Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Miles generally did not envy those who traveled to London for the Season, but he had missed gathering with all his Rebel friends while they'd been in Town. They hadn't rallied together since Mrs. Fielding's funeral, but now they were together in Brookeside again at last. They spent over two hours swapping stories, groaning, and laughing. Apparently, Tom had made a spectacle in the ballroom, kissing his wife in the middle of a dance set. Miles almost wished he could have been there to see the shocked and disapproving faces of the attendees. To Cassandra's chagrin, the scandal had hit the Society papers, insisting the future baron had been inebriated. Tom thought the whole thing hilarious and showed not an ounce of regret.
Miles's favorite story of the afternoon might have been the one Ian told. During a musicale, Paul, their friend who did not voluntarily touch anyone except his wife, had tapped Ian on the shoulder to tell him something. Ian, so accustomed to giving Paul his personal space, had been confused and tried to move out of the way. In the process, he'd knocked over his chair by the window. The back of it had hit the glass and cracked what had once been a beautiful stain-glass image of a candle.
Paul said the candle now looked like it had been lit and the cracks improved it.
Ian, on the other hand, insisted interrupting a musicale was not worth improving the appeal of a window and requested that Paul continue to keep his hands to himself.
To be with good friends was to be happy.
While the others exited to return to their homes, Miles leaned back in his seat to digest their conversations. With their joyful reunion over, he could better reflect on the initial reason for their gathering.
He had depended on his friends to tell Jemma how foolish she was being. Instead, their support, while well meant, had suffocated him. But since it had been the right thing to do, he had kept his mouth shut. Shutting out his feelings was another matter entirely. It unsettled him worse than a bad meal. He wanted his friends—and their distraction—to return.
Ian was the last in line to reach the door to the Dome, but instead of filing through, he pulled the heavy door shut. He turned on Miles and slung his arms across his chest. "Explain yourself."
That demanding, intimidating expression might work on the rest of England, but not on Miles. "Merely cataloging my day before heading out." Miles stretched his arms for good measure. "The Goodmans delivered a new baby last night. Mr. Reed, a new widower, if you recall, requires a visit. And I am to collect items for charity baskets again." Miles stood and straightened his waistcoat. "Enough resting; I had better get to it."
"Sit."
Miles immediately obeyed, perching on the edge of the sofa. Perhaps he wasn't so immune to Ian's ways as he'd thought.
"You knew, didn't you." It wasn't a question.
Miles kept his face impassive. "Why do you say that?"
"You came in without the curiosity of the others. You buried your nose in your prayer book while the rest of us were engaged. Not to mention, your prayer book was upside down."
Miles drummed his fingers on his leg. "Is it a crime to keep a friend's confidence? If so, I am guilty a thousand times over."
Ian crossed the room and took the nearest seat to the door instead of his usual throne. "It's not a matter of keeping Jemma's trust; it's the tension about you. Why is this match any different from the others?"
"I have no idea what you mean."
"From the beginning, you were the strongest advocate for marriage. I am supposed to be the surly one."
"Are you implying I am surly?"
Ian raised his brow. "You're not championing her cause, are you?"
Miles looked over his knees to the tips of his polished boots. How could he champion the idea of Jemma marrying someone besides himself? He could not.
"Dash it all, Miles, if I have to support her, I want to know I am doing it in good faith. Is there something about this Bentley fellow I should be concerned about?"
Miles shrugged. "I hadn't heard of Mr. Bentley until I met him yesterday. He made a decent impression. Afterward, I asked around a bit, trying to learn all I could about him. You know how it is in Brookeside. We have our trusted circle, but people like to talk. The man's been out of the country for the last several years, and his wealth is significant. And you know your mother. She is nothing but thorough when choosing her matches."
Ian's toe bounced. "So, what is bothering you?" It wasn't said in a compassionate tone but more as an order. Ian's heart was far bigger than he let on, but he wasn't the best at expressing himself. "Do you feel the anxiety to marry yourself? You know Lisette will be ready the moment you are. I daresay, she has been waiting since the day you played hero to her as children."
He had never wanted to marry Lisette—not then or now. He'd vowed not to a thousand times to himself. But somehow, it had become expected of him. He'd been young and had thought the idea of him and Lisette would blow over, but he'd stayed silent too long. Impressions had been set. Plans made. How could he compromise his honor as a gentleman? Or worse, Lisette's reputation should he snub her?
It pained him to think that someday, a proposal would be imminent. He would do anything to delay that day forever. "I will leave the anxiety you speak of for my mother. She enjoys worrying about that topic enough for the both of us." The pressure from every corner in his life was maddening. "No, it's Jemma." Saying her name felt akin to a confession. He couldn't meet Ian's eyes. He wasn't ready for his friends to know his greatest secret.
Ian sighed as if those three short words said it all. "I know."
"You do?" Miles quickly looked up.
"I didn't believe it at first." Ian shook his head. "I thought Jemma would be devastated, not determined."
Miles repeated the words in his mind, realizing Ian hadn't picked up on his true feelings at all. He cleared his throat. "Yes, her decision is baffling."
Ian rubbed his chin again, his signature thinking pose. "Can a person so adamant against marriage change their mind so easily?"
"They can when faced with the mortal separation from the one they love most. The death of Mrs. Fielding ripped Jemma's feet out from under her. Overnight, she lost a grandmother, a parent, a friend, and a home."
Ian scoffed. "So, marriage is her way of finding security again? I cannot believe it. Jemma is the most independent woman I know in every sense. She retains her sizable dowry, and through harassing our favorite Rebel barrister, I learned she has an impressive inheritance to her name. She's three and twenty and has access to the funds should she want them."
Miles hadn't heard of any inheritance beyond her known dowry. It merely put him more beneath her than ever. He cleared his throat. "Knowing her, she will give it all away to charity."
"Paul cautioned her against it, advising her to be wise so she might support a variety of causes. She cannot help someone if she, in turn, becomes the one in need."
"I appreciate his guidance."
"Yes, but none of this explains Jemma's motivation. Can this all be in the name of grief?"
Miles had observed many different responses to death, and he felt he understood Jemma, even if he did not agree with her. "You heard what she said. She wants a family. It's more than security." It hurt to finish his thoughts, but it had to be said. "Jemma needs affection—love."
"Love." Ian spat out the word.
Miles gave a slow nod. "She has been displaced. She might be resilient, but she still has emotional needs like the rest of us. She might not even know it herself, but love is what she wants more than anything right now."
No response formed on Ian's lips. He wouldn't like knowing Miles was right. No one was against marriage more than Ian. But even he was softening. First, Paul, Ian's closest friend, and now Tom had married—and both were undeniably happier than they had been before their unions.
Ian's sigh was long and tired before he finally spoke. "Let's say I believe you. It brings me back to my initial question. What is bothering you?"
Miles clasped his hands together, his lips unmoving. Part of him longed to unburden the secret he'd carried for more than a decade. He'd penned his thoughts in journal after journal because talking about it wouldn't change the situation for the better. It would inevitably bring certain pain to their otherwise amicable group. For as much as they loved Jemma, they loved Lisette. No one would see their sweet angel friend hurt. "I am not ready to say goodbye to how things were before, I suppose." It was a partial truth.
Ian sobered. "I understand. We've been lucky so far with Louisa and Cassandra. They have readily melded into our group. But even so, our friendships are not the same. We are not needed like we were now that they have each other. A good problem, even if it's hard to swallow."
Miles rued the day when Jemma wouldn't turn to him first in her hour of need. She had always come running to him—whether to vent about some political wrong or to argue about moral rightness of opinions or to share her fears and dreams. The very thought of her distancing herself stabbed at his chest, sending a resounding ache through the whole of him.
Some change would always be bitter.