As You Are

by Eden, Sarah M.

  Alice fought tooth and nail to be let down, but Corbin knew she’d run back into the trees and probably right back to Elf. “No, Alice,” he quietly implored. “You cannot hide in the trees.”

  She pointed to Edmund as he hurried toward them. She twisted harder, pulling at Corbin’s hands.

  “Put her down!” Edmund shouted. Corbin could hear him, but couldn’t spot him. Infernal hat!

  Something was hitting him. Someone, he guessed. Someone with small fists. Edmund? Then Alice started hitting him too, squealing so loudly Corbin couldn’t make out Edmund’s frantic words.

  Corbin tipped his head from one side to the other, trying to get a look at his attackers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clara.

  That is a very large frying pan, was the last lucid thought he had before everything around him went black.

  * * *

  “Did you kill him?” Edmund asked.

  Clara fervently hoped she had. She reached for the children, determined to pull them away. If Mr. Bentford had sent a ruffian after them, they had to run before he awoke. They had to get as far from him as possible.

  “Mister!” Alice cried out, throwing herself on top of the inert man.

  “Alice,” Clara corrected, “this is not—” But she stopped and looked more closely. His hat had fallen back from his face. “Merciful heavens.” She dropped to her knees on the ground beside him. It was Corbin. She hadn’t even recognized him, hadn’t been able to see his face. He was smudged with dirt, his hair disheveled, his clothing rough and worn. He’d been walking strangely.

  “Mr. Jonquil?” Edmund asked in obvious alarm, sudden emotion in his voice. “He’s dead!” Edmund wailed, tears surging down his face.

  “He is not dead,” Clara answered authoritatively. He wasn’t dead, was he?

  “You broke his face.” Edmund continued his sobbing.

  Corbin was already swelling. Good heavens, I broke his face. She reached out and gently touched the spreading redness. He winced, and Clara breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. Probably not even unconscious. He had likely only had the air knocked out of him.

  “Broke face,” Alice said sadly, scooting up Corbin’s chest and touching his face with her tiny fingers. She leaned over and gingerly kissed his swelling cheek. Alice looked up at Clara and offered a proud smile.

  “Yes, Alice, that will make the hurt better.” She recognized Alice’s imitation of her own cure for all ailments.

  “Mama kiss,” Alice instructed.

  “No, Alice.”

  “You broke his face.” Alice’s tone felt like an accusation.

  Edmund was looking at her in precisely the same way. Why shouldn’t he? She’d single-handedly knocked Edmund’s hero out cold.

  Clara glanced warily down at Corbin, who still hadn’t opened his eyes, though he appeared to be stirring. She wondered why he hadn’t shaved or bathed or dressed with his usual care. What was the man thinking, showing up looking as he did? Of course she hadn’t recognized him.

  “Mama. Kiss.”

  “No.”

  “Mama.” Alice’s demand gained an edge of emotion.

  Edmund looked near to tears once more.

  Clara glanced warily at Corbin. A quick peck and the children would be satisfied. Her heart began pounding the instant she leaned over Corbin. She hated the very idea of such a thing.

  Her breath stuck in her lungs. She wanted to simply stand up and run. Clara took a breath less than an inch from Corbin’s face. He was dirty, but he smelled wonderful. Somehow, the smell of him eased her nerves a little. She was absolutely certain she would remember the smell of him for the rest of her life.

  Slowly, her mind and heart loudly protesting, Clara lowered her face the last inch and lightly pressed a kiss on Corbin’s face.

  Hundreds of memories, each more unpleasant than the last, rushed through her as they always did when she came that close to a man. Clara pulled back but not much more than an inch as she attempted to prevent the tear in the corner of her eye from falling. How could she possibly explain that to the children? She would rather they not have further worries over their past.

  She took another breath, a noseful of the smell of Corbin. Why did his scent calm her thudding heart? It still raced, but she wasn’t nearly as close to panicking. It made no sense.

  Clara looked down at the man in utter bewilderment and realized with a sudden resurgence of apprehension that his eyes were open, and he was watching her.

  In a flash, she was on her feet, her breathing frantic. She tried to form words, tried to explain the predicament. Only four words came out. “I broke your face.”

  He nodded, looking at her wide-eyed. He was shocked at her behavior, at her forwardness. If he disapproved before, he would certainly do so now. Had she, by kissing him, however innocently, given him the impression that she was free with her attentions?

  Clara pulled herself up as regally and confidently as she could manage.

  “Mister!” Alice squealed delightedly and clambered up his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  Corbin put one arm around Alice and managed to raise himself to a seated position with his other arm. He winced as Alice patted his cheek.

  “Mister dirty.” Alice smiled up at Corbin.

  “Quite dirty.” Clara hoped her voice sounded steady. “So much so, I didn’t recognize you. I would not, I assure you, have hit you otherwise.”

  “If I had thought someone was abducting the children, I’d have knocked him flat as well,” was the extent of Corbin’s response.

  “Then you aren’t angry?” She hardly believed it possible.

  Corbin just shook his head. Alice kissed his reddening face. He smiled at the girl.

  Edmund, Clara suddenly realized, was sniffling. She turned her head to look at the boy, who was manfully attempting to hold back his tears.

  Corbin ruffled Edmund’s hair.

  “I thought Aunt Clara killed you.” Edmund’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “Not yet, Edmund,” Corbin answered. “Not yet.”

  Not yet? What did he mean by that?

  Corbin gingerly touched his own cheek. Clearly, even the gentle pressure was uncomfortable. She had hit him hard, as hard as she could, in fact.

  “Come inside,” she said. “I have an ointment that should take some of the sting out.”

  He looked uncertain.

  “I promise not to hit you again.” She allowed a fleeting smile.

  That seemed to make his mind up. “Thank you,” he said.

  Keeping Alice in his arm, Corbin got to his feet. Edmund stepped up next to him, leaning against his side. Corbin set his free arm around Edmund’s shoulders. Seeing her children in the grip of a stranger had terrified her to no end. But seeing them held so tenderly by Corbin finally brought her heart rate back to a calm pace.

  They walked back into the house, the children not leaving Corbin’s side. Clara motioned for him to take a seat, then slipped into the kitchen. She pulled a small jar of ointment from a drawer and returned with it to the sitting room.

  Corbin sat on the sofa, the children on either side of him. Clara crossed to where Alice sat, picking her up and sitting in her place. Alice didn’t accept her removal but sat on Corbin’s lap instead. Clara met his gaze, silently asking if he wanted Alice to move. But he simply ran a hand down one of Alice’s braids, not seeming the least put out at having her there.

  Clara pulled the lid off the jar of ointment. “It doesn’t have the most pleasant scent,” she warned him. “But it does take the sting out.”

  “You know this from . . . from experience?” he asked.

  She couldn’t answer beyond a nod. An apothecary in Sussex had given her the recipe to treat the many injuries she’d sustained at Mr. Bentford’s hands. The ointment worked wonders.

  No words passed between them. Clara carefully dabbed ointment on the side of his face, offering an apologetic glance when he flinched at her touch. She had caused him pain,
but he hadn’t lashed out in return. He kept the children near, not rejecting them but offering the silent reassurance they needed.

  Corbin Jonquil was proving himself different from the man she’d originally thought him to be, and she liked him more than she’d ever expected to. It was an unfamiliar and uncertain feeling.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What happened ta yer face?”

  Corbin grimaced. Until Jim asked that question, Corbin had held out some hope that the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face might go unnoticed. He hadn’t returned to the house, knowing Mater would notice instantly. He hadn’t yet decided how to explain it, and he knew Mater would insist on an explanation.

  “If ye were married, I’d think yer wife landed ye a facer.” Jim laughed. “Ol’ Bob’s woman takes at him with her soup pot when he comes home swayin’ drunk. Looks about like ye do, come the next morning.”

  “Bob shouldn’t drink so much,” Corbin answered, checking Whipster’s hind hoof.

  “Says the rum makes the soup pot easier to take,” Jim replied.

  Corbin set the hoof down and looked up at Jim, who smiled mischievously. He drinks in order to tolerate his punishment for drinking?

  “It’s enough to make a man never marry. No desire to take up drinkin’ just to tolerate a wife.”

  Corbin smiled at that. Jim, who was all of sixty if he was a day, smelled perpetually of stable muck, had an equal number of teeth and limbs, and bore rather too close a resemblance to a pug. He wasn’t likely to marry regardless of his feelings on drink and soup pots.

  Devil’s Advocate was running around the paddock again. The sight made Corbin think of Edmund. I thought Aunt Clara killed you, the boy had cried. Alice had seemed convinced of Corbin’s demise as well. But it was the fear he’d seen in Clara’s eyes that stuck with him. It hadn’t seemed like fear for Corbin’s wellbeing but fear of him.

  Why would she be afraid of him? She’d kissed him, even if only a brief peck on the cheek. It was his first kiss, the first from a woman who was neither related to him nor under the age of six. That, he supposed, was what came of spending most of one’s life in the stables.

  But when their eyes had met in the moments after she’d kissed him, Clara’s fear had retreated. She’d smiled. She’d invited him inside. How he’d managed to get through her ministrations without giving away his feelings, he didn’t know. Having her so close, actually touching him, had made every thought, every breath more difficult than the last. All the while, he’d kept hoping she would kiss him again.

  “So what did happen to yer phiz?”

  “A frying pan.” He didn’t spare Jim so much as a glance. The man had interrupted a rather pleasant memory.

  Jim laughed rather uproariously, making Devil’s Advocate jump nervously at the sudden sound. “Known ye most of yer twenty-five years.” Jim still laughed. “Ain’t never known ye ta joke like that.”

  Corbin felt his face flush a little as he pushed away from the paddock fence.

  “Gaw’law!” Jim’s laughter died on the spot. “Ye ain’t jokin’!”

  His face, Corbin knew, reddened further.

  “How’d ye come about having a fryin’ pan knocked upside yer mug?”

  Corbin simply didn’t answer, knowing Jim would quickly realize and just as quickly accept that Corbin would not offer an explanation.

  A shout echoed from within the stables, pulling Corbin’s gaze in that direction.

  “Sounds like Bernie,” Jim said, naming the newest of the stable hands. “He knows better than to talk like that while there’re ladies visiting Havenworth.”

  Corbin stepped inside the long stable building, fully expecting to find young Bernie at work mucking like he was supposed to be. But the lad was hunkered down in front of a stall, facing Charlie, of all people, a few piles of face cards in front of them.

  “There blasted well better be a good explanation for this, Bernie,” Jim growled, stomping past Corbin to where the young men sat.

  Charlie and Bernie looked up at Jim’s approach.

  “Just a bit of a lark, Jim,” Bernie explained.

  “Ye’ve no time for larks, boy. Ye’re supposed to be mucking stalls. That’s what Mr. Jonquil’s payin’ ye for.”

  Bernie’s face heated with embarrassment, his gaze dropping to his boots as he rose. “Yes, Jim. My apologies.”

  “I don’t want yer apologies,” Jim said. “I want ye in that stall working. Ye’ll not be given another warning.”

  Bernie nodded quickly and slipped into a nearby stall. Corbin watched Charlie scoop up a small stack of coins and the cards. He too rose to his feet and made directly for the stable door. Apparently, Charlie thought he’d be permitted to leave without comment.

  “Gambling, Charlie?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Penny stakes.”

  “How many pennies did . . . did Bernie lose?”

  Charlie’s eyes reached Corbin’s face. “What happened to your—”

  “How much did he lose?” Corbin wouldn’t allow a change of topic.

  “Hardly anything.”

  Charlie tried to push past him, but Corbin blocked his exit.

  “Not quite a pound,” Charlie grumbled. “Nothing big.”

  A pound? Corbin shook his head in frustration. “That’s a month’s pay for him. A month.”

  To his credit, Charlie looked surprised. At least he hadn’t knowingly fleeced the young stable hand. But he shouldn’t have been gambling with the stable staff in the first place. “What were you thinking?”

  “Fine.” Charlie spun around, his posture one of obvious annoyance. “I’ll give it back to him.”

  “No.” Corbin shook his head. “This’ll be a good . . . an important lesson for him.”

  Charlie’s eyes looked everywhere but at Corbin. He probably realized he was in the wrong but wasn’t entirely willing to admit it.

  “No more gambling, Charlie.”

  Charlie gave a quick nod, then slipped out of the stables, heading toward the house. It was little wonder Mater was at her wit’s end with her youngest. In the short time Charlie had been in residence at Havenworth, he’d managed to singe his bedchamber curtains, trample the newly budding tulips in the back garden, and break a window. Now he was bankrupting Corbin’s staff.

  When Corbin had assured Philip that he would look after the family, he hadn’t entirely bargained on Charlie’s troublemaking. Corbin had enough troubles of his own.

  He lightly fingered his purpling face. It was more than a little sore. He’d never have guessed Mrs. Bentford could deliver such a felling blow. He felt a little better knowing she could. A woman living alone was vulnerable. That worried him about her. Often.

  He looked around the stables. Without Edmund there, he had little to do. The stable staff was well organized and on task now that Charlie wasn’t about. He really ought to go see to the rest of his visiting relatives, which, of course, meant explaining his face.

  Corbin set his shoulders and made his way to the house. He took his time changing into his own clothes and washing his face and hands. A full bath would have to wait. He couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer. He entered the sitting room.

  “Good heavens, Corbin,” Mater exclaimed. “What have you done to your face?”

  “Aunt Clara broke it.”

  Corbin spun on the spot and saw Edmund sitting on the floor, reading a picture book beside Caroline. What was Edmund doing there?

  “She broke Corbo’s face?” Caroline asked, perplexed.

  “We thought he was a stranger,” Edmund said.

  “A stranger?” Mater asked, looking confused.

  Corbin shot a glance at Jason, seated at the writing desk in the corner. Jason seemed oblivious to his own guilt in the debacle.

  “Was your Aunt Clara very upset?” Mater sounded remarkably concerned by the possibility.

  Clara had appeared extremely upset, in fact. Though she had administered to his injuries afterward.


  “She said if Mr. Jonquil says I can’t come to the stables anymore that I would have to come home,” Edmund said, suddenly nervous and anxious looking. “And”—he locked eyes with Corbin—“I’m supposed to tell you that she’s sorry she hit you.”

  “You didn’t come to the stables,” Corbin said quietly.

  “Caroline wouldn’t let me.” Edmund gave Caroline an annoyed look.

  Corbin looked to his niece, hoping for a more detailed explanation.

  “Edmund is going to marry me.” Caroline spoke as if it were an established fact. “So he has to like me better than horses.”

  “Why would I like a stupid old girl better than horses?” Edmund shot back.

  That brought a quiver to Caroline’s chin and instant moisture to her enormous blue eyes. She snapped closed the picture book, dropped it on the floor, and ran across the room into Charlie’s arms. Charlie seemed as surprised by her choice of comforter as Edmund appeared to be by Caroline’s sudden tears.

  “Edmund.” Corbin called to him quietly but sternly and motioned Edmund over to him. The boy moved slowly and far too warily. He obviously expected a severe scold.

  “Yes, sir,” Edmund muttered, head hung.

  Corbin squatted in front of the boy, placing himself at Edmund’s eye level. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulders. Edmund was trembling and tense. Snippets of conversations he’d had with him about the late Mr. Bentford rushed through Corbin’s mind. Did Edmund think he meant to strike him?

  “I know you prefer horses to girls.” He spoke quietly, keeping the conversation private. “But you must not say so in a hurtful way, not to Caroline nor any other girl. And it is never permissible to tell a girl that she is stupid. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Edmund?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Corbin chucked the boy on the chin, drawing his eyes upward. Corbin smiled. “I used to think horses were better than girls as well.”

  “Do you still?” Some of Edmund’s tension eased.

  Corbin silently shook his head. No, he certainly did not think so any longer.

  Edmund made a face, communicating obvious disagreement.