As You Are

by Eden, Sarah M.

  “And you live with her.”

  “Because my parents are dead.” Edmund spoke without sadness or self-pity.

  So that was the answer to the mystery that had so captured the imagination of the neighborhood. Edmund, who was by all accounts too old to be Mrs. Bentford’s son, was, in fact, her nephew.

  “My father is dead as well.” Corbin could not say why he offered such a personal piece of information. He rarely talked about personal matters, even with his own family. The words had just come out.

  “Do you miss him?” the boy asked.

  Corbin nodded.

  “I don’t miss my father,” Edmund said. “I don’t remember him much. Only Aunt Clara. And Mr. Bentford.” His countenance dropped at the mention of his uncle. “But Aunt Clara says I don’t have to remember him if I don’t want to.” Edmund dug his toe into the grass and dropped his gaze.

  “Do you? Want to remember him?” The boy’s obvious discomfort when recalling Mrs. Bentford’s late husband worried Corbin. Had the man been cruel? Or simply indifferent?

  Edmund shook his head. “He wasn’t very nice,” he whispered.

  Corbin put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. They stood silently, watching Devil’s Advocate prancing around, snorting and snapping at Jim.

  He wasn’t very nice. Corbin squeezed Edmund’s shoulders. Would Mrs. Bentford—Clara, Corbin reminded himself—describe her late husband that way as well?

  “Was your father nice?” Edmund quietly asked.

  “Very nice.”

  “Will you tell me about him someday?”

  Corbin wavered. He never spoke to anyone about his father, not even to his own brothers. His memories of that man were far too personal to share. Yet he sensed in Edmund a need to know that there were men he could admire and hope to emulate.

  Before Corbin could answer, Edmund pulled away from him. “Aunt Clara!” he shouted, running along the paddock fence in the direction of the house.

  Corbin’s heart suddenly flew to his throat. He wasn’t even wearing a coat. A gentleman never appeared in company in only his shirtsleeves. Edmund pulled his aunt Clara by the hand toward the spot where Corbin stood.

  He must have looked every bit as ridiculous as he had on Sunday. So much for better impressions.

  “I hope Edmund was a good worker,” Clara said as she reached his side.

  Afraid he would actually call her Clara, for he could no longer think of her as Mrs. Bentford, Corbin only nodded.

  “Can I come tomorrow?” Edmund asked him.

  Corbin shook his head. “Tomorrow is Sunday,” he explained, then began walking back to the stables. Only in my shirtsleeves. Must I always make a complete fool of myself? It’s no wonder she hasn’t given me a second glance.

  “Monday, then?” Clara asked.

  Corbin nodded without looking back at her.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Jonquil,” Edmund called out to him.

  Corbin glanced over his shoulder and offered a slight smile. “Good-bye, Edmund,” he replied, then fled for the obscurity of the stables.

  Why hadn’t Clara sent the young serving girl to fetch Edmund? The girl had brought him earlier. If Corbin had realized Clara herself would be coming, he would have seen to it that he looked presentable. He would have practiced a greeting, decided on a topic of conversation.

  He dropped onto a stool near the door of the stable, where he could watch Clara and Edmund walk away from the paddock. He probably should have walked with them or offered a carriage to take them back to Ivy Cottage.

  He doubted any of his brothers would have bungled things so quickly, so thoroughly. Corbin rubbed his face with his hands. He was failing miserably.

  Chapter Seven

  Obviously Mr. Jonquil didn’t feel she was worth his time or notice. He didn’t say a single word to her. Clara couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why he so wholly disapproved of her. They were not well acquainted. He’d noticeably stiffened when he’d seen her arrive. He’d left with only the briefest backward glance and parting word for Edmund.

  Edmund, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped talking since leaving Havenworth. He wasn’t tensely quiet the way he always had been after an encounter with Mr. Bentford. That boded well for his afternoon at Havenworth. It seemed, at the very least, he hadn’t been mistreated. Clara felt immense and immediate relief at that.

  “Did you know a pony isn’t just a baby horse?” Edmund said. “It is different from a horse. It’s smaller and has shorter legs and doesn’t get bigger when it grows up.”

  “Is that so?” She’d never heard Edmund talk so much at once.

  He slipped his hand inside hers. “And you can brush harder than you think, Aunt Clara. It doesn’t hurt them.”

  “You seem to have learned a great deal.”

  “I didn’t get to ride yet. Mr. Jonquil says I need to be comfortable with horses first. He knows everything about horses.”

  “Did you spend very much time with Mr. Jonquil?” Clara asked, surprised to hear that Havenworth’s owner had been involved in Edmund’s chores. If he disapproved of a nonentity of a widow, he would certainly not lower himself to spend time with her ward.

  “The whole afternoon. He showed me the stables. They’re big as our whole house. There are more than twenty horses. More than thirty, maybe. He knows all of their names. And there are boys in the stable who are only a little older than me. Mr. Jonquil says he started working in the stables when he was too young to even remember. And he says a gentleman can raise horses.”

  “He is correct about that.” Clara loved Edmund’s sudden chattiness. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so cheerful.

  “I am to go back on Monday,” Edmund continued. “But he said I cannot come to the stables unless I have finished all my lessons and only if you say I have finished my chores at home.”

  “Did he?” That was thoughtful, at least.

  “And he said if I sneak there without permission or don’t finish everything at home, I won’t be allowed to come for a few days until I learn that a gentleman never neglects his home or his family.”

  Clara actually stopped in the middle of the lane and stared at Edmund in astonishment. “He said that?” It had always been her experience that the only thing a man never neglected was his own comfort and pleasure.

  But Edmund nodded, confirming his tale. The warning didn’t seem to have frightened him. Mr. Jonquil must not have taken a threatening or overpowering approach to laying down the rules. Odd, that.

  “Is he correct?” Edmund asked, apparently noticing the confusion on her face. “About a gentleman taking care of his family?”

  She fumbled for only a moment. “Yes. He is.” Whether or not true gentlemen actually did take that approach was irrelevant. She fully meant to raise Edmund so that when he was grown, he would treat his family that way.

  “I thought so,” Edmund said.

  They continued their walk, Edmund’s tongue never slowing. Clara only half listened. What was Mr. Jonquil about? He obviously didn’t think highly of her. She, he had made clear enough through his actions and pointed silences, was beneath his notice. But he’d given Edmund some very sound advice and had shown him around the stables, watching out for the boy.

  What was his motive? She’d known enough men in her life to know there was always an ulterior motive.

  She sent Edmund up to his bedchamber to wash up and settled herself at her small writing desk in the sitting room. Suzie had returned from Grompton with a letter in the moments before Clara had been obligated to go fetch Edmund. The letter had come from London, and she hadn’t opened it before she left. She had but one correspondent in Town, the man of business she’d secured in the days before fleeing Sussex.

  Clara held the unopened letter between her hands now. A heaviness settled in her stomach at the memory of that desperate flight. She’d tried so hard to appear calm and unconcerned for the children’s sake. But she couldn’t remember ever being so afraid in all
her life. Her welfare had depended on escaping Bentford Manor. More importantly, however, the children were no longer safe there. If she’d had to decide between sending them away and escaping herself, she would have sent them anywhere she possibly could.

  She pushed aside the painful reminders of her past and broke the wax seal on the letter. It was, indeed, from her man of business, Mr. Clark.

  Mrs. Bentford,

  I fear I have less than satisfactory news regarding your quarterly payment. I was able to transfer the payment from the Bentford Estate to an account I have created in your name, including the address misdirection you requested.

  Her circumstances required Mr. Clark to conduct her business as unobtrusively as possible. If Clara drew attention to herself and her location, she’d be found. After all the difficulty she’d gone to escaping her life in Sussex, she couldn’t bear the thought of being discovered, of being dragged back to the misery she’d run from.

  However, this could not be accomplished without the Bentford man of business being aware of the change. I do not believe he knows of your current location, but he has managed to delay the funds transfer. I fear you will not be receiving your usual quarterly payment anytime in the near future.

  If you wish, I can have more funds withdrawn from young Mr. Clifton’s accounts that you can repay once this latest difficulty has been worked through.

  Please advise as to your preferences.

  Yours, etc.

  Joseph Clark

  Clara slumped in her chair. The last thing she wanted was to draw more money out of Edmund’s inheritance. It would simply be unfair for Edmund to have to be required to sacrifice yet again for her.

  Now what do I do? We must have money to live on.

  Clara refused to crumble under the weight of difficulties. She was no longer the frightened girl she’d been when her father had married her off to a horrid and frightening man. She had found strength and courage in herself that she’d never realized was there. Life was hard, but she was strong.

  She pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from her desk and dipped her quill in the inkwell.

  Mr. Clark,

  Thank you for your efforts on our behalf. I dislike severely the idea of pulling more money from Edmund’s account. But neither can I live without money to feed myself and my children.

  I am not certain which course of action I ought to take, so I will instead explain my wishes and give you leave to take whichever approach is most likely to achieve that end. I have but two goals, Mr. Clark. The first, that my children have food to eat and a roof over their heads. The second, equally as imperative, perhaps even more so, that Mr. Bentford not find us here.

  Please proceed according to your best judgment.

  Yours, etc.

  Clara Bentford

  She sanded the letter and leaned back in her chair. Though she was courageous and determined, she was also painfully aware of the perilous nature of her current situation. The peace and freedom she and the children enjoyed was precarious at best. Everything she had worked for would disappear if Mr. Bentford found them.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mr. Jonquil talked to Johnny real quiet,” Edmund said nearly two weeks after he’d first begun his daily trips to Havenworth. “I didn’t hear what he said. But Johnny looked real ashamed, like he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to. Then Johnny started walking up to the house, and Mr. Jonquil told him that he would ask Fanny—I don’t know who that is—if Johnny had apologized to her, so he had better make sure he did.”

  “Why was Johnny apologizing?” Clara asked. Johnny was the stable hand who brought Edmund home each afternoon. Fanny must have been one of the Havenworth maids.

  “Jim said Johnny was playing with Fanny’s heart.” A look of profound confusion crossed Edmund’s face. “I have been trying to figure out what that means.”

  Edmund looked up to Johnny, spoke of him almost as often as he spoke of Mr. Jonquil. Clara saw no need to discredit a young man who was, in all other respects, a good example to Edmund.

  “Jim says Mr. Jonquil doesn’t allow any of them to ‘mistreat females.’” Edmund spoke the last two words as if quoting verbatim. “And that if he hears they have, he’s ‘like to tan their hide.’”

  “For mistreating a woman?” Clara asked in stunned disbelief.

  Edmund shrugged and made a face that indicated he didn’t understand the odd behavior either.

  “Mr. Jonquil says that being mean to a girl is worse than being mean to a boy.” Edmund dropped into a chair in the sitting room. He always returned from Havenworth physically spent. “He said that I should always be kind to you and Alice. He said I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I wasn’t.”

  She sat near him, attempting to formulate a reply.

  “I told him Mr. Bentford wasn’t nice to you and Alice,” Edmund said.

  “You told him that?” she blurted, inexplicably embarrassed that Mr. Jonquil should know such details about her history.

  “So I asked him if Mr. Bentford was a gentleman,” Edmund continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “And Mr. Jonquil said if he wasn’t nice to you and Alice, then he was ‘no kind of a gentleman at all.’”

  Clara leaned back in her chair. She didn’t know what to make of Mr. Jonquil at all. He seemed too good to be true.

  “I think he’s right,” Edmund said after a silent moment had passed. “I like Mr. Jonquil better than I liked Mr. Bentford.”

  Clara surprised even herself by saying, “So do I.” She realized with a start that she meant it. Granted, there were few people she didn’t like better than Mr. Bentford. Mr. Jonquil was kind to Edmund, a point decidedly in his favor.

  “Aunt Clara?” Edmund moved to stand beside her chair.

  She knew what he wanted. He’d sat on her lap regularly in the three years since he’d come to live with her. Edmund seemed to need the reassurance. Clara held her arms out to him, and Edmund climbed onto her lap.

  Suzie brought Alice into the sitting room in the next moment, still sleepy and rubbing her eyes.

  Alice spotted Edmund cuddled on Clara’s lap. “Me too, Mama?”

  Clara nodded, grateful the chair was a sturdy one. Alice toddled to Clara’s knee and made a valiant effort to climb onto her lap but found her legs unequal to the height. Before Clara had a chance to so much as adjust her position, Edmund reached his hand down to Alice and helped her climb up.

  Edmund had always been a good boy, but Clara had never seen him offer Alice his assistance without being prompted.

  “I’m a gentleman,” Edmund softly declared, leaning against Clara once more.

  “Yes, you are.” Clara silently thanked the heavens for Mr. Jonquil’s influence on the boy. She couldn’t approve of the man himself, knowing he so wholeheartedly disapproved of her. But he at least seemed to be a good influence. She would give him credit for that much.

  Clara heard the sound of approaching horse hooves. Edmund obviously did as well.

  “It’s Mr. Jonquil!” he declared, scrambling down.

  Alice wasn’t so quick, so Clara swung her into her arms. “Edmund, we don’t know who it is,” she warned, trying to stop him from opening the door. What if Mr. Bentford had found them? What if he was standing on the other side? That question plagued her every single time they had a visitor.

  But she wasn’t fast enough to prevent Edmund from pulling the door open. His face fell, and Clara’s heart dropped to her feet. She reached for Edmund. But the man who stepped inside was not the man she’d feared to find there. It was Mr. Finley.

  He was in the sitting room in the next moment, slipping inside the house as smoothly as a snake. “Mrs. Bentford,” he greeted and bowed.

  She did not like Mr. Finley, didn’t remotely trust him. She stood as firmly and calmly as she could manage, setting Alice on the floor beside her. Edmund took Alice by the hand. Did he feel as uneasy with Mr. Finley as she did? She gently nudged the children behind her.

  “Is there a particular r
eason for your visit, Mr. Finley?” Clara used the tone of neutrality she had perfected in response to Mr. Bentford’s repeated attacks.

  “I happened to be riding past and wished to offer you good day,” Mr. Finley said. His drawl had grated on her from their very first meeting. He made her feel like an object he was assessing rather than a person he was speaking with.

  But she was no longer intimidated by such behavior. Life had taught her to stand up for herself and to defend her children. “Finley Grange is on the other side of Grompton, at least three-quarters of an hour by horseback,” she said confidently. “I daresay most of your business is conducted in Collingham.”

  “Ah, but I had business at Havenworth, my dear Mrs. Bentford. In order to reach there, I must pass by here.”

  “On the contrary, you must pass Havenworth to reach Ivy Cottage.” Clara kept perfectly calm despite the worrisome situation. She had only ever faced down Mr. Finley while in the company of other people. He felt more threatening when she was so alone. She refused to break down, refused to once again be a victim too afraid to defend herself.

  “But it was near enough that I simply could not allow the opportunity to slip by.” He was clearly losing patience with her. Though his smile didn’t slip, something hardened in his eyes. He obviously expected her to be flattered that a man of his standing had noticed a woman of her poverty.

  Clara was instantly on alert. She had not a single servant at hand, no male relative to force Mr. Finley from the property. She was vulnerable, and she suspected Mr. Finley knew that. Her only course of action was to counteract that appearance.

  “Well, you have offered your good day, so do not let me detain you from your pressing business,” Clara said forcefully. She would show no weakness.

  “I have a few moments.” Mr. Finley stepped closer to her. He reached out his hand, clearly meaning to touch her.

  She stepped backward. She needed the presence of another person, one over the age of seven. “Edmund, go get Suzie,” she whispered to Edmund. He obediently hurried from the room.

  “Mama,” Alice whimpered, tugging on Clara’s hand.