always a part of any sportsman's event. It couldn't be anything else.

When he and Kent reached Tom's estate, the strange feeling in Miles's gut only increased. Was someone ill? Had he left unfinished business at the church? The only thing that made any sense was his concern for Jemma.

Should he seek her out and set things right between them? A few words exchanged in a handful of letters was not as effective as a single conversation. Knowing her, she was probably angry with him instead of flattered. This had to be it. His frankness had no doubt provoked her.

It was a shame she couldn't read any responses from the letters he'd sent to all his friends—many of them chaps from his school days, while others were acquaintances who had come and gone through Brookeside over the years. Her ire might lessen if she did. His surprise, however, wasn't meant to win her heart but to bring her happiness. Now he hoped it would also soften her enough that there could be peace between them again. Such hopes depended on the timeliness of the post, though, and would not do him any good today.

If he could speak to her for even a moment, it would surely set him at ease for the game. As soon as the Mannings' carriage arrived, he set down his practice bat and excused himself. He came upon his family gathered on a blanket near the Felcroft tent. After shaking his stepfather's hand and kissing his mother on the cheek, he slipped behind their other friends and made his way to the Mannings.

Jemma took one look at him, and her mouth hardened into a fine line. He thought she might be frustrated with him, but this was worse than he'd predicted. She drew Lady Kellen into a conversation, preventing him from speaking to her.

Even angry, she was beautiful. Dressed in a dark orange few could wear as well as she and a straw bonnet with feathers pluming from the back, she was eye-catching. Mr. Manning noticed him, and soon Miles was standing by Lisette and asking after her and her family.

After a few minutes, he returned to his team. The feeling of unease only increased, and no matter how much attention he paid to the match, he couldn't shake it.

When the inning ended, the Brookeside team took to the field. Paul stepped in as the next bowler, a quick hand at it, and Mr. Reed as the wicket keeper. Miles jogged to the outfield with Ian, each of them taking opposite sides. He didn't trust himself any closer since he needed to clear his head to focus.

All the same, he sought out Jemma, knowing she was too far away to realize he was looking for her, but discovered she was no longer in the tent. He glanced around, searching for a glimpse of orange, and finally found her by the score keeper, not terribly far from him. He caught her voice. A cheer—a cheer for Mr. Bentley.

Miles huffed in disgust and forced his mind back on the game. Nothing came his way for several overs. After the next batsman, he would rotate closer to the pitch.

The ruddy-faced bowler with the thick arms from the day before stepped in front of the wicket for his turn at bat. Paul bowled a clean, underarm throw, and the batsman swung hard. The ball connected with a resounding whack and soared toward the boundary. Miles would never make it in time to catch it, but he started running to retrieve the ball wherever it landed.

Only it didn't land. A woman walking along the far side of the field, far from the crowd, was struck in the back of the head before she crumpled to the ground in a heap of orange .

Jemma?

Miles's run turned into an all-out sprint. She was too still. Move. Please. Move. He slid to her side only moments later. Her eyes were closed when he scooped up her upper body, turning her so his arm carefully cradled her head. "Jemma, can you hear me?" Was she even breathing? "Hold on, love." His hand went to her throat, searching for a pulse. Nothing. His very soul could feel hers slipping away from this world. "Please, open your eyes." Oh, why wasn't she opening her eyes?

A dry sob caught in his throat, his fingers fumbling for any sign of life. He needed to feel life. Her life. Forgetting her pulse, his eyes fell on her lips. She had to know she couldn't give up. He brought his head down and kissed her, his mouth as desperate as the rest of him. There was no thought of the why or the how behind his actions, just the need to be close and to communicate to her soul the only way he knew how.

His kiss was neither short nor long, but against her warm mouth, he felt her breath on his upper lip—the taste of a miracle. He pulled back, his heart pounding, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Jemma?" he gasped, relief searing through the ache in his chest.

Her eyes dulled and rolled back, closing once more.

"Stay with me, love. Stay with me." He started thinking logically. The wound. He should check the wound. His hand searched for her bonnet pins, tugging at the two he found. By the time he freed them, Ian dropped to his side.

"How is she?" Ian's breath heaved.

"Her eyes opened for a moment." As gently as possible, Miles dug his fingers through her hair until he found the large goose egg and a wet, sticky spot. Without looking, he knew it was blood. Heaven help her. "Give me your cravat."

Ian ripped it from his throat as more of their teammates reached their side, flanking around her. Miles took the cravat from Ian and pressed it to her head wound.

"Vixen?" Tom cried, pushing closer. "Tell me she was just knocked cold."

"It looks to be that way," Ian said, "but she is bleeding."

"What can I do?" Mr. Bentley bumbled, bouncing up and down on his toes and running his hands through his hair. "Someone tell me how I can help."

"Start by calming down," Paul ordered. "And give her room to breathe."

"Right, be calm."

Miles glanced up at the man he had painted as far too perfect in his head. Mr. Bentley was mumbling under his breath, his eyes impossibly wide. Miles was struck with compassion for him. The man was anxious for Jemma but had no claim on her to do anything about it. Miles had no claim either, despite his long history, fierce friendship, and deep-seated love for her. It was a helplessness that couldn't be measured.

"We need to get her back to the house," Ian instructed.

Miles nodded, putting gentle pressure on the cravat. His touch was steady, but underneath his skin, he was shaking to his core. He couldn't lose Jemma—wouldn't lose her. But he was scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. He forced himself to breathe evenly. If she woke again, he wanted her to see his full confidence in her ability to recover. "Ian, take one side of her, and I will take the other so we do not jostle her head too much."

"I see a carriage nearby. Bring her there instead." Paul pointed to the nearest conveyance, the horses still hitched to it. "We can get her to the house faster in there than going through the crowd."

Miles agreed, and he maneuvered his hand, now covered in blood, to beneath her knees, then stood with her in his arms.

Mr. Bentley took one look at the blood on Miles's hand and now Jemma's dress and fainted.

"I've got him," Mr. Reed said, crouching beside Mr. Bentley. "Take care of Miss Fielding."

Mr. Reed, in his own grieving, was perhaps the most qualified to help. No one had a calmer demeanor out of all of them.

With Ian to assist, they made it to the carriage quickly. It did not matter if a Bradford guest owned it or a Brookeside local, the driver jumped to help. Ian took Jemma while Miles climbed inside. Then Miles turned and took her back in his arms and settled carefully onto a rather short bench. Ian jumped inside and dropped onto the opposite seat—the two of them far too tall for the narrow carriage.

Paul stopped Tom from climbing in along with them. "I will ride for the doctor. Will you tell the Mannings?"

Tom straightened. "Of course. I will bring them directly to the house." He leaned into the carriage. "Miles, Ian, take Jemma to one of the guest rooms upstairs. The housekeeper can gather bandages. Keep Jemma comfortable until we can get there."

Miles gave a nod, and the door was shut behind them. The carriage rocked, and they were on their way. He reached for Jemma's hand just as he heard his name.

"Miles?"

The near whisper stole his breath. Her eyes were barely open, and her mouth pulled tight with pain.

"I'm here." He released her hand and smoothed the disheveled hair from her cheek.

"My head . . ."

"We've sent for the doctor," Ian said, hunching toward them. "Try not to move too much, no matter how intolerable it is being in Miles's arms."

Her eyes fluttered closed again, but her moment of coherence gave Miles needed hope. It felt like hours before they had her in the house and in a bed upstairs. He moved awkwardly to the side as Lisette, Tom, and Cassandra barreled into the room.

"I'll fetch her a nightgown," Cassandra said.

Lisette scooped up Jemma's hand, tears streaming down her face. "I never should have let you take so many walks alone."

Mr. and Mrs. Manning came in next, just before Lord and Lady Felcroft. Mrs. Manning was crying profusely, holding on to her husband's side. Lord and Lady Felcroft were both a little pale.

"How bad is it?" Mr. Manning asked.

Miles was used to comforting people during trying circumstances, but he couldn't quite find his voice. He looked to Ian for help, a rock in times of emotion.

"She has woken a few times, but we will know more when the doctor arrives."

"We should let her rest," Lord Felcroft said. "Tom, I sent Alan up to the nursery, but perhaps we should take the men to the library while the women tend to Miss Fielding?"

Cassandra returned with the nightgown. "I think it would be best. Louisa and the Sheldons will be here soon too."

"I will see to them, dear," Lady Felcroft said to her daughter-in-law. Mrs. Manning bent to remove Jemma's shoes and stockings while Miles and the men filed from the room. They made their way down the stairs and into the library.

Miles had never felt displaced in a library before, but he did now, and it had nothing to do with the grandness of the space. A room full of texts to learn from generally filled him with comfort, but it was not so now. The books taunted him. There would be no lasting words for him to journal and put on the shelf. The greatest story of his life could end before it ever began. He dragged his feet to a corner of the room—the closest thing to being alone—and sank into a chair, where he buried his head in his hands.

"Miles, are you well?"

He recognized Tom's voice, but it took a moment to find his own to answer. "Barely." He dropped his hands and sighed, releasing every possible ounce of despair from his lungs that he could. Why had Tom and Ian followed him? The room was large enough for them all to find their own quiet space. Their parents were on the other side, happy to visit if they felt inclined to do so.

Ian lifted one brow and tilted his head a fraction. "I do hope your mood is because of Jemma's health and not because of a mistake you regret."

Miles blanched. Was it because of him that she had needed to take a walk by herself? He had not thought of that ...

"Mistake?" Tom scoffed. "Be reasonable, Mother Hen . Don't you think you are being a little too protective? Miles was not the one who struck Jemma, and even the Bradford Gent couldn't be blamed for an honest accident."

Ian's eyes didn't leave Miles's. "It isn't the head wound I am referring to. I was the second to Jemma's side, but from my position coming across the field, I swear I saw something rather shocking."

Miles blinked, unable to hold the penetrating gaze pinning him in place. "Who wouldn't be shocked? Jemma could have been killed."

"The accident warranted a natural response of its own, but this was something else entirely. A reaction only a man in love would make." Ian paused, his voice turning regretful. "Does our saintly Mr. Romantic have a confession to make?"

Confession? The blood drained from his face.

"From protective to accusatory. Mother Hen isn't playing very nice today." Tom folded his arms across his broad chest. "Are you inferring that Miles hugged her to his chest while he lifted her off the ground like a gentleman?" He sputtered a laugh. "How dare he!"

Miles winced at Tom's attempt at humor.

Ian folded his arms too. "This was more than hugging or even hair stroking. It's shocking enough for you to kiss your wife in a ballroom, but no one was married out on that corner of the field."

Tom coughed. "Mother Hen, did you hit your head too? Surely the chaos of the moment made you imagine it. There is no tendre between them."

Ian glowered. "I can hardly believe it either. Miles? Would you care to defend yourself?"

A disconsolate air filled the spaces between them. Miles swallowed back the bile forming in his throat. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say it was a friendly response in a moment of panic," Tom suggested. "It couldn't be anything else, so Ian and the rest of us will believe you."

Ian's laugh was dry. "He cannot say what isn't true. Miles has too much integrity to lie to us. Besides, this was not the kind of kiss one would give his grandmother, which means the consequences are grave indeed. There is a crowd outside, in case anyone has forgotten. I don't think even Paul, our genius barrister, could present Miles's side in a favorable light," Ian said. "I'm not sure he could convince me either. Jemma's reputation is at risk as much as Lisette's future."

Tom grabbed one of Miles's shoulders. "Don't listen to him. We will laugh about this soon enough. We all know Lisette has your heart."

Paul burst into the library and announced to the room, "Good news. Dr. Giles was in attendance at the match and is with Jemma now."

The men gave a collective sigh of relief, and Mr. Manning even dipped his head and prayed his thanks. Relief flooded Miles but only momentarily. They still had yet to hear the prognosis, and he had yet to explain to his friends.

Paul jogged to their side and crowded into their small circle, and everyone shifted to give him the space he preferred on either side of him. "Dr. Giles took a moment with Mr. Bentley to assure us of his health. He is conscious now and on his way home, with Mr. Reed escorting him. After he has rested, he will call on Jem ... Wait, did I miss something?"

Miles stood, his emotional strength all but diminished. "I kissed Jemma."

Paul's eyes widened. "Because you were afraid for her life?"

Miles nodded.

Paul chuckled under his breath. "For a second there, I thought you were confessing something."

"I am." Miles winced as he observed their reactions. Ian, who had seen the signs a little sooner than the others, was less shocked and more displeased. Tom's mouth worked, but no sound came out—not even a joke. Paul looked as if his solicitor had just presented him an impossible case.

Paul was the first to find his voice, though it was as solemn as ever. "There will be repercussions, but nothing the Rebels cannot weather with some creative thinking. Who saw it happen?"

Miles scratched his head. "I was a little preoccupied worrying over Jemma's life. Ian here is the only witness I am aware of."

"We can all hope I am the only one," Ian grumbled. "If news spreads, more than just our friend group will be hurt."

Miles's stomach sank. He had not meant to break the gentleman's code of honor, but neither could he deny his feelings for Jemma any longer. But to hurt her reputation—that was something he could not abide. "I know you are disappointed in me and probably angry, but unless another witness is found, could we not put this discussion on hold until Jemma's life is stable? Please."

One by one, they nodded. Ian was the most reluctant, but even he had to see the wisdom in it. With taut nerves, they would reach no positive resolution. Miles was putting off the inevitable, but he could face it better once he knew Jemma's life was out of danger.

"There you are." Miles's mother pushed her small form into their circle, her arm going around his waist. "Don't you worry for a minute. What Miss Fielding lacks in size is made up for in spirit. She will fight through this."

His mother's comfort reached him but did not fully take hold. There was too much regret of wasted time nagging at his heart. All the should haves and shouldn't haves weighed heavily on him. And now his friends' feelings added to it. He put his arm around his mother's shoulders and leaned into her embrace. Would she despise him, too, once she found out how he had inadvertently sabotaged the Matchmaking Mamas by desiring Jemma for himself? He certainly hoped to find forgiveness somewhere.