As You Are (18 page)

She felt inexplicably nervous. Would she come across Corbin? Would he be indifferent, stiff and disapproving? Would he be sympathetic and gentle? She couldn’t possibly predict. Clara knew she would probably blush the moment she saw him, remembering, as she had all night and all morning, that lovely and unnerving kiss. She’d realized as she’d stood in his embrace, kissing him and being kissed in return, that she’d fallen in love with him. And it frightened her.

“You cannot say anything to anyone, Caroline.” That was Charlie; Clara was certain of it.

“But I saw you driving Corbo’s carriage.”

Clara reached a bend in the corridor and spied Charlie and Caroline facing one another with equally defiant expressions. Clara kept to the corner, out of sight.

“I was only putting the carriage back,” Charlie insisted. “And the scratch was already there.”

“You scratched it?” Caroline’s eyes grew wide. Apparently, even at her young age, she understood the significance of that misdeed.

“It wasn’t my fault. And you cannot tell Corbin.”

Charlie forever seemed to be in some kind of mischief. Clara had heard of a broken window and a shattered vase. Edmund had spoken more than once of Charlie disrupting the stable hands and making more work for them.

Not wanting to find herself in the midst of another of Charlie’s larks, Clara stepped inside the sitting room.

“Mrs. Bentford.” The dowager countess sat on a sofa embroidering but was looking up now that Clara had entered. “How are you feeling this morning? What a horrible day you had yesterday.”

Clara nodded. The dowager motioned for her to join her on the sofa. She sat and waited, unsure what would come next.

“A Squire Reynolds was here this morning,” the dowager informed her.

Clara closed her eyes, forcing a slow breath.

“He was quite easily persuaded to return to Sussex. It seems he is remarkably impressed with our Crispin.” She sounded as though she was holding back a laugh. “I suppose I would have completely ruined the effect if I had told the squire about the time Crispin and Philip got their breeches stuck in the back garden gate at the Park. My husband laughed for fifteen minutes without hardly stopping for breath at the time.”

Clara smiled at that, the first smile she’d managed since Mr. Bentford had entered Ivy Cottage the evening before. She looked at the dowager. “How old were they?”

“Thirteen.” The dowager chuckled at the memory.

“Philip is your eldest?” Clara asked. There were a lot of Jonquils, and she couldn’t quite keep them all straight.

“Yes,” the dowager answered fondly. “He is in Scotland just now.”

“Yes, Corbin said so last night.” Clara remembered hearing as much.

The dowager nodded, a look of concern once more etched in her features. “Philip took Sorrel, his new bride, to Scotland to see a surgeon. She was injured many years ago and walks with a profound limp. This surgeon thought he might be able to help her. The surgery, I understand, went well, but Sorrel is not recovering quickly.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean she is suffering any serious complications.”

“So do I.” The dowager sighed. “Philip’s last letter indicated she was experiencing a tremendous amount of pain but that the surgeon believes her leg will heal well.”

“Philip seems to be a very attentive husband,” Clara said. Was there yet another Jonquil who was gentle and kind? It was almost unfathomable.

“Sorrel has been very good for him.” The dowager sighed again. “She has sobered him in ways he needed. And Lady Marion has lightened Layton, who has a tendency to be too sober. They have both chosen well for themselves. But I worry for Corbin.”

The dowager was intent on her embroidery once more and couldn’t possibly know the discomfort her words caused Clara.

“He has always been painfully shy,” the dowager continued. “Few ladies would be willing or able to see past that. Even with his own family, Corbin is terribly quiet.”

Shy?
She’d never thought of Corbin as shy.

The dowager continued stitching. “Philip took Corbin to Town for the Season—oh, it must have been three, perhaps four years ago. Corbin has a great deal to recommend himself. He is wealthy enough to support a family in style. He is good-natured, well mannered, and would be a faithful and loving husband. Yet the moment he was in society, at a ball, a dinner, a musicale, he would freeze up, his tongue tying in knots. The poor man couldn’t speak a word to anyone. More than one person, I am afraid, came away convinced our Corbin was arrogant, which, I assure you, is as far from the truth as possible.”

Clara looked away, her mind churning.
Couldn’t speak a word to anyone. Arrogant.
She thought back on all of the interactions she’d had with Corbin, the myriad times he’d seemed unhappy in her presence, unimpressed and distant, cold even. Could he simply have been uncomfortable because he was shy?

“Corbin hardly speaks to his own family, let alone strangers,” the dowager added. “Philip could not convince Corbin to return for the next Season. He has seemed a little better these past couple of weeks. He doesn’t stammer as much as he once did. That dear boy. I hope he can overcome his timidity enough to catch some lady’s eye.”

Clara bit down on her lips, thinking.
Shy
? No, she shook off the thought. He hadn’t seemed at all shy last evening with Mr. Bentford. He’d tossed him out of her house after threatening him rather eloquently and, she remembered with some satisfaction, very likely breaking his nose.

And timidity certainly hadn’t factored into his kiss.

She closed her eyes and thought of that kiss. Somehow, he’d touched her soul with that simple, lingering gesture. She’d lost her heart to the gentle and considerate side of him. If the disapproval she’d seen was indeed simply shyness . . . With a surge of welcome hope, Clara tucked the possibility away.

“Your Edmund is a sweet little boy,” the dowager said.

“He is that.” The love she felt for her nephew had grown and deepened over the years he’d been in her care. She thought of him like her own son. What would she do if Mr. Bentford carried his point? She couldn’t subject Edmund to that life again.

“Corbin has enjoyed having Edmund as his little shadow in the stables.” The dowager smiled fondly. “The way he describes the boy’s love of horses reminds me of Corbin as a child. Such a hard worker. Such a tender heart.”

Corbin and Edmund did have a special bond. Clara had seen it many times over. And Alice had fallen so fully in love with her mister all those weeks ago when she’d first seen him behind them at church.

A thought rushed through her mind in that moment. She’d been at loose ends searching for a way to assist in her family’s rescue. She might not have had any ability to save herself, but she knew she could help the children.

You can take the girl anywhere you like
, Mr. Bentford had said of Alice. He had no interest in the children. Should the unthinkable happen to her, she could at least be sure her children were safe and happy.

Clara took a portable writing desk out to the back gardens of Havenworth. It was a peaceful and quiet place, something she welcomed after the upheaval of the past few days. She hoped Corbin’s family and their lofty associates could clear her name. But even if they managed to solve her legal difficulties, it would hardly free her of the crushing weight she carried.

She would never be truly free of Mr. Bentford so long as he knew where she was. She would have to run again, find another tiny hamlet in which to hide.

Poor Edmund. What will he do without Corbin and the horses? He’ll be heartbroken. And Alice has grown so attached to Corbin as well. I cannot pull them away from the first kind and caring man either of them has ever known.

If she uprooted the children so often, neither of them would ever form any lasting friendships. How would Alice ever hope to marry if she never stayed in a neighborhood long enough to be courted? Edmund might manage to make friends once at Eton.

Clara stared down at the blank parchment in front of her, her heart growing heavier by the moment. Could she truly do what she was contemplating? Could she sacrifice so much for the sake of her children?

So long as Mr. Bentford needed her widow’s jointure, he would never leave her be. And to have his scheme crushed as decisively as the Jonquils were planning would be a blow to his pride he wouldn’t soon forget. She would never be truly free of him. She would likely spend the rest of her days running and hiding.

But I cannot subject the children to that kind of life.

Trouble hadn’t sunk her yet; she wouldn’t allow it to now. Should Corbin’s family be unsuccessful and she be imprisoned, transported, or hanged, she simply needed to have a plan in place for the children. Even if she were forced to return to Bentford Manor, she would not make the children return there as well.

Corbin, she felt certain, would allow Edmund and Alice to stay at Havenworth. Edmund could earn his keep helping in the stables. When Alice was old enough, she too could find a means of being helpful. And Corbin would be kind to them. That meant more than almost anything else.

Sweet, kind Corbin.
His gentleness had assuaged so many of her fears over the past weeks. He was the first man she’d truly trusted and depended on. Her man of business in London had proven himself reliable, but she still preferred him at a distance, as she did all men. But Corbin . . . Corbin was different.

He has always been painfully shy.
She had pondered the dowager’s declaration many times over and could see the first hints of truth to it. She had seen him color on occasion. And he most certainly stammered and stumbled over his words. There did seem to be a thread of timidity running through him.

Clara bent over her portable writing desk and began writing out instructions. She gave the name and direction of her man of business. She listed the amount of Edmund’s inheritance and how she wished it be used. She made a list of the names of Edmund’s relatives on his father’s side, warning of their unsuitability. Corbin would need these details written out for reference.

After the ink had a chance to dry, Clara pulled out a second sheet of paper. She would need to write out instructions to her man of business to transfer the keeping of Edmund’s inheritance to Corbin while explaining her continued need for secrecy in her whereabouts.

“I heard rumors the Jonquils had taken on another pet project.” Mr. Finley’s voice cut into her moment of determination, leaving her unsettled and nervous again. “I didn’t realize you were their latest stray.”

There he stood but a few paces ahead, leaning quite casually against the thick trunk of a tall tree.

“I do not believe Mr. Jonquil wishes you to be on his land,” Clara said calmly. She slipped her papers back in the desk.

He simply gave her an overly confident smile. “Are they rallying to your cause, Clara?”

She held her chin high. Past experience had taught her that correcting his use of her Christian name would do no good. “I bid you good day, Mr. Finley.” She stood and began walking with as much confidence as she could muster.

Even with her long strides, Mr. Finley caught up to her in the shortest of moments. “Let me guess. The Jonquils took up the challenge of ridding you of your bothersome relative without so much as a second thought, without waiting to be asked?”

She didn’t at all like that he knew exactly how her rescue had played out. She avoided his question with one of her own. “How do you know about my ‘bothersome relative’?”

“Everyone knows, Clara.”

Everyone knows
. She would indeed have to move. There was no other way to be rid of Mr. Bentford.

“And everyone knows the Jonquils have taken you under their wing.” Mr. Finley’s tone wasn’t happy on her behalf but commiserative, as though having a family such as theirs championing her was reason to feel sorry for her. “I knew them when we were children, you realize.”

She had guessed as much. The mutual dislike she’d sensed in Corbin and Mr. Finley oozed with history and past interactions. But she didn’t ask for an explanation. She simply continued on toward Havenworth, hoping Mr. Finley would leave her be.

“They were forever collecting strays and nursing wounded animals,” Mr. Finley continued, easily keeping pace with her. “As adults, they graduated to the care of less-fortunate human beings, rallying to some valiant cause or another. But, Clara, dear, the moment they’ve finished playing the hero, the Jonquils return to their own. They may be willing to undertake some charitable feat or another, but they do have their level.”

“What do you mean?” She asked the question, though she felt certain she already knew the answer.

He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop walking. His look was both sympathetic and somehow proprietary. “They are willing to help you, to rally behind someone less fortunate. But, Clara, they come from a long line of titles and distinction. You can be quite certain they realize you do not. They took in a great many strays over the years, but their stables only housed the finest animals. They have taken up a great many causes but have admitted only their
equals
into their family circle.”

She shook her head. The picture he painted didn’t match the kindness she’d seen in the Jonquils. It most certainly didn’t match Corbin’s loving and kind heart.

“I am only warning you so you won’t be hurt,” he insisted. “Think on it. Layton Jonquil, who will be a baron in his own right one day, married the daughter of a marquess. A
marquess
. Philip, the earl, married a lady whose intimate circle of friends included a duke’s sister-in-law and a lady who married a very well-respected title. The only friend they have ever considered as close as family is a baron who rubs elbows with the Duke of Kielder.”

All of that was inarguably true. She herself had felt out of place among them all.

“If you have set your heart on being adopted by them, you will only be disappointed, my dear.”

His words hit their mark. She had begun to think of herself as part of their circle. But she refused to let him see the disappointment she felt bubbling inside. “What concern is it of yours?”