As You Are (22 page)

Fanny and Suzie climbed into the carriage waiting in front of Ivy Cottage. Corbin followed Clara inside, sitting beside her just as he had each day he’d brought her back to Havenworth. She had been grateful that he didn’t make her walk. Every day Mr. Bentford could be seen on horseback following their carriage up the path leading away from Ivy Cottage. It was the same reason Corbin sent a groomsmen or stable hand to the cottage while she was there.

Though they hadn’t discussed the threat of Mr. Bentford’s continued presence, the reality of it hung in the air between Corbin and her. She knew he didn’t like that she was leaving. She didn’t particularly like it herself. But there was nothing else to be done.

The carriage rolled along the path toward Havenworth. As always, Clara caught sight of Mr. Bentford watching her go by. She refused to allow her worry to show but kept her posture upright and confident. He rode alongside the carriage, keeping pace with them.

Mr. Bentford was always somewhere nearby during the day. The Havenworth stable hands had reported that he returned to the inn in Grompton each evening and didn’t come back until after breakfast. When she did finally make good her escape, she would have to do so in the dark of night or the earliest hours of morning.

Corbin’s fingers wrapped around hers, holding her hand in a silent show of support. How she would miss him when they were apart. He was an anchor, a sure foundation she needed desperately. If only she had the power to see Mr. Bentford out of her life for good. But even Corbin, the son of an earl, with his lofty connections and associates, couldn’t manage that.

She clung to his hand, grateful for the support she felt from him. In moments like these, she appreciated ever more his quiet strength. Without words, he showed her he cared, he cherished her, he wanted her to be happy and safe. If only she could be certain that was even possible.

Corbin raised her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. He had only recently begun doing that. Clara loved it. Adored it. The understated nature of that gesture fit him so perfectly. He didn’t need to be flashy or showy. He was simply perfect the way he was.

He pulled her arm through his. Clara leaned her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes wander again to the window and Mr. Bentford framed there.

“I wish there was a way to be rid of him. If only he would leave me alone . . .” She let the thought linger unfinished. Corbin knew what she was thinking—she knew he did.

“Somehow or another, we will manage it, Clara,” Corbin said. “We’ll find a way.”

“You haven’t given up on me, then?”

“Never,” he whispered, his breath rustling the hair near her ear. He was the only man she’d ever known who could come that close to her and cause her not an ounce of worry.

The carriage rolled through the gate at Havenworth. Two very large stable hands stood there waiting, a daily occurrence of late. Mr. Bentford knew better than to press his luck. He rode off down the road, leaving Clara at peace for the moment. She squeezed Corbin’s fingers, silently communicating her gratitude. It was not a permanent solution to her troubles with her brother-in-law, but it was a momentary respite.

The carriage pulled up under the portico at the front of the house. Suzie and Fanny stepped out and made their way around to the servants’ entrance. Corbin handed Clara out. Once he had exited the carriage, he took her arm immediately, walking at her side as naturally as if they were a lady and gentleman out for a leisurely stroll. She couldn’t help but smile at remembering how ill at ease they’d once been with each other.

“It is good to see you smile again,” Corbin said.

“I suppose I haven’t had much reason to of late.”

“Do not give up hope too soon,” Corbin said. “I haven’t . . . I don’t intend to let him win by default.”

“And we have a few days at least before I have to go.” She tried to sound encouraging. “My man of business won’t be able to respond to my letter for a while. We can be together until then.”

He didn’t answer. He simply continued walking with her past the entry hall and toward the sitting room. His family hadn’t left Havenworth yet. Clara had grown quite fond of Mater and Corbin’s brothers. She would miss them as well when she left.

If only I could know Mr. Bentford would leave us in peace.

Alice and Edmund were in the sitting room, along with Caroline, listening to Lady Marion read a picture book. Edmund smiled at them but quickly returned to the story. Alice, however, climbed down from Lady Marion’s lap and hurried across the room.

Corbin lifted her up in his free arm, all the while guiding Clara to an empty sofa. She sat there and smiled when he sat directly beside her. Alice settled onto his lap, twisting his cravat about and looking happier than Clara ever remembered her being.

“I am afraid you will never have another neatly tied cravat with Alice here.” Clara rested her head on Corbin’s shoulder.

“My valet will likely quit trying.” Corbin’s tone was light and teasing.

Without warning, tears gathered in Clara’s eyes. She knew their source. For days she’d been mourning the loss of this man and the joy she felt simply being near him, as well as enduring the heart-wrenching knowledge that she was losing her children. Life was, at times, horribly unfair.

Alice’s eyes met hers, and worry settled in their depths. She could not burden her children with the worries hovering on the horizon. She managed a smile, but Alice didn’t seem to believe it. She slid from Corbin’s lap to Clara’s and wrapped her tiny arms around Clara. Clara returned the gesture. Corbin held them both in his comforting embrace.

“You must think I am a terrible coward,” she said to him. “All I ever seem to do is run away.”

“Nonsense. I have never known your equal for bravery, Clara. I doubt I ever will.”

She sat in his arms, holding her baby, missing already the fleeting taste she’d had of family and companionship and safety. It would be taken from her all too soon.

Clara had missed the entire Sunday sermon. Mr. Bentford had sat in a pew that had afforded an unimpeded view of where Clara had been sitting. Alice had seen him within minutes of his arrival and had instantly begun screaming.

Clara’s only consolation as she’d taken Alice outside so as not to interrupt the service was that the child’s repeated declaration of “Bad Man” while pointing at Mr. Bentford and shrieking as though she were being tortured had turned the entire congregation’s disapproving notice on Clara’s despised brother-in-law. She’d actually walked out more slowly than she might have otherwise.

But she was certain, as she stood outside the chapel doors rocking Alice in her arms, he would find a way to pass off the entire thing without it reflecting badly on himself. Shaking off the blame for his many wrongdoings was one of Mr. Bentford’s talents.

Alice had calmed over the twenty minutes they’d spent in the churchyard, though she still occasionally muttered “bad.” Clara’s mind remained on Mr. Bentford. His continued residence in the neighborhood only confirmed her worries. He might not have carried his point with the law, but that wouldn’t stop him from making her life miserable all on his own. As soon as she heard from her man of business, she would have to leave. There was no other way of saving Alice and Edmund from him.

She kept turning to an unfamiliar and exquisitely grand traveling carriage stopped very near the gates of the churchyard. It had pulled to a stop precisely there about ten minutes after Clara left the chapel, and though no one had exited, the carriage remained. She couldn’t seem to keep herself from looking at it, for it was far finer than any carriage she’d ever seen and bore what appeared to be an ancient coat of arms emblazoned on the door and two heraldic flags shuffling in the breeze on either side of the liveried driver.

The sound of footfalls echoed from inside the chapel, and Clara retreated to a quieter corner of the churchyard, not wishing to be trampled as the congregation exited. Alice had finally drifted off to sleep. The girl, to Clara’s discomfort, had grown larger of late and heavier.

Clara watched the worshipers as they filed out the chapel doors, and she kept a wary eye out for Mr. Bentford. She saw him the instant he stepped into the sunlight. Her stomach turned inside her, her head pounding anew. She would keep an eye on him and keep out of his reach.

“Clara,” Corbin said, startling her. “I believe you . . . you may want a good vantage point for this.”

Clara looked back at him, intrigued. Corbin nodded toward the crowd. “I have invited someone.”

Clara let her gaze shift toward the gathering. The traveling carriage she had been admiring now stood with its door open. Crispin stood outside as if he’d only just alighted.

“Lord Cavratt?” she asked as Corbin took Alice. Her arms ached from the weight of the sleeping child. How had Corbin known that?

“Yes, but not only him. That is not Crispin’s carriage,” Corbin said significantly.

Who had Corbin invited? And why was this visitor so significant?

“Clara.” A hand grasped her upper arm, even as the identity of the speaker sank in. Her brother-in-law never lost an opportunity to make his presence in her life known.

“Try not to be annoying for a moment or two, will you, Bentford?” Crispin had arrived at her side, looking at Mr. Bentford like one might look at a flattened spider. “His Grace wishes to be introduced to Mrs. Bentford.”

Mr. Bentford dropped her arm and sputtered for a moment. Clara kept her mouth firmly shut, or she might have sputtered as well.
His Grace?
There was a duke present? One who wished to make her acquaintance? She’d barely managed to maintain her countenance when being introduced to the Dowager Countess of Lampton and Lord and Lady Cavratt. But a duke? She knew herself to be drastically far beneath the notice of a duke.

Clara glanced at Corbin. He offered a small smile and nodded minutely.

“Trust me,” he said quietly.

She allowed herself to be led toward the spot where every eye in the crowd was focused. A man, the duke, she could only assume, stood quite uncaring about the attention he attracted. He was not as tall as the Jonquil brothers—they were exceptionally tall—but he was built on such a solid scale that he was immediately and entirely physically overpowering. The look on his face could only possibly be achieved by a man who was equally endowed with superior rank, intellect, and strength. As if this was not enough, he also bore a scar equally as menacing as his other attributes, running the length of his jaw and across his cheek and spider-webbing in between. All he required was a sword and a rolling sea to be the very picture of a pirate.

Crispin stepped forward. “Mrs. Bentford, may I introduce to you His Grace, the Duke of Kielder.”

A mutter rumbled through the crowd. Clara felt what little confidence she possessed dissipate. This was the Duke of Kielder: fearless fighter of duels, undisputed last word in all quarrels and on all issues, the man who intimidated everyone from fishmonger to the prime minister to the Regent himself. He was rumored to have bested Gentleman Jackson with a single blow, shot the pistols out of two gentlemen’s hands during duels, taken down a gang of notorious highwaymen unaided. If only a handful of the tales surrounding this imposing gentleman were true, he was not a man to be taken lightly.

Corbin had invited the most powerful man in the kingdom? Invited him to apparently meet her?

“Your Grace, this is Mrs. Clara Bentford, late of Sussex, who now resides in this neighborhood at Ivy Cottage.”

The Duke of Kielder offered a gracious and very proper bow. Clara returned the acknowledgment with her deepest curtsy.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Bentford,” the Duke said. “Next time you are in Town, I hope you will call on Her Grace and me. We would be very pleased to receive you.”

Clara wasn’t sure if she actually managed a response—she was too shocked to be certain.

“Now, Cavratt.” His Grace turned to Corbin. “Where’s the weasel?”

That sent another murmur through the crowd.

“This is he,” Corbin said, indicating Mr. Bentford with a quick jerk of his thumb.

“You, sir.” The Duke pointed over Clara’s shoulder. “I would speak with you.” It was worded very nearly as a request, but no one hearing His Grace speak would have mistaken it for one.

From behind Clara, Mr. Bentford stepped into the clearing the crowd had left all around their exalted visitor. “Your Grace,” Mr. Bentford said, his tone nervous, his bow awkward.

The Duke looked down his nose. “Did I give you leave to address me?” he asked in a menacingly quiet voice.

Mr. Bentford shook his head. Clara had never seen either of the Mr. Bentfords so thoroughly intimidated.

“I am come with a message from the Duke of Hartley.” His Grace’s eyes narrowed in obvious dislike of the man he addressed. The crowd’s attention eagerly shifted between the two men. “He wishes you to be told of a rather damaging piece of financial information recently revealed to your creditors. They, who I understand are quite numerous, ought to be arriving at your Sussex home in a matter of days. Sooner, perhaps. Hartley felt certain you would not require an explanation of what they were told.”

Mr. Bentford paled immediately. Whatever the Duke of Hartley referred to in regard to Mr. Bentford’s finances was indeed ruinous, and Mr. Bentford had easily ascertained the details though they had not been disclosed.

“There are several well-substantiated rumors spreading through Town,” the duke further informed him. “Rumors which have already quite ruined any good standing you may have enjoyed there. I would not suggest returning.”

Mr. Bentford’s pallor increased, as did the avid stares he received. Clara fumbled for Corbin’s hand. An almost painful thudding in her heart had begun. It was equal parts uncertainty and hope. His fingers threaded through hers as he silently watched the exchange in front of them.

“And I have my own message for you.” The duke stepped closer to Mr. Bentford.

His Grace’s gaze was so icy Clara felt the effect of it though it was directed at someone else. She stepped involuntarily backward. A small hand clutched hers. Clara looked down to find Edmund watching the duke in apprehensive awe. She glanced quickly at Alice, sleeping still. Corbin’s eyes darted in her direction, holding hers for a moment before looking back at the Duke of Kielder, whose glare had now brought complete silence to the entranced crowd.