Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Friday came with a lovely visit from Mr. Bentley. Jemma had hoped he would come. When he mentioned his appreciation for silk and what a rare luxury it was in the West Indies, well, she'd been so excessively thrilled to find they shared a common love for the fabric that she'd spilled her tea down the front of her favorite calico-print gown.

And that had been the end to a visit full of potential. She did not know if she was more upset about her foiled plans or her gown. Part of gaining excitement for the style was wearing it out and about and drawing attention to its uniqueness. She dearly hoped her maid could get the stain out. The dress was certain to be the rage by the next Season, if her charts on fashion trends and notes from a favorite French modiste were correct, so at the very least, the design she'd created would fetch a good price—funds she planned to give to the poor.

Deep down, she knew Mr. Bentley might disapprove if he knew of her business ventures. Indeed, many would frown on her desire to sell or publish her sketches, which was why she employed the false name. But other Rebels had performed far braver acts than this, so wasn't it right for her to use her talents for a good?

Talents she couldn't showcase if she continued to be so clumsy. She was not the sort to nervously bumble about. She was pragmatic—steady! The pressure of making the most of this match was going to be her undoing. Fortunately for her, Mr. Bentley had told Mrs. Manning he would come again Monday morning to see the new drapes the servants planned to hang later that day in the drawing room. Mrs. Manning could be very insistent when she wanted to be.

The weekend crept by slower than the waxing moon. Jemma passed the time sketching and overthinking every painful interaction with Mr. Bentley. When Monday finally dawned, Jemma was eager to try again. She bent over her dressing table and studied her pallor brought on by a relentless case of nerves, and she pinched her cheeks. Wooing a man was not an easy feat.

"For Grandmother," Jemma reminded herself.

A knock came at her bedchamber door, and then the door opened to reveal Lisette.

"You look lovely today," Lisette said.

"I look ill, but I thank you for lying and saying otherwise."

Lisette laughed and shook her head. She perched on the edge of Jemma's four-poster bed, and Jemma did not have to look in the mirror to know Lisette was examining her. "Are you looking forward to seeing Mr. Bentley again?" she asked.

Jemma pinched her cheeks again for good measure. "I am. He is a good man, don't you think?"

"In my opinion, he is a very good man. His manners are impeccable, he is an excellent host, and he is handsome enough to hold his own when he stands next to you."

Jemma sighed. "I forget, you never could see the worst in a person. But I must agree on your assessment of his character. Do you think him Rebel material?"

Lisette gave a dainty shrug. "Time will tell."

Jemma nodded. "I plan to ask a few more specific questions today. It will be far easier if I can keep from making a fool of myself like I did on Friday at tea."

"No one thought anything of it. Accidents happen."

Jemma shook her head. "They don't happen to me. Not often, at least. I am still mortified. Thank heavens you were there to distract him while I changed."

"I was happy to do so."

Another knock sounded on Jemma's door.

"Come in," Jemma called.

The housekeeper stuck her head inside. "Mr. Bentley is here, waiting in the drawing room."

"We will be down when Miss Fielding is ready," Lisette said. "Please bring up the tea things and some of the leftover cake from dinner."

"I am ready as I'll ever be." Jemma stood and shook out her hands. "Come, Lisette, my destiny awaits." She wouldn't disappoint Grandmother—not after all Grandmother had done in life for Jemma.

Mr. Bentley stood when Jemma and Lisette entered the room before Mrs. Manning. They exchanged pleasantries, and Jemma took a seat next to Mr. Bentley on the sofa, a mere foot from him. She caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of citrus and soap. It did not make her pulse race, but it wasn't unpleasant either.

"Do you care for politics, Mr. Bentley?" It was not proper drawing room conversation for a lady, but it was high time for her to discover where Mr. Bentley stood.

Mr. Bentley had the grace not to look overly surprised by her question. "I do try to stay apprised of current events and any large-scale matters coming up for vote."

Lisette bit back a smile, and Jemma plowed forward, knowing it would be far more difficult to pursue the topic once Mrs. Manning joined them. "Any particular issues you are passionate about, Mr. Bentley?"

"Religion, morality, education, and a solid military. I also support the complete abolition of the slave trade. We have made decent headway here in England, but the rest of the British empire has a long way to go."

Jemma was glad the tea hadn't arrived yet and her utter surprise did not mean another accident. "How wonderful. How absolutely wonderful." If she had to marry someone, she preferred his mind be similar to hers. In this, at least, they were attuned!

"Pardon?" Mr. Bentley didn't understand her enthusiasm, but most did not.

"We share many commonalities, Mr. Bentley. Not many would rejoice in knowing they shared similar opinions to a woman, but I cannot say the same in reverse."

"You can be at ease, then, because I am always happy to find someone like-minded—male or female."

Mrs. Manning entered then and drew their attention to her new drapes, an eggplant purple with gold tassels. Mr. Bentley remarked how they reminded him of his aunt's drapes, a Lady Billforth who was quite well known for her exquisite decorating. Lady Kellen had mentioned his connections before, but Jemma had not cared too deeply. Mrs. Manning, however, rolled up on her toes with pleasure.

Jemma released a happy sigh under her breath. Everything was going swimmingly.

Until it wasn't.

When she cast her gaze out the far window, a narrow view in width but equal in height and perpendicular to the bay one Mrs. Manning stood beneath, she saw something strange.

Black curls rising above a topiary bush.

"Miles?" Jemma said.

Mr. Bentley turned to her. "Pardon?"

"Mi—My what a coincidence that you are related to Lady Billforth. I hear her rooms are the envy of all of London."

"Then, you have heard of her," Mr. Bentley said. "You will be surprised to know she is the one who selected the furniture in my own drawing room and had it shipped here for me."

"How fascinating." Jemma glanced back to the window, where she no longer saw Miles. She blinked twice. Had she imagined him there?

"If you have never met my aunt, you must come to the house Friday next, for she will be visiting me." He swung his gaze to Lisette and Mrs. Manning. "All of you should come. We will make a party of it."

"A party?" Mrs. Manning stopped petting her drapes and clapped her hands. "What a wonderful idea."

"I didn't think of it before," Mr. Bentley said, "but why not? Perhaps you could all help me come up with a guest list."

"Will there be dancing?" Lisette asked, her gentle eyes hopeful.

"If you could recommend a pianist, I won't be able to say no."

"Mrs. Jackson plays very well," Mrs. Manning offered. "If you approve of the addition to the party. We, of course, adore the family."

"By all means," Mr. Bentley said. "I will depend upon your suggestions. Is she related to our vicar?"

"Yes, she is his mother. Her husband is the rector, so she resides on the border of Brookeside, but we see her quite frequently," Mrs. Manning explained. "I know she will be thrilled to attend the party."

Jemma's eyes strayed to the window again, searching for a glimpse of mysterious black hair. Her eyes widened when the head began to creep up again. What on earth? She could imagine any of the Rebels spying, except for Miles. He might be their finest actor without exerting any effort, but he respected Society's rules more than any of them.

Miles's eyes appeared, confirming it truly was him, and she watched him scan the room, first taking in Mrs. Manning, Lisette, and then Mr. Bentley. When his gaze met hers, his eyes rounded into a rather guilty pair of dark circles before he darted out of view. Of all the idiotic things to do. Well, she wasn't going to let him get away with spying. If he wanted to see Lisette, he needed to be man enough to ring the bell and call on her properly.

She stood without thinking, pulling everyone's gaze her way. "I, uh, feel a sudden headache. Forgive me, I hope you will excuse me." With one last glance at the window, she quit the room, not waiting for anyone to respond.

She shut the drawing room door behind her and tiptoed to the much larger front door. She opened it carefully and slipped outside, closing it with the same care. Hurrying down the steps, she turned just as Miles stepped out from behind another topiary bush. They collided, her face hitting him square in the chest.