Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

The cricket match had been going in their favor all morning, Jemma was on the mend, and the weather was fine. Miles had even received a written apology from the Bradford batsman about his unintentional involvement in taking out Jemma the day before. Not to mention, no one seemed to be whispering of any scandal from the day before. It was all he could do to focus on these positives, but they fled the moment he stood on the steps of Rivenwood for their thrown-together auction.

People still dotted the sidelines of the playing field, but the majority had made the short walk to watch or participate in the charity auction. The women pushed their way to the front, coin purses in hand and reticules swinging from their wrists. He recognized several of them, but there were others he had never seen before. The plan was to start with a few lesser items to rally excitement for the prize of the hour—him.

Lady Felcroft's cook had whipped up some pies, Lisette had stockings to sell, and Louisa had donated several bolts of fabric from her brother's mills that he'd left at their home on his last visit. It could have been a spectacular event had they had more time—and had someone else volunteered to be listed as Brookeside's romantic. There were a few men who had agreed to be auctioned off for picnic lunches, but they weren't the most polished gentlemen, and Paul said they might actually have to pay people to bid on them. It didn't sound good.

Lord Felcroft stepped in as the auctioneer, and in minutes, all the pies were gone. One by one, the items sold while Mrs. Sheldon, Paul's mother, collected the money. The women were in generous moods, and the other men were bid on, despite Paul's misgivings, even if it was a pittance. All too soon, it was Miles's turn. His feet would not move. Tom looked over his shoulder and motioned with his head for him to come forward.

Ian stepped in. "Think of Jemma." With those words, he shoved Miles to the center of the steps. Cheers erupted. Women's cheers. This was by far the most humiliating thing he had ever done.

"Now smile and act like you like it," Ian whispered into his ear, his chuckle far too happy.

Miles tried to smile, but his grimace had to be as attractive as a donkey baring his teeth.

Tom spread out his arms. "This has been a memorable few days, has it not? And our first Brookeside charity auction is off to a good start, thanks to your generous purchases so far. For the highlight of our event, we would like to auction off a picnic with Brookeside's very own Adonis."

Clapping, whistles, and more cheers rang in Miles's ears.

"Quiet, please, while I share a short background on Mr. Miles Jackson."

Miles was too busy gagging over the sugary words to catch the whole of Tom's speech. Elusive bachelor stood out, as did pious and diligent vicar , and a bunch of other nonsense. There was a generous statement about how no one was allowed to ask for Miles's hair to be made into a wig for them. He appreciated it. All in all, it was a thoughtful prelude to Miles's sacrifice at the auctioneer's guillotine.

Unfortunately, there was no quick ending for him. He did not sell as quickly as the pies or the other men. Had the town not heard of his indiscretion? They were acting a little too forgiving.

Hands were raised, and women yelled ridiculous amounts. Several, he was certain, did not have the money they were spouting in the first place. He knew the Chios cause was an important one, but must they rob the women of the entirety of their precious pin money?

The numbers soared—the final bidders alarming him. It was down to Miss Hardwick, Mrs. Fortescue, and a woman he thought must be from Bradford, whose husband was arguing for her to stop. At one point, Miles glanced to the heavens to plead for the madness to end when he caught three heads peeking out of an upstairs window—Cassandra, Louisa, and none other than Jemma.

Two of them waved, and one did not. "The things a man does in the name of love," he muttered. Jemma's somber expression could not be read, but she did not seem to be especially sorrowful over their painful argument. It was unrequited love at its finest. Except, he knew a part of her did care for him. A part so hidden behind the cloak of denial that it would never see the light of day. That hurt worse than anything.

And then it was done. He had a picnic appointment with the one and only Mrs. Fortescue—a woman possibly older than his own grandmother. He had thought he had sufficiently shaken her from his trail, but by the looks of her gleeful smile, he had been terribly mistaken.

He didn't steal a second look to see Jemma's final response. She might not swoon over his sacrifice, but at least she would know his remorse over hurting her. Because even now, it was the only part he regretted.

y

Jemma had not only financed Mrs. Fortescue's contribution to the charity but had made an older woman very happy. It almost made Jemma's lingering headache worthwhile. Unfortunately, once she had rallied her courage, she had done something else too. Something she was bound to regret. She had asked Louisa to deliver a note to Miss Hardwick's cousin. Though a veritable stranger, this cousin had been most obliging in her response, which was how Jemma had come to have Miles's book of poetry in her hands.

It was not as thick as a novel, but it was larger than the little notebooks Miles generally carried around. It was a dark green with a gold floral pattern in the background and beautiful gold script. She hugged it to her chest. She hadn't told the other Rebels about the book or even Louisa and Cassandra, but she had to know the contents. Why? Because a fierce ache tore at her insides. Because she couldn't bring herself to rest. Because despite everything, she missed Miles.

The frustrating man was still her best friend, even if he had racked turmoil inside her. It was not as if she wanted to have a discussion about his writings with him. Not when she did not plan to speak to him again until after she was married to Mr. Bentley, but she needed a piece of him near her. His book was the only part of him she could allow by her side. She had thought it over a million times. Fewer people would be hurt if she avoided Miles than if she forgave him.

A glance at the timepiece on the wall told her she had a quarter hour before she needed to meet with Mr. Bentley. Cassandra and Louisa had assured her he still intended to marry her. She had heard of far more loveless marriages than not, and it was a perfectly acceptable path in life. Fulfilling the second half of her promise to Grandmother would have to wait. It seemed falling in love was not always something a person could choose ... just like falling out of love.

She sighed and tucked the book under her pillow to read later. For now, it was enough to have it near. She had yet to dress and had stalled far too long.

A knock sounded.

"Come in."

A maid slipped inside. "Are you ready, miss?"

Jemma had already sent her away once. Despite all her fixed resolutions, moving forward pulled the last ounce from her already depleted well of strength. She forced a nod and allowed the maid to help her change into a clean gown, one Mrs. Manning had sent over. Once Jemma was buttoned into her gown, the maid carefully fixed Jemma's hair into a low chignon. Her color was not quite right yet, but it would have to do. If she was going to have a proper conversation with Mr. Bentley, she wanted to be presentable. It was one thing for her closest friends to see her at her worst, but she would spare Mr. Bentley the sight as long as possible.

Lady Felcroft poked her head inside the room with a grin as wide as Tom's. "May I come in?"

"Yes, please. Thank you again for taking such good care of me."

"It is our pleasure." Lady Felcroft strolled to her side at the dressing table. "You have always been a special part of our Brookeside family. You know that, don't you?"

"I know you have all spoiled me, so yes." Jemma smiled.

"You look lovely tonight. Mr. Bentley has just arrived and is ready to see you when you are."

Jemma sighed, searching for her inner fortitude to take purchase. "I'm ready."

"Wonderful. Let's tackle the stairs together, shall we?"

Jemma was feeling steady enough to walk unaided, but she graciously accepted Lady Felcroft's arm. Together they weaved out of her room, which was near the stairs, and began to descend.

"Has everyone returned home, then?" she asked. The Rebels and their families had been in and out of the house and her guest room all day.

"Everyone but your aunt and Lisette," Lady Felcroft said.

"Oh? I did not know they were still here."

"They hate to leave you. They plan to stay with you for dinner and will return again tomorrow to bring you home."

She accepted the plan with a nod.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lady Felcroft released her arm. "I will let you and Mr. Bentley sort things out without my hovering. I'll be back shortly to help you return up the stairs, but if you need anything, ring for a servant."

"Thank you, Lady Felcroft."

The drawing room door was open, so Jemma slipped inside, surprised to see Lisette sitting beside Mr. Bentley.

"Good evening," Jemma said.

They both stood, a sort of guilty look about them. Had they been discussing her? Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing. Whether she liked it or not, she was everyone's problem these days.

She took a seat on the sofa perpendicular to them, and they sat again as well. She thought Lisette would excuse herself since she was well aware that Jemma and Mr. Bentley had a great deal to discuss, but it appeared she intended to stay.

Mr. Bentley clasped his hands together. "Are you feeling any better, Miss Fielding?"

"I am much improved." She managed a smile and hoped it would deceive them. It was normally a little awkward around Mr. Bentley, but tonight, it felt unusually so. He studied her like a puzzle he could not quite understand.

He exchanged another glance at Lisette, seeming to communicate something beyond Jemma's own comprehension. Was this about her health? Did she appear worse than she thought? "Forgive me. Your look just now. Is there something I should know?"

Mr. Bentley cleared his throat. "There is something I would like to say." He shifted before beginning again. "Perhaps it will make more sense if I go back and explain my initial feelings upon arriving in England first."

"Go ahead."

"Thank you. When I began the journey home, I grew lonely for what I left behind, and I dreaded my future. I worried excessively about finding like-minded friends. Indeed, I thought finding a suitable wife would be the hardest challenge of all. I never imagined I would move into the happiest of neighborhoods. I did not know places like Brookeside existed. It was providential for me. I found the best of people right here in this little corner of York."

His story captured Jemma's complete attention. It was the deepest conversation she had had with Mr. Bentley to date. Outwardly, he acted so confident. Had he truly worried so much? How grateful she was to her dear friends and family for surrounding Mr. Bentley and accepting him into the community with open arms.

"I owe Lady Kellen a debt," he said. "She can be a persuasive woman. Indeed, she professed to have the answer to all my problems. Before long, I was introduced to you and Miss Manning." He motioned to Lisette, stopping long enough to smile at her cousin. "I agreed to marry you, Jemma, but somewhere along the lines, I fell in love with someone else."

Jemma clutched the fabric of her skirt beneath her hands, and her response tumbled out. "You fell in love ... with Lisette?"

Mr. Bentley's cheeks reddened. The kind, self-assured man Jemma had thought she knew was clearly still a stranger to her. She had never seen him blush before. But worse than not knowing him was not knowing his heart.

"I hope you will understand; I never fathomed this happening, or I never would have contracted with Lady Kellen for a wife."

Jemma nodded quickly. "You do not need to apologize. Plans change." She heard Cassandra's and Louisa's voices in her ears, assuring her that such things happened. And they happened for a reason.

Lisette had been chewing on her lip, but she ceased long enough to scoot to the edge of the sofa. "Of course we need to apologize. Whenever you left because of a headache or some other reason, I stayed behind to smooth things over with Walter."

"Walter?" Jemma repeated.

Lisette blushed. "I hope you do not mind ..."

"It is not my place to mind," Jemma explained. "Please. Finish what you were saying about you and Wal—er ... Mr. Bentley."

"We did not mean to spend so much time together. It only happened that way. We discovered we had a great deal in common, and conversing was so natural for us. Neither of us intended to develop any feelings for each other. But we wanted to be honest with you." Tears formed in Lisette's eyes, and she tucked her chin and lowered her gaze to her lap.

Did Lisette truly love Mr. Bentley in return? Jemma was in complete shock. She hadn't seen any of this coming.

"Lisette and I have a connection," Mr. Bentley continued, picking up where Lisette had left off, "but ... we will fight it, if we must."

"Mr. Bentley—"

"There is one more thing," Mr. Bentley said at the same time Jemma spoke. She motioned for him to proceed. "Because Mr. Jackson compromised your reputation yesterday, your reputation must be protected. I told him I would uphold my end of the agreement to marry you, but I said it only because I hoped to clarify a matter with you first. I have been aware for some time that you are in love with Mr. Jackson."

Jemma sputtered. Love Mr. Jackson? Her chest heaved, her heart racing to the speed of a dozen wild horses. Her eyes flashed to Lisette, who seemed to be bracing herself.

Mr. Bentley continued. "There have been several instances of proof I might offer, but the fact of the matter is, Mr. Jackson seems equally enamored with you. I cannot in good conscience give myself to you when we both have opportunities elsewhere that would satisfy our happiness far more."

Jemma squeezed the fabric of her dress all the tighter. Mr. Bentley was no fool. "Forgive me," she begged. "You are very kind to have offered for me, but as we were never engaged, please do not concern yourself with my reputation. I have money and connections enough to see to my own needs, so truly, you both must follow your hearts. There is nothing ..." she choked on her words, "nothing I want more than Lisette's happiness."

She couldn't say anything about Miles. Not after she had cruelly sent him away.

"Oh, Jemma." Lisette's eyes welled with tears, a few spilling over, and she reached for Mr. Bentley's arm.

It was true, then. Lisette did love Mr. Bentley. How was it possible? "You deserve to be happy, Cousin. You've looked out for me for far too long. Now I will get to see you taken care of."

Lisette shook her head. "You have it wrong. You have always taken care of me. You've lent me confidence when I've had none. You've helped me secure friendships and be brave in my desires to do good in the world. It's your happiness I want."

Jemma wiped at her own tears flooding her eyes, giving a soft laugh. "Look at us. Look at you! In love!"

Lisette smiled then, too, and met Mr. Bentley's eyes. Their shared look was full of a thousand different forms of pure adoration.

"Are you certain about releasing our obligation?" Mr. Bentley turned quickly, his eyes imploring Jemma.

She nodded. "Quite sure."

He laughed and reached his hand for Lisette's. She set her long, thin fingers against his much larger ones, and he brought them to his lips, fervently kissing them.

A longing to be cherished hit Jemma with so much force that it overwhelmed her. She had to speak with Lisette. She had to tell her everything. "Lisette, would you mind speaking with me for a moment in the corridor?"

"Of course not." Lisette pulled away from Mr. Bentley and followed Jemma from the room. Jemma shut the door to the drawing room, giving them the maximum privacy an empty corridor could offer.

"What is it?" Lisette asked.

Jemma forced her hands to be still. "After your revelation, I cannot be easy until I speak of a matter of my own." She hesitated, reaching for the right words.

"You care for Miles."

Jemma's eyes widened. She forced herself to answer honestly this time. "Yes," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I tried so hard not to care for him. I promise. I told him he should marry you." Her eyes welled up with the tears of her own betrayal.

Lisette's eyes glistened too. "Don't cry. I would never have engaged myself to Mr. Bentley if I did not think you and Miles were meant to be together."

"You say you love Mr. Bentley, but I know you love Miles too."

"Once, yes, I did, but my love for Mr. Bentley is far superior. He makes me so happy, Jemma. You might not believe me, but it's true. He is the one I want to have by my side for the rest of my life."

It would take time to fully believe. Jemma bit her lip. "Do you hate me?"

"Not even a little." Lisette wrapped her in a hug. "It's all right for you to put your own happiness first now and then. You fight so hard for what you think is right, and I admire you greatly for it. But it's time for you to put aside Grandmother's promise and the pressures from the Matchmaking Mamas and even the Rebels. It's time to choose a future you want."

Jemma gave a soft laugh. "Me? Choose? You make it sound so simple."

"You can have the wish of your youth again," Lisette said, pulling back.

Jemma swallowed. She could be a rich spinster, travel the world, and help people like she had declared for years. She squeezed her eyes shut. She knew such a life would no longer make her happy. She'd known it for a while.

"Or," Lisette continued, "you could marry Miles." She paused, and Jemma met her perceptive gaze. "Whatever you decide, you have my blessing."

Jemma wiped the moisture off her cheeks. "Thank you, Lisette. For everything."

Lisette hugged her again before returning to Mr. Bentley's side.

Jemma ignored Lady Felcroft's earlier desire to escort her to her room and hurried up the stairs. Once in the guest room, she flung the door shut and rushed to her bed. Pushing the pillows aside, she dug Miles's book out from under the pillows. After her world had been thrown upside down again, she needed—no, craved—Miles's voice.

She ran her finger over the title, The Poems and Anecdotes of Mr. Romantic . Her hand could not flip to the first page fast enough.

Dedicated to the Rebels of the unjust, the true lovers of hope.

She turned another page, eager to read the whole of it and let the words wash over her aching heart. She needed Miles's poetic turn of phrase to envelop her soul and give her hope that they could fix what had broken between them. The first poem told the story of a sad man resisting and fighting his heart but never being able to douse the flame of unrequited love.

An anecdote followed it, giving a short guide on selfless love. It was Miles—humble, loving Miles—to the very letter. The next poem was in the perspective of a boy saying goodbye to the girl he loved summer after summer, waiting the long seasons in between for her return.

For she took his smile with her and brought it back again every June.

She swallowed. It was about her. The whole book was about her.

"Miles ... I didn't know." She sniffed her tears back, but they were more persistent than before, nearly blurring her vision completely. When her maid came in to see if she needed anything before dinner, Jemma pretended she was too tired to join the others and requested that a tray be sent up. There was no possible way she could cease poring over the book until she had read every last page.