As You Are (8 page)

Now Finley was after Clara. If the scene Corbin had stumbled on at Ivy Cottage the evening before was any indication, Finley was making far more progress than he was.

My dear.
He’d called her
my dear.
And she hadn’t corrected him.

Clara couldn’t possibly know what Finley was truly like. Her late husband—if Edmund’s account was accurate, and Corbin felt certain it was—had been boorish and unkind and, though Edmund hadn’t said as much, Corbin suspected the man had been abusive as well, with his words and his hands.

Finley would be no better. He was arrogant to the point of being dangerous. So sure was he that he deserved to be given anything he demanded that he lashed out when denied. Women were his targets more often than not. Perhaps because they were inherently more vulnerable. The law, society, the indifference of far too many men, all conspired to leave too many women unprotected and undervalued.

Corbin didn’t know what to do. Even if Clara had no interest in
him
, she deserved far better than Finley.

“Vis’tors.” Jim interrupted Corbin’s thoughts.

Corbin looked up. Two coaches sat under the portico. He’d been expecting Crispin and Catherine and recognized the Cavratt crest emblazoned on the side of one of the coaches. The other coach was one of the unmarked carriages from the Lampton stables—Corbin had spent so much time in those stables he recognized each of the equipages on sight.

Had Mater come as well? If she had, Charlie, the youngest Jonquil at only seventeen, would be with her, as would Caroline, Corbin’s little niece. If Mater had traveled from the Park, it could only mean one thing: Charlie had managed to get himself in trouble. Philip had left Corbin in charge for just that reason. Charlie was always in trouble.

Simmons looked pleased when Corbin reached the front doors of Havenworth. They seldom had visitors—having people around made Corbin nervous. His unease was a little less pronounced with his family. And, he realized with a smile, with Edmund. He enjoyed the boy tremendously.

“The Dowager Lady Lampton, Lord and Lady Cavratt, Mr. Jason Jonquil, Mr. Harold Jonquil, Mr. Charles Jonquil, and Miss Caroline Jonquil.” Simmons quickly rattled off the list of arrivals. Ever since coming to Havenworth, Simmons had made a practice of warning Corbin of any and all visitors. Corbin hadn’t needed to ask him to; Simmons simply seemed to understand.

It was something of a family reunion
.
Even Harry had come. Corbin nodded to Simmons and swiftly walked to the sitting room.

“Good day, dear.” Mater greeted him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Forgive us for descending on you without warning, but if we had remained at the Park one day longer, I would probably have killed your brother.”

She smiled as if sincere. Corbin glanced across at Charlie, who sat slouched in a chair at the far end of the room. Corbin looked back at Mater, allowing a question to enter his eyes.

Mater seemed to understand the unspoken “What did Charlie do this time?”

“He took Philip’s phaeton at an unnatural pace down the lane outside Squire Hampton’s home,” she explained. “Only by some miracle, he managed not to run Arabella Hampton down, though he positively ruined her gown.”

“I didn’t know it was muddy,” Corbin thought he heard Charlie grumble.

“And last week he wasted an entire afternoon strutting like a peacock around Collingham,” Mater continued. “I have not yet stopped hearing how ridiculous he was.”

Charlie always seemed to be in some scrape or another when at home. He’d been nearly perfectly behaved during their Christmas holiday in Suffolk. Corbin had never heard a word about trouble at school. But at home, it was an entirely different story. Why was that?

“I had hoped we might remain until the workers finished remodeling the dower house,” Mater said. “That might mean a fortnight or more.”

“Of course.” Corbin always enjoyed having his mother visit.

“Harold is only here for the day,” Mater volunteered. “He has a sermon in the morning.”

Harold nodded quite seriously, wearing the pious look on his face that always indicated he was pondering something of deep, doctrinal significance. If not for the fact that he wore that look most of the time, Corbin might have found it a reliable measure of Harold’s thoughts.

“Uncle Corbo?” A little voice captured his attention.

He looked down into the face of a golden-haired angel, her bright blue eyes wide and inquiring and, to his instant dismay, teary. He scooped his little niece into his arms.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “When is my papa coming home?”

Her father and his new wife were on an extended wedding trip. “In another week, Caroline,” Corbin answered.

Mater smiled at the two of them and crossed the room to sit on a sofa. She was probably quite worn out with the energetic five-year-old at the house, not to mention enduring Charlie’s often-embarrassing escapades.

“And Mary will come back too?” Caroline inquired after her new stepmother, whose name was actually Marion.

She will come home with your papa
. Corbin nodded.

“If we write them a letter, will they come home sooner?”

Corbin smiled. “Are . . . are you unhappy? Grammy and Uncle Charming aren’t . . . aren’t keeping you company?” Caroline had rather amusing names for all of her relatives. Philip’s wife, Sorrel, had become “Swirl.” Corbin wondered what name Caroline would craft for Clara, given the chance.

“Charming is never at home, and Grammy gets tired.”

A bolt of inspiration hit at that moment. “Two of my neighbors are children,” Corbin whispered to Caroline. “Would you like to meet them?”

“Oh, Uncle Corbo!” She squeezed his neck tighter. “No one plays with me anymore. Mary just wants to be with Papa. And I want to have friends to play with.”

“I will write to”—
Clara
—“their mother.”

“Thank you.” Caroline grinned. “You’re the best uncle in the whole world!”

“That is a rather bold declaration for a young lady with seven uncles,” Corbin’s twin, Jason, said from nearby, a chuckle in his tone.
Seven
included Crispin, Lord Cavratt. “Aren’t I your favorite uncle?” Jason smiled at Caroline.

“You’re my favorite uncle in London,” Caroline clarified quite matter-of-factly.

“I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with that.” Jason shrugged. “How are you, Corbin?”

Corbin nodded, his usual response to most questions.

“What did you do to earn the title of favorite uncle?” Jason asked when Caroline abandoned them and skipped across the room to where Crispin and his wife, Catherine, were engaged in a private conversation.

“Invited children.”

“For her to play with,” Jason finished the thought. They’d been able to do that all their lives, communicate without actually speaking to each other. It had been convenient for Corbin, who preferred not talking. “Genius. The only thing I brought from London was a bag of toffee and a monumental headache.”

Corbin looked at his twin. They weren’t identical but, as Jonquils, looked alike. The headache, Corbin knew instinctively, was not illness-induced but was brought on by tension. “Difficult case?” he asked. Jason was a barrister.

“A difficult client,” Jason muttered, obvious disapproval and annoyance on his face. But in his eyes, there was also frustration of a different type.

“Is she?” Corbin asked.

“Despite the fact that I am her legal counsel, Miss Thornton is convinced she knows better than I do on every matter. She descends on my office unannounced and expects immediate and undivided attention. She is a harpy of the first order, but my secretary as well as every other barrister in the entire building is practically falling at her feet. And—” Jason stopped abruptly. “How did you know this client was a she?”

Corbin just smiled.

“Are you dealing with a difficult woman too, Corbin?” Jason asked, a little amusement sneaking across his face.

“Not difficult. Just—”

“Elusive,” Jason finished for him.

Corbin nodded.

“Is she a harpy?” Jason asked as if warning him.

Corbin shook his head no.

“Does she order you around?”

Corbin chuckled and shook his head again.

Jason nodded his approval. “You’re having trouble winning her over?”

“She doesn’t notice me.”
At all.

Jason’s look became quite knowing. “That’s your problem. You have to make an impression.”

Corbin sighed. “Philip said . . .” He finished with a nod, knowing Jason would understand what he meant to say.

“You haven’t been listening to Philip, have you? He probably told you to dress like a fop and simper about.” Jason shook his head. “No lady is interested in a gentleman who wears brighter colors than she does.”

It hadn’t gone well, that was for sure and certain
.
Corbin had yet to determine a better approach for capturing Clara’s attention. He’d summoned the courage to go to Ivy Cottage the day before, hoping he could at least manage a somewhat sensible conversation. But Finley had already been there.

“I will tell you what you need to do,” Jason began, but Crispin interrupted in the next moment.

“Is there time to go down to the stables today, Corbin?” he asked, an eagerness in his tone that Corbin had never heard.

“Crispin,” Catherine lightly scolded.

Corbin nodded. “The mare you asked about is there.”

“Good. Good. And I need to look over your ponies as well.”

Ponies?
What need did Crispin have for a pony?

“Crispin.” Catherine repeated her plea. This time her face had pinked with obvious embarrassment.

“Catherine.” Crispin turned back to her. “We will have to have a pony.”

“But not immediately,” she whispered, her color intensifying.

“How soon do you need it? The pony?”

“In the fall,” Crispin answered without hesitation.

“Crispin.” The plea had turned almost frantic.

A piece of the puzzle fell quite suddenly into place. Ponies were for children. Crispin and Catherine were, apparently, expecting the first addition to their family.

“Catherine, we have to have a pony,” Crispin replied a touch impatiently.

Catherine’s eyes quickly scanned the assembly, all of whom watched the exchange with obvious interest. The color in her cheeks reached a rosy-red hue, and tears seemed to threaten in her eyes. A quiver of her chin was the only warning before she fled at a run from the room.

“Now what did I do?” Crispin muttered to himself.

“Embarrassed her,” Corbin offered quietly.

“You essentially announced her condition,” Jason added with a raised eyebrow.

“I guess I did do that, didn’t I?” Crispin sighed. “Excuse me,” he offered to the room at large. “I need to go apologize to my wife. Again.”

“When can I meet my friends?” Caroline asked into the silence after Crispin left.

“I’ll write now.”

Caroline smiled in reply.

Corbin sat at the writing desk, quill in hand but mind too busy for writing. If he invited Clara’s children to Havenworth, would she come as well? He hoped she would.

What if she came and was completely oblivious to his presence? Three of his brothers, Crispin and Catherine, and Mater were all at Havenworth. Corbin would be overlooked in that crowd, as always. Or suppose Clara spent the visit talking of Finley? Being passed over for that parasite of a man would be torturous.

What if she disapproved of his family? What if his family disapproved of her? What if he made a fool of himself again?

Corbin shook his head and dipped his quill in the inkwell. He’d promised Caroline. Corbin didn’t break his promises.

Mrs. Bentford,

Please excuse my presumption in writing to you, but I must beg a favor.

Clara let her eyes slip to the signature at the bottom of the page.
Mr. Corbin Jonquil.
A favor?

My niece, who is five years old, has come to Havenworth for a visit and is wishing for the company of other children. I had hoped you might consent to allow Edmund and Alice to come to Havenworth this afternoon at two of the clock for tea in the nursery and to meet Caroline. I assure you she is a well-behaved girl.

If, however, this is not to your liking or convenience, I will, of course, understand and shall remain,

Yours, etc.

Mr. Corbin Jonquil

Mr. Jonquil’s Christian name suited him. It was unique but not in an obvious way. She liked it very much. Very much indeed. Clara stopped short. That was a tangent she hadn’t anticipated her thoughts following.

She shook off the distraction and forced herself to focus on the request Mr. Jonquil had made.

Tea in the nursery.
It seemed a very formal affair for children. Alice was only two years old and would most likely spend the afternoon amused at how nicely her fist fit in her teacup. Was Mr. Jonquil’s niece the daughter of the earl? He had not referred to her as
Lady
Caroline, though that might be more a reflection of their closeness than an indication that she did not possess the title. The young lady would likely be appalled at Alice’s lack of refinement. She might even scold the poor girl. Not that Alice would mind—she wouldn’t even understand. But Edmund would. He was a sensitive boy and would be hurt by the reprimand, even if not aimed at himself.

Clara glanced across the meadow at Edmund, who was playing bowls quite contentedly on his own. Only two weeks earlier Clara would have been hard-pressed to urge the boy out of doors.

“A man needs fresh air, Aunt Clara,” Edmund had told her one afternoon after returning from Havenworth. He said it with that air of authority Clara had come to realize always accompanied a piece of wisdom told him by Mr. Jonquil, whom Edmund declared knew
everything
. Ever since that day, Edmund had spent time, without Clara’s insistence, out of doors: running, playing, occasionally just lying on his back in the grass, watching the clouds.

He was like a new boy, confident in ways she never would have imagined, though still quiet and shy. He had already grown healthier, his bony frame filling out from exertion and activity. His appetite had increased to unparalleled levels. It was a very good thing they weren’t teetering on the edge of poverty, or Edmund would be eating them out of house and home.