As You Are (19 page)

He reached out as if to touch her face. She stepped immediately out of his reach. No man had the right to touch her without her consent. No man.

He only smiled. “I know they have vilified me. Tearing down my reputation has been a particular goal of theirs for years.”

“You have torn down your own reputation, Mr. Finley,” she said firmly. “You reveal your character time and again by ignoring the repeated rejections of the women you relentlessly pursue.”

“I only pursue those with enough fire to make my efforts worthwhile. I enjoy a challenge, you see.” He stepped closer. “I could give you a future, Clara. Some security to see you through these difficult years ahead of you.”

She scoffed at that. “I doubt even you would stoop so low as to marry a penniless widow with no connections.”

“Marry you?” He laughed humorlessly. “Come now. I may not have been born to the same lofty heights as the Jonquils and their associates, but I think you know perfectly well I wasn’t proposing marriage.”

Despite the sick feeling settling in her stomach, Clara eyed him with resolve. “I may not aspire to the level of the aristocracy, but I assure you, sir, neither will I stoop to the level of a snake.”

She pushed past him, walking faster than ever.

“This is not over between us, Clara,” he called after her. “I like a challenge, and I do not give up easily.”

Here was yet another man who would never leave her be. Not even in the temporary sanctuary she’d been granted at Havenworth could she feel more than a moment’s peace. Running and hiding, worrying and fear seemed destined to be her lifelong companions.

She reentered the house, and a few moments later, she came across the butler. “Would you inform Mr. Jonquil that Mr. Finley is currently on the Havenworth grounds? I believe he would like to know.”

The butler gave a single nod before leaving to deliver the message. Even the Jonquil servants felt more lofty than hers ever had. Though she dismissed most of Mr. Finley’s words, she couldn’t shake the truth of his very lowering reminder: the Jonquil family was rallying behind her, Corbin even seemed to genuinely care about her, but there was no denying she was not their equal. Titles married titles. The wealthy reserved their inner circles for their fellow wealthy.

She might have been their latest stray, their latest charitable endeavor, but in the end, she could really never be anything but that. Despite that lowering realization, she clung to her faith in Corbin. He would be good to her children; she was certain of that. She was depending on it.

In the two-and-a-half days Clara had been at Havenworth, Corbin had hardly seen her and not once since he’d kissed her. The closest he’d come was a message relayed to him through his butler that Finley was on his property. He’d attempted to speak to Clara about it directly, to make certain Finley hadn’t frightened or imposed upon her, but she had retreated to her bedchamber, where no true gentleman could go.

Edmund and Alice, on the other hand, seemed unwilling to be parted from him. Edmund shadowed him all over the house and stables. Echoes of “Mister!” rang through the halls of Havenworth with regularity. But Clara remained elusive.

It seemed he’d offended her with his kiss. Perhaps he’d done it wrong. Perhaps he was simply no good at it. He didn’t want to think about the obvious answer, that she didn’t return his feelings.

He’d thought almost constantly of what it would be like to kiss her again, to hear her say she cared for him.

“Corbin?” Edmund sat at the desk in the library, reading. He had begun calling him Corbin in the last twenty-four hours, a change that warmed Corbin’s very heart. How he loved these dear little children. And they seemed to be learning to care for him as well. “What does C-I-V-I-L spell?”

“Civil,” Corbin answered quietly, not wanting to wake Alice, who was asleep on his lap. He stroked her tiny head, hoping she would continue to sleep. The children’s nurse said Alice had not slept well, waking up at night, apparently from nightmares. Clara, he was told, had spent the last night in Alice’s room.

“What does
civil
mean?” Edmund asked.

“Civil means acting polite and well mannered.”

“Then a civil war is a war fought politely?” Edmund asked, genuinely confused.

Corbin smiled. “No. A civil war is a war fought within a country.”

“Oh.” Edmund returned to his reading. He was a conscientious student, Corbin had discovered, keeping to his studies even though he was not at home and his aunt Clara was not pushing him to do so. He would do well when he went to school.

“Mister?”

“Yes, Alice?”

She sounded groggy still. He hoped she would drift back to sleep.

“Bad man gone?”

“Yes, dear. The bad man is gone.”

“Mister?”

“Yes, Alice?”

“I can stay here?”

“You may stay here as long as you’d like.” Corbin pulled her closer to him, resting his cheek on the top of her hair.

“And Mama?” Alice asked.

“She may stay as well.”

“Ebum?” That, Corbin knew, was the closest Alice could come to saying Edmund’s name.

“Edmund as well.”

“Mister?”

“Yes, Alice?”

“I love Mister.”

Corbin kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Alice.”

“And Ebum?”

“Yes, dear.” Corbin looked over at Edmund, who watched him intently. “I love Edmund too.”

Edmund smiled. Corbin motioned him over. Edmund climbed onto his lap beside Alice and buried his face in Corbin’s lapel.

“Love Mama?” Alice continued her questioning.

“Yes,” Corbin whispered. “Especially Mama.”

Alice grew heavy against him, sleeping once more.

“Is Mr. Bentford truly gone?” Edmund asked after a moment passed.

“I do not know where he is, Edmund. But you and Alice and your aunt Clara are safe here. I promise you that.”

“Did you hit him?” Edmund asked. “He was bleeding.”

“I did hit him.”

“Why?”

“He said something—something to your aunt Clara that he shouldn’t have.”

“Something mean?”

Corbin couldn’t think of what Bentford had said to Clara without tensing. To imply, as he had, that she was a woman of loose morals . . . He couldn’t countenance it. “What he said was very mean.”

“What if he said something mean about Alice? Would you hit him?”

“Hitting isn’t always the right answer.” Corbin again remembered the lesson his father had taught him on that very topic. “But I wouldn’t allow him to hurt any of you.”

“Aunt Clara is afraid,” Edmund said. “I saw her in Alice’s room this morning. She was crying again. She only cries when she is afraid. I think she thinks Mr. Bentford will come back.”

Corbin processed that. Clara was still worried. He wanted Clara to feel safe at Havenworth, to feel at ease, at home. He wanted her to want to stay.

Jason had written only that morning to say he and Crispin would be meeting with Lords Henley and Devereaux and the Dukes of Hartley and Kielder to discuss Clara’s situation. He further wrote that he fully expected to receive letters from Philip and the Marquess of Grenton, who were the only gentlemen on the list not currently in Town. The wait was excruciating.

In the meantime, there had to be something Corbin could do to keep Clara’s mind off her troubles. He had never been good at planning entertainments or social events. He would need to think about it.

“Corbin?”

“Yes, Edmund?”

“Is it babyish to be afraid? Does it mean I’m not very grown-up?”

“Even very grown-up people can be afraid,” Corbin assured him. “Are you afraid?”

“Mr. Bentford is mean.” Edmund shifted his position until he fit under Corbin’s right arm. “He hit me sometimes. And it hurt a lot. The other Mr. Bentford did too. He broke my arm. I don’t want this Mr. Bentford to break my arm.”

Corbin took a few deep breaths to steady his anger. No child should have to endure what these two had. Corbin held Edmund as tightly as he dared.

“He hit Aunt Clara too and made her bleed. He did that all the time. Every day.”

“My brothers and I will take care of Mr. Bentford, Edmund. You do not need to worry about him.”

“I like your brothers,” Edmund said, his eyes now closed. “And your mother says I can call her Grandmother. I thought that was nice.”

Corbin smiled. “Very nice.”
And optimistic
, he thought silently. A little manipulative too, he suspected.

Edmund didn’t offer any more comments. Corbin realized rather quickly that the boy had fallen asleep. Edmund and Alice were both sleeping in his arms. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He may not have slain Clara’s dragons for her, but he felt, at that moment, like he was making a difference.

He’d told Alice the truth. He loved them more than he’d ever thought possible. And he loved Clara, almost desperately. Her smile had captured him early on, and since that time, he’d discovered she was witty, kind, brave, and loving. She had a good heart. He loved her all the more for it.

* * *

Clara walked the halls of Havenworth, hoping to find Corbin. She needed to talk to him about the children. She peeked only briefly through the open library door but didn’t step inside. The room was quiet and still.

Then, a tiny, nasalized sigh sounded from inside. Clara felt certain it was Alice’s baby snores. She followed the sound all the way to a chair set beneath the far windows, turned away from the door. She stepped around the chair, and the sight she discovered left her nearly breathless. Corbin sat with Alice asleep on one side of his lap and Edmund asleep on the other.

Corbin smiled at her a little awkwardly, the slightest hint of color stealing across his face.
Shy
, his mother had called him. Only a few short days earlier, she would have interpreted his stiff demeanor and half smile as disapproval.

“They fell asleep like this,” Corbin said quietly. “I am trying very hard not to wake them.”

“However did you get them to sleep?” Clara asked.

Corbin didn’t answer immediately. “I think they . . . that they were just tired.”

It was more than that, Clara knew. They’d been tired the night before, but she hadn’t been able to get them to sleep for more than a short while at a time. They were worried, tense, fearful. She hadn’t managed to assuage their fears, being too bogged down by worry herself.

Clara stood silently watching the three of them, hesitating to blink for fear she would miss the perfect picture laid out before her. No one but herself had ever loved these children.

That was why she was searching for him. Corbin loved her children, and he would take care of them.

“What is it?” Corbin interrupted her thoughts.

She focused on him again. He looked back at her, concerned. Something of her thoughts must have been visible on her face. Clara shook her head, her courage suddenly abandoning her. She couldn’t possibly ask more of him.

Clara turned away, her heart pulsing, her mind racing. Behind her, she could hear movement, fabric rustling and shifting.

She turned back. Corbin was rising from his seat.

“Please don’t wake them. They’ve hardly slept these past few days.”

“They won’t wake,” he answered assuredly.

He gently laid Edmund back on the chair, his head on one armrest, his body curled in a ball on the seat. Corbin held Alice against his shoulder. He carried her to a nearby sofa and laid her softly on it. Neither child had awakened.

“Now.” Corbin returned to where Clara stood speechless. “What is weighing on you?”

Clara shook her head.

Corbin interrupted her nonverbal denial. “I can see it in your eyes, Clara.”

Until Corbin had begun calling her Clara, she had never truly liked her Christian name. Somehow, Corbin made it sound almost poetic.

“Please tell me.” Corbin took her hand and held it comfortingly.

Her gaze was riveted to Corbin’s hand, much the way it had been at church nearly a week earlier. His was so much larger than her own and yet so gentle.

“Jason will write to tell us about the meeting today,” he said.

The meeting.
Suppose the Lords and Dukes refused to help her? Suppose they, rightly so, felt their time was too valuable to waste on someone as unimportant as she was? What would she do? What would happen to Edmund? To Alice? Tears stung the back of her eyes, her stomach tying in more knots.

“You’re crying,” Corbin said.

“I’m not crying.” Clara wiped at the lone tear that had managed to escape. “Not very much,” she amended, frustrated that she couldn’t keep her emotions in check as she usually did.

“Edmund told me you . . . told me you only cry when you are afraid.”

That brought further tears. A boy Edmund’s age ought not to have to worry as he did.

“What is it you are afraid of?” Corbin took hold of her other hand.

“What if this plan doesn’t work?” She stopped for a shaky breath. “What if Mr. Bentford carries his point?”

Corbin looked genuinely concerned. Because he didn’t think his family could save her? Because she was worried? She ought to ask him, ought to plead with him. Her own emotional upheaval did not help.

Clara pulled away and stepped back to the window, resting her hands on the sill. “The late Mr. Bentford never shared custody of Edmund with me. I was his sole guardian, which is unusual for a woman.” She knew she was most likely completely confusing Corbin, but if she was going to ask what she needed to ask, Corbin had to understand the circumstances. “He has no other guardian, no one to take him should something happen to me. My brothers were specifically barred in Edmund’s parents’ will from being made his guardians.”

There was nothing but silence behind her. Clara’s first inclination was to assume Corbin was indifferent or annoyed at her for dumping at his feet her personal difficulties.
He is shy
, she reminded herself.
And quiet. It is simply his way.
And, she realized, she liked that about him, now that she was beginning to understand him.

“The late Mr. Bentford was quite clear from the first day of our marriage that he would never acknowledge any child of mine who was not male.” Clara quickly continued her tale, paling at difficult memories and, yet, blushing at the personal nature of the topic. “So Alice was legally disowned by him. She has no claim on his estate. She is unacknowledged by his family and always will be. A loophole in the marriage settlements gave her the right to remain with me at Bentford Manor, but there is nothing else the Bentfords can or will do for her.”