As You Are (14 page)

He might not be able to make her care for him, but, he swore, he would make it his business to see that she was not hurt again.

Clara hadn’t seen Corbin in four days. He’d sent a remarkably large groom to Ivy Cottage each afternoon to accompany Edmund to Havenworth. The same groom, or one nearly as large, always brought him back. In yet another way, Clara found herself indebted to Corbin Jonquil. He was not in the least obligated to look after her, yet he was doing precisely that.

She had come to church this morning unusually nervous. She’d tried to convince herself over the past few days she had no reason to be unsettled over him. Despite her efforts, she was entirely unsettled. She had come to trust him, at least a little, and until she could explain to herself why this was, her nervousness remained.

To her utter bewilderment, she wanted to see him again. She had, in an odd sort of way, missed him, despite the fact that they didn’t meet all that often. Perhaps it was nothing more than wanting to see
which
Corbin Jonquil would arrive at services today. Would he be dressed flamboyantly or like a street sweeper? Would he talk aimlessly on and on or sit in silence? Would he be the confusing, unpredictable man he sometimes was or the gentle man who treated her little family with such tenderness?

The entire congregation hushed as the Jonquil party entered, just as they had the previous Sunday. Grompton was unaccustomed to the nobility sitting amongst them. Clara refused to look back and gawk at their entrance. The attention, she knew, made Corbin uncomfortable.

There was something of a commotion behind her. Clara determinedly faced forward.

“Mrs. Bentford?”

She didn’t have to look to know it was Corbin. His voice had become as familiar to her as either of the children’s. He stood at the edge of their pew.

“May I . . . I—”

A chuckle sounded behind her. Clara saw Corbin shoot a look at whomever sat there.

“There isn’t . . . I don’t—” He stopped abruptly, the way he often did. Now why did that make her want to smile? “There is no more room on the pew with my family.”

Clara was not sure how that fact related to her or why Corbin had brought it to her attention.

“Might I . . . Would you be put out if . . . if I asked to join you?”

“Your family won’t make room for you?” she asked, surprised.

Corbin looked frustrated as he shook his head.

Clara glanced over her shoulder. Charlie and Jason were directly behind her, both looking as though they were barely holding back their laughter. What was it, she wanted to know, that they found so funny? Did they expect to make her uneasy?

She refused to be humiliated. Her days of enduring embarrassment and torment were gone now.

“Of course you may sit with us.” She slid Edmund, Alice, and herself down the pew to the far end, allowing Mr. Jonquil plenty of room.

“Mister!” Half the congregation must have heard Alice’s whispered exclamation.

Corbin sat closer to them than she had anticipated. Alice climbed onto his lap, and he looked at Clara, causing her heart to beat frantically in her throat.

“Thank you for letting me. . . for allowing me to—” He stopped short.

Clara nodded her understanding of what he’d at least partially said. She took a deep breath. She was sitting directly beside him; only Edmund separated them. She ought to have felt nervous, uneasy. Instead, she was unexpectedly content at having him nearby.

Throughout the seemingly interminable services, Alice played with Corbin’s cravat and the buttons on his waistcoat. Edmund continually gazed at his idol, admiration unmistakably written on his face.

When Corbin began stroking Alice’s hair as she sat on his lap, head pressed to his chest, Clara found herself watching his hands, mesmerized. They were large, strong hands. Yet at that moment, they were engaged in an act of extreme gentleness. It was a paradox. So much about him was.

What would it feel like, she wondered, to be held in arms that were at once powerful and tender? Clara blushed immediately.
Pay attention to the sermon
, she scolded herself.
Quit building castles in the sky.

She fully expected Corbin to hand Alice back to her when the sermon ended and leave with his family. But he simply rose, keeping Alice firmly in his arms, then paused, waiting for Clara and Edmund to stand as well. With a smile but not a word of explanation, he accompanied them to the back doors of the chapel and out into the courtyard, where the rest of the Jonquils and Lord and Lady Cavratt waited for him.

Clara spotted among the group a couple she hadn’t seen before. Though built on a slightly larger scale, the gentleman was clearly a Jonquil. Beside him stood a lady, probably not quite Clara’s age, with fiery red hair and an easy, natural smile.

“Mrs. Bentford,” Corbin suddenly spoke, “may I introduce to you my brother, Mr. Layton Jonquil of Farland Meadows.” The new arrival inclined his head. “And this is . . . is his wife, Lady Marion Jonquil.”

Lady? Heavens, were they all titled?

“Layton and Marion, this is . . . this is Mrs. Bentford. Of Ivy Cottage. Her nephew is Edmund Clifton.”

Layton—there was no escaping thinking of them by their Christian names with so many Mr. Jonquils about—nodded. His smile seemed to indicate that he had only recently taken up the habit of smiling with regularity. Clara felt herself tense.

“Is this the Edmund who is Caroline’s intended?” Layton asked.

“Her
what
?” Clara sputtered.

“Caroline has declared that Edmund is going to marry her, will he or nill he.” Layton’s smile broadened. He looked at his wife. “There has been a great deal of marrying in the family lately.”

Lady Marion colored a little, though she laughed. “Caroline has succumbed to the power of suggestion, I suppose.”

“I hope the children at least plan to invite us.” Clara forced the lighthearted reply but watched Layton warily. He was larger than all of the others.

“I hope your nephew plans to ask for my permission to pay his addresses,” Layton added.

They all turned to look at Edmund, who was pointedly ignoring Caroline. She, however, was chattering on as if he were raptly attentive.

“Perhaps Caroline ought to be the one asking permission,” Lady Marion said with a hint of laughter. “She seems to be the only one paying any addresses.”

“Mater is ready to leave.” Jason stepped into the conversation. Layton and Lady Marion took Caroline in hand and began making their way toward the waiting carriages. Jason followed.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Corbin. Alice’s arms hung limp at her sides, her cheek flattened against Corbin.

“I think she is asleep,” Clara said.

Corbin nodded. “She’s been drooling down my collar ever since we left the chapel.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

Corbin only shook his head.

“I will take her home and put her to bed.” Clara held her arms out to receive the bundle.

“There is room in the carriage. You would . . . She would be home more quickly.”

“I do not want to put you out.” Clara offered him the means of escaping his gesture.

“It is not an imposition,” he replied quietly.

“You’re certain there is room?”

Corbin nodded toward the waiting line of Jonquil carriages. Clara looked as well. The rear carriage sat empty, the rest of the party having climbed into the other two.

She felt immediate relief at the idea of not walking home and the tiniest niggle of excitement at spending more time with Corbin.

“It would be nice not to walk the four miles with a sleep-heavy child,” she admitted. “Alice has grown so much lately that I find my arms positively ache by the time we reach Ivy Cottage.”

Corbin motioned Edmund toward the waiting carriage. He held Alice with one hand and helped Clara inside with the other. The simple feel of her hand in his did odd things to Clara’s breathing. She did her best to ignore the sensation.

He allowed Alice to continue slumbering against his chest as the carriage rumbled toward Ivy Cottage. Edmund was sleepy as he often was on Sundays after services. The ride was a quiet one. Clara’s eyes were drawn to Corbin as they had been throughout the sermon. The bruise on his face remained in evidence, though greatly improved.

“I am sorry about hitting you with the pan.” Clara broke the silence but kept her voice low so as not to disturb the children. “I truly did not recognize you. With the hat and everything.”

“I was looking rather unkempt.” Corbin seemed embarrassed by the memory. She thought of him dressed in overly vibrant colors some weeks earlier and remembered he’d been embarrassed then too.

“We’ve bored Edmund to sleep,” Clara said, realizing the boy had drifted off, his face pressed to the glass window of the carriage.

“He worked very hard at the stables yesterday,” Corbin said.

She saw fondness in Corbin’s eyes as he gazed at Edmund, and though she hadn’t expected it, Clara liked seeing it.

“He will probably sleep for some time,” Corbin added.

“Except he has grown too big for me to carry.” Clara felt disappointed for the boy—Edmund would have appreciated the nap. “He’ll have to awaken to go inside.”

“I will carry him,” Corbin offered without hesitation.

“But you have Alice.”

He smiled across at her, and Clara’s insides flip-flopped.

“I can carry them both,” he said.

A few minutes later, he proved his claim. Clara led Corbin up the stairs, Alice in one arm, Edmund in the other. Alice hardly even shifted as Corbin gently laid Edmund on his bed. Edmund turned onto his side, as he always did, and curled into a tight ball. Clara laid his blanket on top of him.

“He truly was tired,” Corbin said as they walked out the door of Edmund’s room and through the door to Alice’s.

“He is often irritable on the walk home from church. I think he is exhausted.” Again, more personal comments she hadn’t intended to utter.

Corbin slowly lowered Alice onto her bed, smoothing back her hair and watching her for a moment. “She’s an angel,” Corbin whispered.

“Yes, but only when she’s sleeping.” Clara laughed lightly.

Corbin smiled over at her. “I doubt that.”

That smile tied her tongue. She knew she was blushing. What in heaven’s name was happening to her?

“Thank you for bringing us home.” Clara suddenly found herself anxious to be alone. “And helping with the children.”

“Not at all,” he answered quickly, awkwardly.

They stood in heavy silence for a moment, neither looking at the other, though Clara couldn’t possibly have been more aware of his presence. She needed time to sort things out, to discover how this entirely confusing man had made her react so uncharacteristically to him.

“My family will be expecting me,” Corbin said.

Clara managed to bite back a sigh of relief as she nodded her head in agreement.

“Good day, Mrs. Bentford.”

“Good day,” Clara answered.

Once his footsteps echoed back to silence, she dropped into a chair near Alice’s bed and rubbed her throbbing temples. She, who had learned long ago never to trust any man, wasn’t afraid of this one. And more than that, she had a nagging suspicion that she had come to care for him. He seemed kind and good. He seemed trustworthy. But was he?

How she wanted him to be.

* * *

“I am bored,” Edmund moaned.

Clara bit back a sigh of frustration. It had been a difficult day. Corbin had apparently been quite busy showing various horses to prospective buyers and hadn’t had as much time for Edmund as usual. So Edmund was sulking.

Alice was cutting teeth and, therefore, had been cross. By some miracle, Clara had coaxed the girl to sleep. Without Suzie to help—she was visiting a friend for a couple of days—the task of keeping both children content was wearing on Clara.

“Why don’t you read the book Mr. Jonquil gave you?” Clara hoped Edmund would stop kicking his chair. The repetitive thumping was driving her mad.

“I already read it,” Edmund grumbled.

“Perhaps—”

A knock at the door cut off her words. Clara’s heart fluttered. Corbin had come to see her at last—she hadn’t seen him in twenty-four hours. She rushed to the door and pulled it open.

But it wasn’t Corbin.

“Squire Reynolds.” She’d known him in Sussex but hadn’t seen him since leaving there more than six months earlier.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bentford.” The man doffed his hat.

“What brings you to Nottinghamshire?” She’d never known the squire to wander much more than the ten miles or so required for him to reach the assizes.

“You do, actually,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably.

I do.
The vague sense of alarm she’d always felt with each knock at the door returned with full force. He’d come from Sussex, from the very neighborhood, in fact, that she had fled. And he had come specifically for her. No one in that neighborhood was supposed to know where she was.

Squire Reynolds was the sort of easily persuaded man who did almost nothing on his own and whose convictions shifted with alarming regularity. And the person he was most often influenced by was the very person she was hiding from.

“Won’t you come in?” Clara took a deep breath. Squire Reynolds, taken on his own, was not a threat. If she kept their interaction friendly, he might be sent on his way without incident.

He nodded and looked decidedly uneasy. Clara closed the door behind him and ushered him into the sitting room. Edmund came immediately to her side, clinging and anxious.

“You said
I
brought you to Nottinghamshire.” Clara used the tone of authority she’d learned to affect to protect herself. “I would appreciate an explanation.”

He twisted the brim of his hat in his hands and kept his eyes diverted. Clara felt her stomach twist as well. Something was wrong. Clara pushed back her growing sense of panic.

“I am sent to take you back to Sussex, Mrs. Bentford.”

Sussex was the last place she ever wanted to go. For six months, she’d had her first taste of freedom. She would not go back.