Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Miles stared at the door as Mr. Bentley's tall form filled the span of the doorway. There was no doubt Jemma would think the man handsome. His tanned skin contrasted with his lighter hair, and his expensive clothes gave him a sort of foreign-prince aura. Not to mention his expressive eyes and much-too-happy smile. Apparently, with one glance at Jemma in all her loveliness, Mr. Bentley was certain he'd made a conquest.

Miles stood to greet the newcomer, determined to be nice. Jemma deserved to have the best, and if Mr. Bentley was the best ...

He let his thoughts fade, not ready to address them. He'd pour them out onto paper later, as he always did, and try to make sense of them before he attempted to forget them completely.

The ladies stood a moment after him. Jemma, however, didn't quite make it to her feet. She tripped on either her gown or the leg of her chair—Miles couldn't be sure—and with a high-pitched squeak, she stumbled to the floor.

He stared. Jemma was not clumsy, so he was certain she was hurt.

"I'm all right!" she said quickly, bounding up into a sitting position.

Despite her reassurance, Miles hurried to her and extended his hand. When she reached for him, he couldn't help but whisper, "Could this be a sign? Should I send him away?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I tripped," she hissed. Taking his hand, she climbed to her feet, hesitating before fully straightening. She dropped his hand and reached behind her back. "Good heavens!" she hissed under her breath.

"Are you hurt?"

"Worse!" She waved him closer.

Miles stole a glance at Mr. Bentley over his shoulder, who was waiting to be invited in. At least he was a gentleman—even if he was about to steal the woman of Miles's dreams.

"It's my gown. I ripped it."

He took the measure of her lavender gown with puffed sleeves and waistline that dropped slightly lower than an empire cut. It was likely made from one of Jemma's own designs. He didn't see anything wrong with it beside its being new and in the height of fashion. She had a flair for adding beauty wherever she went, but her passion had always been in clothing. Knowing she would dress up for Mr. Bentley made Miles's stomach turn. "I don't see anything."

Her whisper came out higher and more frantic. "It's in the back! If I ruined this dress for a man ... Oh, do something!"

"Are you certain you aren't hurt?" Lady Kellen said, taking a step toward them.

"No, not hurt," Jemma clarified loudly, stopping Lady Kellen's progression. "I just need a minute!" She dropped her voice again. "He's going to think I am a clumsy idiot!"

"If this is a bad time," Mr. Bentley called from the door, "I can return on the morrow."

Miles straightened. "I think it would be best, Mr.—oof!" Jemma had kicked him in the shin. "I mean, please, come in." He glared at Jemma. What was wrong with her? She was acting completely mad. Granted, it was not his house, to invite guests in or dismiss them, but clearly, this was not the best time.

"Help me stand!" she whispered, ever the stubborn one.

Was she hoping to entertain with her gown falling off her back? He bent over again and offered her hand once more. She clasped it this time, and he gave a tug, aiding her the rest of the way to her feet.

"Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Bentley." Jemma waved him into the room.

"How bad is it?" she said into his ear as she stepped to Miles's side.

Did she really want him to look? "Shouldn't Lady Kellen—"

"Just look," she muttered under her breath.

Good heavens. He was a vicar, not a lady's maid. He reluctantly leaned over her shoulder, bracing himself for the worst. The stitching on the back of the waistline had come undone a good five inches across, exposing her white ... er, underthings. His cheeks were shading red, he knew it.

Mr. Bentley crept closer, his smug smile now quite hesitant. "I didn't mean to startle you. You must forgive me."

"It's the gown, not you," Jemma answered as if nothing were amiss in the world. With how readily she masked her situation and adopted her poise, one would think her royalty. "It requires a shorter hem, but I was too impatient to wear it." Her laugh that followed was not at all natural, but only those closest to her would notice the obvious strain.

"It is exquisite, so I do not blame you for wanting to wear it." Mr. Bentley's words, while complimentary, rubbed Miles wrong. Did he have to mention her gown at all? It was crass coming from a man who had not even been properly introduced. But, of course, Miles couldn't fault him for the unusual situation.

"Lady Kellen," Miles said, "will you do the honors of introducing us?"

"Pardon my manners." Lady Kellen stepped forward. "Miss Fielding, this is Mr. Bentley, our new neighbor." She pointed to Miles. "And this is our vicar, Mr. Jackson, who has come to greet you, Mr. Bentley."

Mr. Bentley dipped his head, and Jemma bobbed a curtsy. As she did, Miles reflexively put his hand on her back to hide the gap there. If complimenting a stranger's gown was improper, this had to be much worse.

Mr. Bentley raised his brow, and Miles gave him the best innocent face he could muster. He'd done his fair share of acting as a Rebel, so he wasn't exactly the most pious of laymen, but he wasn't sure what his role was supposed to be here. It certainly wasn't to send Mr. Bentley running for the hills, even if it was what he wanted to do.

"Tea, Mr. Bentley?" Jemma pointed to the tea things.

"Yes, please," he replied.

There was no way she could serve tea without exposing herself.

"Lady Kellen, would you assist?" Miles asked. "I think Miss Fielding ought to stay seated after her fall." Clearly, she had not seen the damage of the gown for herself. Was her first impression so important that she must risk her modesty? Or was she so smitten by Mr. Bentley that she was beyond good sense?

Jemma glared at him, and then her eyes widened. "It might be best, Lady Kellen. If you do not mind?"

With no chair by Jemma, Miles took a seat on the end of the same sofa as Mr. Bentley while the tea was served. He collected a cucumber sandwich and shoved it ungratefully into his mouth, repeating a psalm of patience in his mind.

The hour passed uneventfully, with Mr. Bentley's surprisingly entertaining stories. Jemma laughed too loudly, but she had no reason to stand up and reveal anything untoward, which Miles considered a win.

When Mr. Bentley stood to excuse himself, Miles knew it was time for him to go too. He didn't care to hear what Jemma thought of Mr. Bentley, nor to be forced to give his own opinion.

Miles spoke quickly. "I ought to take my leave as well. Why don't I see you out, Mr. Bentley."

Mr. Bentley nodded, but instead of going to the door, he walked straight to Jemma. Miles jumped on his heel, following him toward her.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Fielding." Mr. Bentley looked sideways at Miles, probably wondering why he was hovering so closely.

Miles's adopted his most contrite look he saved mostly for serious sermons but especially for funerals and dipped his chin.

"As I was saying," Mr. Bentley continued. "I hope you might accept an invitation to dine at Kensington House with me Thursday night next."

Jemma's smile wavered. "I, uh ..."

"Of course Lady Kellen is invited to come, Miss Fielding, as well as your uncle's family."

Miles cleared his throat.

"And ... Mr. Jackson"—Mr. Bentley's smile went tight—"I hope you will join us."

Jemma met Miles's gaze, and her smile steadied itself, even grew a little. "I would be happy to come."

Miles smiled, too, but as a natural consequence of seeing Jemma's. "As would I."

"Good." Mr. Bentley stepped back.

"Come, Miss Fielding," Lady Kellen said. "You may see me out as well. I have a meeting with Brookeside's musical club this afternoon, and I must be on my way."

Both Miles's and Jemma's heads came up. The musical club was a guise for when the Matchmaking Mamas met. Nothing good ever came from their meetings. And this time, it was certain Jemma would be the subject of their conversation.

"I ... will see you all out, then." Jemma gave Miles a meaningful stare.

It was time to play hero. Miles motioned for Mr. Bentley to lead the way. Jemma stepped forward next, and Miles placed himself directly behind her. This near proximity was going to be the death of him.

Mr. Bentley suddenly turned. "What a fine house this is. My compliments to Mrs. Manning." His gaze caught on how close Miles and Jemma were standing, and his eyes widened a fraction.

Miles kept his face passionless, a definite chore. "Yes, but a mite drafty."

Jemma's lips pursed tight in an obvious attempt to not laugh and directed her response to Mr. Bentley. "Thank you. I will certainly pass on your kind praise to my aunt." Jemma shuffled forward, forcing Miles to shuffle at the same pace.

Jemma owed him. Their friendship had boundaries for a reason.

Somehow, they all made it to the door without another mishap, although it had been an awkward dance, because it appeared as though Jemma did not want Lady Kellen seeing her dress either. Miles hardly dared wonder what Jemma would do next. She wasn't one to care deeply for other's opinions of her, but her promise to her grandmother had her on edge and acting out of character. Maybe she did need a lesson or two to help her. For someone naturally confident and beautiful, she was trying much too hard to win the wrong man.