As You Are (13 page)

“If I didn’t know better, Catherine, I would think you have been avoiding me.” Mr. Finley reached out and took hold of the lady—Catherine, he’d called her—by the wrist. She managed to wrench free of him, walking even faster.

“Catherine.” Mr. Finley chuckled. The laugh, however, was menacing, with an edge of frustration. Mr. Finley was growing tired of civilities. Clara shivered at the thought. What might he do if Catherine’s rejections pricked too deeply at his pride?

“I have never given you leave to use my Christian name,” Catherine snapped, not slowing as she spoke.

“Your husband is not here to object to the intimacy.”

Clara saw the woman stiffen and recognized the stature for what it was: fear. She understood well the effect a man could have on an unprotected woman when his intent was blatantly dishonorable.

“Stop this ridiculous posturing, Catherine.” Mr. Finley was nearly growling. “You are making a fool of yourself pretending to be offended by my attentions. I am not a patient man.”

Searching frantically around her while still keeping pace with Mr. Finley and his prey, Clara finally spotted a large branch lying on the ground. She picked it up and quietly approached Mr. Finley from behind. He was too intent on discomposing his victim to notice her approach.

With a swing so hard she grunted at the effort, Clara whacked the branch across the back of Mr. Finley’s knees, sending him toppling to the ground. She lifted the branch up high and brought it crashing down on his head.

Mr. Finley was probably no more than stunned. Not wanting to take any chances, she ran ahead to where the poor woman, pale and obviously stricken by the situation, stood staring.

“Come.” Clara took hold of the lady’s hand and pulled her along at a run, away from Mr. Finley, praying they reached Havenworth before Mr. Finley recovered his senses.

“I will explain to your husband.” Clara managed the words, even in her growing breathlessness as they rushed toward Havenworth. “I will tell him it was my fault.” She wasn’t certain how to convince him of that, but she would manage it somehow.

The lady running with her appeared to be fighting tears.

“He won’t blame you,” Clara assured her. “I’ll think of something to tell him so he won’t be angry with you.”

She didn’t slow their pace until they reached the steps of Havenworth. The butler let them in after a swift glance at the face of Clara’s companion. He went so far as to hurry quite unbutlerlike up the stairs, motioning for them to follow.

Clara recognized the room before they stepped inside: Corbin’s library.

The Havenworth butler didn’t even stop to announce them. The woman Clara knew only as Catherine rushed inside and directly into the arms of a man whose dark hair and dark eyes set him apart from the Jonquils. Clara stayed near the door. Though Catherine seemed to trust this man, Clara didn’t know him from Adam.

“What in heaven’s name?” the man muttered as Catherine began sobbing in his embrace.

“Mr. Finley,” Catherine managed to say.

Clara saw tension instantly clench the man’s jaw. “Catherine.” The gentleman pulled the still-crying woman a little away from him and looked into her face.

Clara opened her mouth to explain. The poor lady did not deserve her husband’s wrath after what she’d just endured.

“Did he hurt you?” Catherine’s husband asked. “Did he hurt you in any way? Any way at all?”

Clara’s words stopped unuttered.
Did he hurt you?
No lectures on propriety? On entering a room like a lady? No suspicious questioning of her whereabouts?

Catherine answered the man’s questions with a shake of her head.

Clara stared, mesmerized, utterly confused.

“Are you certain?”

Catherine nodded.

The man turned to look at Clara. “Did he hurt
you
?” he asked.

Clara could only stare. This stranger was concerned for
her
? Was the lecture, the explosion of temper to come later, then?

“She ambushed him, Crispin,” Catherine’s shaky voice announced. “And then we ran.”

“Blasted—” He muttered the rest of the curse under his breath.

“Crispin?” Corbin’s voice came from the doorway just behind Clara. “Simmons said—” He stopped abruptly. Clara felt his gaze on her without looking back. “Mrs. Bentford.” His shock was obvious.

Clara turned then, meaning to offer a polite curtsy. She froze, however, the moment she saw his bruised face. Good heavens, had she really hit him that hard? He was purple from temple to jaw on the left side of his face. Not even the ointment, which had done wonders for many of her own bruises over the years, had kept his face from discoloring so quickly.

“Finley’s on your land, Corbin,” Crispin said. “He accosted Catherine.”

“Is she hurt?” Corbin’s eyes instantly filled with concern.

Never had Clara encountered one gentleman, let alone two, who would concern himself so instantly with the welfare of a woman. She didn’t understand it.

“She’s fine. Thanks to Mrs. Bentford.”

“I hit him,” Clara explained, feeling the need to tell Corbin. “With a stick.”

“Not a frying pan?” Corbin asked with dry amusement.

She nearly smiled. But the graveness of the situation settled over her once more. In an instant, she was shivering. “I think he meant her harm,” Clara whispered, hearing the unexpected panic in her voice. “I think he truly intended to hurt her.”

“I don’t doubt he did.” Corbin watched her rather too closely for comfort. “He is selfish and dishonorable. A . . . a bounder and a womanizer and—”

“I know.” Clara clutched her hands together to keep them from shaking. She could easily have been the one in the forest, alone and accosted by Mr. Finley. Despite having grown braver and stronger over the past months, she couldn’t seem to stop her reaction to the danger she’d only narrowly escaped.

“But Finley was at your home.”

“Uninvited,” Clara said.

“He called you
my dear
.” Corbin’s gaze didn’t waver.

“That is also what he called Catherine,” Clara said. “I didn’t like it any more than she seemed to.”

Corbin’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing questioning. Such scrutiny from a man usually made her antsy. Instead, she found herself growing warm and, most likely, flushed.

“If you will excuse us.” Crispin stepped around Clara and Corbin toward the door. “I am going to ask Jason and Charlie to have a look around to make certain Finley has left.”

Corbin’s gaze shifted to Crispin. “Have the staff . . . the stable staff do the same.”

Clara and Corbin were suddenly alone. He looked at her once again. Heavens, he had the bluest eyes. And the purplest face.

“I did that,” Clara whispered, touching his face lightly. “I am sorry. I truly am.”

Corbin didn’t say anything. His breathing tensed. His eyes darted around the room.

Clara’s mind screamed that she was in danger. Yet, she wasn’t afraid. She let her hand drop back to her side. “Is Edmund here?”

Corbin nodded. “With Caroline.”

There was a stiff and awkward pause. Clara stood on needle points, with no idea what Corbin would do next. She had never known anyone like him and could not possibly anticipate his actions.

“Did you . . . Were you wanting—?” He stopped abruptly, muttering something under his breath that Clara couldn’t make out. “Do you want to take Edmund home?”

“I think that would be best.” She felt inexplicably close to tears. Clara forced them back, muscled down the lump in her throat. Why in heaven’s name was she so nearly crying?

“I will . . . I can have a carriage called up for you,” Corbin said, then bowed and left the room.

Clara pressed her hand to her heart to still the painful thudding she felt there. Such a powerful reaction was strange, unexpected. Somehow, Corbin Jonquil had pierced her defenses. He affected her in odd and inexplicable ways.

Edmund’s praise and Alice’s obvious love had first endeared Corbin to Clara. She couldn’t decide if her experience was the accurate foreteller or if she ought to trust her children’s evaluation.

The only thing she felt certain of was that she needed time and room to sort things out.

* * *

“Finley’s gone,” Charlie announced to those in the sitting room after returning from the search conducted around the grounds of Havenworth. Jason nodded his confirmation.

Catherine sat on the sofa beside Crispin, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm holding her to him. Corbin wondered what that felt like, being able to comfort the woman he loved. Clara had certainly been upset by the encounter as well. She’d seemed on edge. What had he been able to do for her? Call a carriage.

It was frustrating.

“I never liked that George Finley,” Mater said. “Your father warned Robert that his son was not turning out well. But Robert Finley continued to indulge George in absolutely everything. Now that spoiled boy has grown into a man who does not warrant the title of gentleman. He feels the world owes him anything he wants, and he takes it without regard to propriety.”

“Perhaps I should take Catherine home,” Crispin said.

Mater shook her head. “I am certain that is not necessary. Corbin’s stable staff can help keep an eye out.”

“And what about Mrs. Bentford?” Catherine asked quietly. “I don’t imagine Mr. Finley will appreciate having been thwarted by a lady.”

Corbin rubbed his face with his hand. He was not technically in a position to offer his assistance to Clara. But Catherine’s words had a ring of truth. Finley had already shown an interest in Clara. That was not likely to subside because she had rescued Catherine. Quite the opposite, in fact. Finley would make besting her a matter of regaining his pride.

“Ivy Cottage can . . . We can, if—” He let out a frustrated breath. Why could he never seem to manage a whole, articulate sentence? Corbin organized his thoughts.
Someone from the stables can keep an eye on Ivy Cottage. Someone from the stables can keep an eye on Ivy Cottage.
“Someone from the stables can keep an eye on Ivy Cottage.”

“Excellent suggestion.” Jason nodded his approval, though he seemed distracted. Jason’s mind had been elsewhere all afternoon.

“We could always wait until Layton arrives tomorrow, break into Finley Grange, and steal all of Finley’s underclothes,” Crispin said.

Corbin, Jason, and Crispin laughed at the memory from Eton. Charlie looked far too intrigued. Mater seemed to barely suppress a chuckle herself. Corbin wondered if she had heard about that infamous incident. Most likely. Mater had known most all of their escapades as youth, a fact that had surprised and intrigued them all.

“Only if you promise to fly every single pair from the windows of Westminster,” Catherine said, earning further laughs and an amused kiss on the cheek from her husband.

Corbin felt a stab of jealousy at seeing that gesture. He turned away, thinking. Clara had kissed him. But, then, it had been little more than a peck. He wanted to find that encouraging, but it was so little to build on.

Catherine and Crispin hadn’t had the easiest or smoothest of beginnings. Yet, one look at them together confirmed they were deeply in love with each other. What did Crispin do differently from him?

Corbin’s eyes settled on Jason, slumped in a chair in the corner, forehead creased, something like a confused scowl on his face. It was the same look he’d worn since Miss Thornton’s unforgettable visit earlier in the day.

“You’re a Jonquil,” Corbin’s brother Layton had once told him. “Of course women will think you’re an idiot.”

Perhaps his brothers were not the best source to look to for guidance when wooing a lady. But his own efforts so far didn’t appear to be working either.

It was too much to think about at the moment. Corbin reminded himself he really ought to head to the stables to set up a watch on Ivy Cottage.

He’d only just left the sitting room when Mater’s voice called out to him. “Corbin?”

He turned and watched as she hurried to where he stood.

“May I walk with you?” she asked.

Corbin nodded, offering his arm, which she took. “I was . . . I was going to—”

“The stables?” She finished for him with a smile. “I could have guessed. The stables always were where you were headed.”

That was certainly true.

They stepped out of the house and began the short trek to the stables, a soft breeze blowing.

“Have I ever told you I am proud of what you have done here?” Mater said, looking around her. “You were so young when you began. I worried for you. You did not have your father to advise you, and Philip, bless his heart, was quite young himself. But look at all you’ve done.”

Corbin felt himself color at her praise. He’d never been comfortable with attention, even from his own mother.

“All of you boys have far exceeded my expectations,” Mater continued. “Well, Charlie is still a work in progress.”

Corbin laughed at that. He smiled at Mater when he realized she was watching him.

“It is good to hear you laugh, Corbin. You seldom used to laugh out loud.” She seemed to study him, which made Corbin instantly nervous. “Something has changed with you, for the better. You talk a little more and with a little more confidence.”

He didn’t feel more confident. Less, in fact. Clara was too much of a mystery, too hard to understand. His inability to decipher her reactions to him, to find a way to make a positive impression on her was frustrating to no end. What did she see so lacking in him?

They had reached the stables, and catching sight of the man he was looking for, Corbin called out to him. Jim began walking toward him.

“Are you setting up your watch?” Mater asked.

Corbin nodded. “I don’t like the idea of . . . Mrs. Bentford ought to have someone looking out for her.”

Mater nodded. “I cannot help but find it telling that she successfully felled two grown men in a single day.” Mater’s eyes slid to Corbin’s bruised face. “If I had to guess, I would say she has experience defending herself physically against men. Not a very comforting thought.”

Comforting?
Hardly. Corbin felt every muscle in his body tense at the truthful ring of Mater’s conjecture. Someone had hurt Clara, he was certain of it. Could that, then, be part of the puzzle? She’d been hurt and, therefore, was wary. He couldn’t say for certain.