Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Jemma stirred, waking behind her closed eyes. What a strange dream. Before she could sense her surroundings at all, pain shot through the back of her head, drawing a moan from her lips.

"Jemma?" Lisette's voice called to her from somewhere close.

Jemma pulled open her eyes, seeing an unrecognizable dark-wood armoire and a lavender quilt draped over her arms. "Lisette?"

"I am here." Lisette appeared at her side, taking a seat on the bed near her. "Can I get you some water?"

Jemma's mouth was a little dry. She moved to sit up, and the room swayed. "A bucket. I need a bucket."

Lisette brought a washing bowl to her just in time to catch Jemma's vomit. There was not a worse way to wake up. After she had rinsed her mouth and cleaned her face, Jemma relaxed back against the bed. "What happened? Where are we?"

By the time Lisette finished explaining how she had been hit with a ball and had been recovering in a guest room at Rivenwood the entire day, Jemma was certain she had never been more humiliated. "I thought only children were struck by balls." She groaned again. "Those poor creatures. It hurts like Hades himself jabbed me with his pitchfork."

"There is naught to be embarrassed about," Lisette assured. "You were carried off the field like a wounded queen surrounded by her undyingly loyal subjects—Brookeside's formidable cricket team."

"I do wish I could have seen that part." Jemma fingered the collar of her nightgown. "And the cricket match? Did they win?"

"Everything hinges on the welfare of their queen. They called a draw for today and will start again in the morning if you have regained consciousness."

Jemma sighed. She had caused a great deal of trouble for so many people. "On the chance of sounding ridiculous, how is my dress?"

Lisette frowned. "I am not sure the bloodstains can be removed."

Jemma nodded. "At least I paraded it around for a short while. The design was one of my favorites." She had hoped to sell the entire dress and send the proceeds to Chios survivors. She was still not certain how excited Mr. Bentley would be about his wife wanting to donate large sums of inheritance to a worthy cause, but she was determined to have an ongoing source of income for whatever charities spoke to her heart.

"The only thing you need worry about right now is recovering." Lisette stood and tugged on the bell pull for a maid. "But first thing, we are letting the others know you are awake. Your little kingdom is worried about you."

Jemma thought of Miles first. Was he concerned for her? She dismissed the thought. "Aunt and Uncle must be told first. Can we have a missive sent over straight away?"

"No need," Lisette said, perching on the bed again. "They are downstairs in the library. Everyone is here. The Sheldons, Lady Kellen, the Rebels, Mrs. Jackson, and, of course, Lord and Lady Felcroft."

Did everyone include Miles?

Oh, why did she keep thinking of him? She closed her eyes. How she hated putting people out. Her independent spirit fought against the very idea, but strangely, knowing everyone was downstairs made her feel wanted and loved as much as anything else. Soon, the maid entered, then left again to pass on the news. The women flooded her side first, fussing over her and retelling the events of the morning.

"The doctor made a few stitches on the back of your head. He thinks the ball hit one of your bonnet pins," Cassandra said from the end of the bed. "Every single brother of mine has needed stitches before, and I can tell yours were done neatly. It should mend well."

"No wonder it hurts like the devil," Jemma answered. "Pardon my language, Aunt."

"Never you mind." Mrs. Manning came over and took a chair someone had placed beside the bed, reaching for Jemma's hand. "All that matters is you getting better."

She tried to believe her aunt. She wanted to reverse time so she never took her walk. She had been so caught up in the turmoil in her heart, she had not even paid attention to the game. "I will focus on improving, but I wish this folly hadn't happened in front of so many people. Perhaps then I could recover quicker. The embarrassment alone will set me back."

Lady Kellen put her hand on the back of Mrs. Manning's chair. "You wouldn't be so flustered if you had been conscious. Your rescue was quite admirable to watch. Mr. Jackson was the first one to your side. He scooped you into his arms and, with my Ian's help, brought you safely here. They did not leave you to be stared after on the side of a field, I assure you."

Miles did that? She had a fuzzy memory of seeing him in the carriage.

"Everyone was deeply concerned," Louisa added. "Mr. Bentley fainted."

Jemma's eyes widened. "Is he all right?"

"You know he doesn't care for the sight of blood," Lisette explained as if Jemma were already aware of such a thing.

"I must have been a sight for him to faint." Jemma's hand went to her disheveled hair. "I must still be a sight."

"Nothing we cannot help with," Louisa said, her smile cheering the room. "We cannot disturb your bandage, but with a washcloth and a little soap, we could get your hair pulled into a braid."

"And perhaps put some broth inside you to bring your cheeks a little color," Mrs. Sheldon added.

"A timely suggestion." Lady Felcroft clapped her hands. "Come, ladies, let's get started. Jemma will feel better once she is properly taken care of."

The women burst into a flurry of activity, in and out of the room, and seeing to every need they could think of. A half hour later, Jemma's hair was clean and braided, she was dressed in a fresh nightgown with a shawl about her shoulders, and she was slowly sipping broth. Her stomach was settling, and the chatter of women's voices buoyed her spirits.

A knock sounded, silencing the room.

"Your heroes have arrived," Lisette said. "Are you ready for more company?"

"I was wondering what was taking them so long," Jemma joked. A wave of anticipation mixed with nerves rushed over her.

"I held them off," Louisa said, grinning, "until you were presentable."

"I owe you a great deal." Jemma produced a tired laugh, her energy already waning.

When the door opened, only Miles stood on the other side. His hair hung in limp waves as if he had run his hand through it for hours on end. His jacket was still missing, but his sleeves were cuffed at his wrist once more. Though he smiled at her, his eyes were full of sadness. Did he remember she had ignored him before the match had begun? Had she disappointed him?

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze. Where were the others so she had someone else to settle her attention on?

Before she could ask, Lady Kellen voiced the answer to her silent question. "Now that your basic needs are met, I thought we should limit the guests to one at a time so as not to overwhelm you. Come, ladies, we shall let Mr. Jackson take his few minutes first."

"Dinner will be ready shortly, and everyone is expected to stay and eat," Lady Felcroft added.

Their voices faded from the room as Miles entered. He left the door open and settled into the chair Mrs. Manning had vacated. His presence brought with him his usual air of comfort. With all the attention she had received from the women, she hadn't realized how much she needed to see him. Despite her attempt to cut him from her life, she was glad he was here. He looked at her in the quiet way he usually did, studying her before speaking.

"I heard you rescued me," she said softly, knowing several others waited in the corridor who might overhear them. Their voices carried to her, and she caught a glimpse of Louisa.

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I carried you, if that's what you mean. Do you recall any of it?"

She closed her eyes, flashes of movement and pain coming back but nothing more. "Not much."

"It is how it should be. Let the rest of us remember it for you."

Miles Jackson was a perfect gentleman. No wonder her heart seemed like a lion wrestling a bear with every attempt to push him away. If only she were not too tired to keep fighting. "Thank you. For everything."

He stared at her another moment, a shadow lingering behind his eyes. "I have never been more worried in my life."

Such words shouldn't have pleased her, but they did. "Even when you thought you would have to move away from Brookeside as a boy?"

He leaned forward over his knees. "Even more than that." After a moment, he broke his heart-pounding stare—those brown eyes weakening all her resolutions and reviving her energy—and scooted his chair so his knees touched the bed. This time, when he leaned forward, he was very close to her.

She reached up, self-conscious of the straight, wilted wisps framing her face.

He caught her hand. "You are beautiful, even without your fancy dresses or pinned locks." His other hand sandwiched hers inside his own, warmth spreading up her arm and sending gooseflesh down her back and legs.

"I wasn't just worried, Jemma. I was scared. I need to tell you—"

Tom rushed into the room with Ian not far behind him. "Sorry to break up this tête–à–tête," Tom said, leaning over on his knees to catch his breath. "But our fears have been realized."

Ian stared knowingly at Miles. "I wasn't the only witness. Word is spreading."

Miles still held her hand and made no attempt to release her. In fact, his grip tightened.

"What did they witness?" She stared from Tom to Ian, finally settling on Miles. He would tell her.

Miles met her gaze, the sadness from earlier darkening his irises once again. "When you were hit, I was playing in the outfield, and as such, I was the first to reach you. You weren't even breathing. In my desperation, I kissed you."

Miles had never been one to mince words, but he might have tried a less direct answer. Her mouth fell open, and she gaped for how to respond. Miles had kissed her, and ... and ... and she didn't even remember it?

No wonder Mr. Bentley had fainted! She squeezed her eyes shut. An image of her beautiful, selfless cousin came to mind. The ugly truth hit the hardest.

She was the reason Lisette had never married.

It was all her fault.

She should have avoided Miles every summer. She should have fought those feelings of being drawn to him. Why had she not been a more loyal friend and cousin? But Miles ... He should have respected her decision.

"Tell me you're lying." The words came through gritted teeth but were clear enough to get the point across.

Miles shook his head. "And I have no regrets."

She gasped and yanked her hand from his grip. "How dare you! How dare you injure my cousin." She ignored the pain her strong emotions brought to her head and the black tugging at the corners of her vision as she waited to see remorse painted across Miles's features.

But it wasn't remorse so much as a form of regret on his face. Regret that she was angry. Regret that she had pushed him aside once more. Regret that she had put Lisette before him.

She turned away from him, hating what she saw. Hating herself. Hating him for being everything she wanted.

She had made her decision, but he would not respect it. "Leave me. Now."

She knew when he left her side, not because of the sound of chair legs grating against the floor but because of the sense of loss. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Paul join Ian and Tom.

"The staff has already gotten wind," Paul said grimly, closing the door for more privacy. "Word passes quickly when there is a crowd as large as the one we had outside today. By morning, it will be blown out of proportion and nothing short of a scandal." He looked at each of them. "Did I miss something again?" He pointed to the corridor behind him. "Come to think of it, Miles looked like someone had died when I passed him just now."

"Jemma didn't take the news very well," Ian muttered, folding his arms.

Paul blanched and looked at her. "You didn't remember anything?"

Did he have to remind her? "No."

"Miles didn't mean to cause any trouble," Paul defended, his tone somber. "No one was more worried for your welfare."

Paul did not have to convince her as though she were some misinformed judge. She already knew the truth, and it hurt worse than her head. She didn't answer him. How could she? Ever since Grandmother had become sick, all her carefully plans had been trampled on. Why had Grandmother left her? Clearly, Jemma could not manage alone.

Tom tapped his leg. "Well, maybe Lisette will be glad to be rid of Miles. A man with his good demeanor and dashing looks has to be troublesome to have about the house."

Ian smirked. "You're right. What woman wants a perfect man?"

"Stop!" Jemma said much too sharply. "Lisette is bound to hear you."

"Shouldn't we be the ones to tell her?" Paul asked gently.

She sighed. "I haven't the heart." What was left of the organ was broken. She tasted her tears on her lips before she even realized she was crying. What had she done? Lisette would be crushed, and she had hurt Miles. She turned away again, shutting her eyes and wishing the men would just leave so she could sleep her pain into oblivion.

"We'll take care of it," Ian said quickly.

"He means, he will watch while we take care of it," Tom said. "We won't let Mother Hen's brisk demeanor rattle her further."

Ian's muttering was covered by Paul next words. "There's more."

"Do I have to hear it?" Jemma asked, refusing to open her eyes.

"We might as well have it out so you can sleep on your decision."

"Paul, when you speak like that, even I get nervous," Tom said.

"It is not frightening, but it might not be comfortable. There is a chance Mr. Bentley will not overlook the scandal."

"I won't marry Miles," Jemma said, turning to face them again. "I won't do that to Lisette."

Paul nodded. "No one will make you do anything, Jemma."

"We will protect you the best we can," Ian added.

Tom gave one of his winning grins. "Chin up, Vixen. I've always wanted to be in the middle of a scandal. You're making Rebel history."

"And on that note, we will take our leave." Ian directed Tom and Paul through the door. He stopped just before shutting it, his usual intimidating stare completely absent and in its place one of compassion. "Try to get some sleep. By morning, we will have a plan in place."

"Thank you, Ian."

He nodded and left her alone.

She trusted them more than she trusted herself. She put her arm over her eyes and cried. She was no stranger to Rivenwood but was as lost as she had ever been. Her head pounded fiercely, and her chest ached, and Grandmother wasn't there to comfort her. She pressed her face into her pillow, damp from her tears, and let the sweet mercy of sleep cover her like a blanket.