As You Are (23 page)

“I do not, nor will I ever, tolerate a man—notice I do not refer to you as a
gentleman—
who would mistreat a good and honest lady in the way I know you have.” His jaw visibly tightened.

The entire crowd must have heard Mr. Bentford’s swallow.

“Know this: while the Jonquils may have qualms about throwing a lying blackguard from an upper-story window or locking him in a swinging gibbet,
I
am the Duke of Kielder—I have no such pangs of conscience.”

Mr. Bentford nodded frantically.

“I suggest you remove your dishonorable carcass from these hallowed grounds and hie yourself home to salvage what remains of your existence.” The duke stepped back once more, looking for all the world as if he were having a discussion about the weather over tea. “And if you so much as send a letter to the lady you have been harassing, I assure you I will make good on my threats, both those I have voiced and those I will formulate when I am most angry with you.”

There was no response, verbal or otherwise, only the sight of Mr. Bentford scurrying from the churchyard. Clara was certain she heard the duke mutter “coward” under his breath.

Corbin slipped his hand from hers. “I will return directly,” he said and moved in the direction of the duke.

Clara closed her eyes, hardly daring to breathe a sigh of relief. Mr. Bentford might actually leave. Based on his reaction to the Duke of Kielder, he wasn’t likely to harass her again. It was too much to believe.

“He is a little scary,” Clara heard Edmund say. She looked down at him and saw his eyes glued to the Duke of Kielder.

“Yes, a little,” Clara agreed. “But I do not think we need to fear him.”

Edmund shook his head. “Corbin would have told us.”

Clara smiled. “He most certainly would have.” She turned her gaze to Corbin, who stood with the duke and those members of the Jonquil family who remained in the neighborhood. Alice slept soundly against his chest, no doubt drooling again.

“And he would keep us safe,” Edmund added.

“Yes, he would.” The Duke of Kielder may have delivered the ultimately effective threat, but Corbin was the one who made Clara feel safe and secure.

Corbin turned at that moment and looked directly at her, smiling. Clara’s heart leaped into her throat. As he approached, she felt a shiver spread through her entire body, and all of her thoughts seemed to dissipate into oblivion. All but one. She loved this man. She loved him entirely.

“His Grace will be . . . will be taking his midday meal at Havenworth before returning to Town.” Corbin smiled at Edmund as well and reached out to ruffle his hair. “Though he did find Alice’s lack of enthusiasm for his visit rather lowering.”

Clara laughed, and Corbin chuckled. Alice was sound asleep.

“Shall we?” Corbin held his free arm out to her.

Clara placed her arm through his and felt her heart swelling inside her. They stepped inside Corbin’s carriage as they’d been doing each Sunday of late. Alice slept against his chest, a sight Clara hadn’t yet grown tired of. How alone they’d all been for so long. But not any longer.

“Is Mr. Bentford really gone?” Edmund asked.

Corbin nodded firmly and confidently. “He is gone, and I am absolutely certain he will never come back.”

Edmund’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Clara could actually see the weight lifted from him.

She caught Corbin’s gaze. “You did this for us,” she said, awe filling her at the realization.

“Yes,” he answered. “For
us
.”

She sat silently at his side as they drove to Havenworth. Her mind couldn’t seem to grasp the reality of her newfound freedom. She didn’t have to run or hide any longer. Corbin, her Corbin, had done the impossible. He had given her peace.

Crispin approached Corbin after luncheon, something he didn’t often do. Philip and Layton were Crispin’s particular friends, and he generally turned to them when he had a task or a question or a favor to ask.

“I have brought more with me from London than a mere duke. I have a message to deliver,” Crispin said, a look of mischief and determination in his eyes. “While I personally am looking forward to delivering it, I thought you might appreciate being there too. You have an iron in this fire.”

“What—?”

Crispin understood as well as any of Corbin’s brothers the necessity of mentally finishing sentences at times. “I have a letter of particular importance for Finley, whom we both know is lingering about the area.”

“Promise the letter brings bad news, and I’ll deliver it myself.”

“That it does, indeed.” Crispin slapped Corbin on the shoulder before continuing. “Our good friend Finley will be on a mad dash for Town within the hour, I daresay.”

Corbin needed no more encouragement than that. “I’ve an entire afternoon. Let’s . . . let’s find him.”

They headed out to the stables. They had very nearly reached the paddock when an odd sound stopped Corbin. He thought he heard a horse, but
behind
the stables, not within them. The stable hands were thorough and reliable. He couldn’t imagine any of them neglecting their duties.

He walked around the side of the long building, just to be certain none of the animals had wandered off. For just a moment, he couldn’t entirely make sense of what he saw.

It was indeed a horse—Buttercup, in fact—with a saddle on her back. But the saddle was on backward.
Backward?
And next to Buttercup was Charlie, looking as though he meant to climb into the backward saddle and ride Buttercup facing the wrong direction.

Good heavens.
“Charlie.” The single word snapped out with exasperation and weariness.

Charlie looked over immediately. “Just going for a ride, Corbin.”

His nearly perfected look of innocence didn’t fool Corbin for a minute. Corbin whistled to Buttercup. She obeyed without hesitation, walking to where he stood. He took her rein, gave Charlie a lingering look of reprimand, then led the mare back to the stables.

Jim looked up from his work as Corbin passed with the missaddled mare. “What the blazes?”

“Have her unsaddled,” Corbin instructed. “And see to it she has a quiet rest of the day.”

Jim nodded, taking the rein from Corbin. “I would never have let yer brother take the poor creature if I’d’ve known he was up to this kind of tomfoolery.”

Tomfoolery and Charlie were rather constant companions, it seemed.

Corbin sent one of the stable hands for his and Crispin’s horses, then returned to the paddock.

“Seventeen isn’t the most intelligent age,” Crispin observed. “One can only hope Charlie outgrows it.”

“Outgrows it before . . . before Mater really does strangle him.”

They mounted their own horses and set out on their original errand. Crispin looked to Corbin, silently allowing him to choose the direction they took their search. He gave it a moment’s thought. Finley had been present for Mr. Bentford’s dismissal. He would know Clara’s immediate concerns were settled. She, along with Catherine, had been Finley’s focus the past weeks. Catherine, however, was in London.

“Ivy Cottage,” Corbin said. “I’ve a feeling he’ll be waiting for . . . looking for Clara.”

Crispin nodded solemnly. “He never did know when to leave well enough alone.”

Sure enough, Finley’s mount was standing outside the cottage, its reins wrapped around the low-hanging branch of an obliging tree.

“The man is like a fox circling a henhouse,” Crispin muttered.

Corbin looked across at him. “Sounds to me like it is fox hunting season.”

Crispin’s lips slowly turned up in a devilish smile. They walked to the front door. Corbin was relieved to find it locked. But where, then, was Finley?

“We should check around back,” Crispin said. “He’s probably looking for a loose window or a mouse hole to crawl in through.”

They walked around the cottage and, sure enough, found Finley sniffing around the place.

“What have we here?” Crispin asked, his tone slow and menacing. “I do believe we’ve stumbled upon an intruder.”

Finley met their gazes without the slightest hint of guilt. He always had been too sure of himself. His confidence had long ago jumped to arrogance. “Well, now. If it isn’t the Jonquils come to champion the widows and orphans of the world,” Finley drawled.

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.” Crispin reached into his jacket pocket. “I have a letter for you, one I’m told you will wish to receive with all possible haste.”

The first hints of wariness entered Finley’s expression.

Crispin held the letter in his hand but made no movement to give it to Finley. He simply slapped it back and forth against his other hand, watching Finley with unflagging calm.

Impatience slid across Finley’s face. “Are you planning to simply stand there, or are you going to give me my letter?”

“We have two other things for you first,” Crispin said.

Finley’s gaze narrowed. He took a single, purposeful step toward them. “What is it?”

Crispin looked as cool and collected as ever. “You imposed upon my wife. You laid your grubby, filthy hands on her.”

Finley raised a single eyebrow.

“If I hear at any point from this moment on that you have so much as spoken to her, I will expect you to name your seconds and your preferred gravedigger. Am I understood?”

Finley didn’t nod, didn’t flinch. But some of his arrogance dissipated. “You said you had
two
things.”

“Indeed,” Crispin said. “I have delivered mine. The second is for Corbin to deliver.”

That was clear enough. Crispin had defended his wife with words. Corbin was no orator, but he meant to see to it Clara was clear of her last remaining tormentor.

He moved with determined footsteps to Finley, watching with satisfaction the nervousness the man couldn’t quite hide.

“She’s not your wife or family member,” Finley objected. “Her honor is not yours to defend.”

Corbin took hold of Finley’s cravat and twisted it in his fist enough to make Finley’s eyes bulge the slightest bit. He stepped in close, eye to eye with the scoundrel.

“I’ve broken one man’s nose recently,” he said. “I’ll happily make it two.”

Though Finley said nothing, Corbin saw the threat sink in. He released the cravat but lingered a moment, letting his glare have maximum impact. Finley took the smallest step backward.

Crispin was there in the next moment. He handed Finley the letter. “I was instructed to make certain you open it.”

Finley broke the seal, though he clearly would have preferred not to. His eyes quickly darted back and forth across the page. Corbin actually saw him pale. Without a word, Finley pushed his way between them and rushed toward the front of the house.

“That did the trick,” Crispin said with palpable satisfaction.

“What was in the letter?”

Crispin shrugged as his smile grew more amused. “A warning. Word has reached the various gentlemen’s clubs that Finley has been harassing the wives and daughters of quite a few gentlemen, rumors that, no doubt, are being confirmed by his many victims. His only real options are to rush to Town and attempt to squelch the whispers or go into hiding somewhere out of reach of the many, many gentlemen who are even now calling for his head.”

A corner of Corbin’s mouth twitched upward. There was a poetic satisfaction in that. He would be forced by his own misdeeds to leave Clara, and every other woman, alone. Clara would be safe from him.

She was no longer living under a cloud of uncertainty or fear. She didn’t have to leave. Didn’t have to run any longer.

Corbin simply had to find a way to ask her to stay, not merely in the neighborhood but with him.

“I understand Mr. Finley has gone to Town,” Mater said not long after the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner that evening.

The Duke of Kielder and Crispin had headed back to London immediately after Corbin and Crispin had returned from Ivy Cottage.

“I believe he has, Mater,” Layton answered. “Hopefully for some time.”

“It seems the neighborhood will be emptying these next few days,” Mater said. “Layton and Marion, and, of course, Caroline, will be returning to the Meadows. I must confess myself anxious to return to the Park. The remodel of the dower house must be nearly completed by now. I should very much like to see how it turned out.”

Corbin let the conversation roll over him, not really hearing any of it. His mind was far too full of Clara. She hadn’t come down to dinner. Was she still upset? Had she accidentally slept through the meal?

He stepped aside with Marion. “Do you know why . . . Where Clara is?”

She looked momentarily confused. “She returned to Ivy Cottage this afternoon. I thought you knew.”

Returned to Ivy Cottage? Why would she do that?
She hadn’t left so much as a word of farewell. “And the children?” he pressed.

“The children as well.”

What had gone wrong? He’d spent the past few days trying not to worry that he stumbled over his words, that he was uneasy in company, that he hadn’t the polish or poise of his brothers. He’d told himself that she wouldn’t mind that he would never be a man of influence or greatness. He’d simply been Corbin Jonquil in a way he hadn’t been for anyone in years. For all that, she hadn’t stayed with him. She’d left him.

“Corbin?” Layton’s voice, quiet and urgent, broke into his thoughts.

The last thing Corbin wanted was pity, or worse, more brotherly advice. What good had any of his brothers’ advice done him? “There is a foal . . . a foal in the stables that isn’t . . . hasn’t—” He left it at that and made his way from the room.

He didn’t stop until he’d reached the stables. If anyone was surprised to see him, they didn’t let on. Corbin offered a quick nod where it was called for and made his way to the back. Whipster seemed no more surprised than any of the others.

“Hey, boy,” Corbin greeted him, rubbing his nose. “Can I come sit with you?”

The horse nickered, nudging Corbin with his nose. Corbin stepped into the stall and, taking a brush from the wall, began rhythmically grooming. Being with Whipster always made Corbin feel closer to Father.