As You Are

by Eden, Sarah M.

  “Apologize to Caroline,” Corbin gently prodded.

  Edmund trudged across the room. “I’m sorry I was mean,” Edmund muttered.

  Caroline pouted and continued to cling to Charlie.

  “Good apology,” Charlie evaluated aloud.

  “Excellent apology,” Jason agreed from across the room.

  “Caroline.” Corbin allowed the tiniest hint of a reprimand to enter his tone.

  She looked momentarily shocked. Mater did as well, though Corbin managed to ignore it. If Edmund was to learn to treat girls and ladies kindly, he would have to see some fruit from his efforts.

  “I forgive you,” Caroline said.

  “Can we read the book now?” Edmund asked impatiently.

  “You don’t want to play with the horses?” Caroline’s pout remained firmly in place.

  Edmund shrugged. “It’s a good book so far.”

  Caroline’s face split into an all-encompassing grin. “I knew you’d like it!” She climbed off Charlie’s lap and hurried back across the room to their abandoned storybook.

  “Layton might not appreciate knowing Caroline is doggedly pursuing a young man already,” Jason said, having moved closer without Corbin realizing it. “Have you put a cold cloth on that bruise? It looks awful.”

  Corbin shot Jason a look that sent him instantly stepping backward.

  “What?” Jason’s eyes widened.

  There was no opportunity to answer. Simmons entered in that moment and announced a visitor.

  “Miss Mariposa Thornton.”

  Jason’s head snapped in the direction of the door. “What the bl—”

  Corbin elbowed him in the ribs in time to cut off the curse. If Harold had been present, they would have been subjected to an entire sermon on the evils of coarse language.

  A young lady, probably little more than five feet tall, all black curls and almond-shaped dark eyes, stepped into the room, quickly surveying the entire assembly. Her gaze fell on Jason, and her eyebrows raised triumphantly.

  “Well.” She smiled smugly, speaking with an obvious Spanish accent. “Ahí estás, Mr. Jonquil. You, señor, are a difficult man to locate.”

  “What the bl—”

  “Language, señor!” Miss Thornton interrupted, her shock too theatrical to be sincere.

  “You were instructed to direct all correspondence to my secretary,” Jason said in clipped tones.

  Miss Thornton raised a sleek black eyebrow. She walked past Jason, quite unconcerned that she was being skewered with a look that had brought more than one witness to the breaking point in a court room. Corbin knew that look—he’d seen Jason at work before.

  “If I wanted a correspondent,” she said, her gestures every bit as expressive as her face and a perfect match for her accent, “I would write to my abuela.”

  “Your abuela lives with you.” Jason sounded increasingly disgruntled.

  “So you can see how pointless letter writing can be.” Miss Thornton spoke as if Jason had just agreed wholeheartedly with her. “And you must be Mater.” The young lady addressed Mater with no hint of embarrassment or intimidation.

  “How did you . . . ?”

  “Your son speaks of you often.”

  “Jason?”

  Miss Thornton laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Not that one. The capitán.”

  “You know Stanley?” Mater was on her feet, clasping the young lady’s hands. Until that moment, Corbin hadn’t realized how worried Mater truly was over Stanley’s safety.

  “Sí.” Miss Thornton smiled at her. “When the fighting was in España. Our casa was used by the British. I knew him then. And again at Ortez. He is a good man. Not useless like that one.” She waved her hand toward Jason.

  Corbin looked in that direction. He’d never seen Jason so close to losing his composure.

  So much for being in control of every situation, Corbin thought.

  “Corbin, may we use your library?” Jason asked through clenched teeth. “I believe Miss Thornton has some business to discuss.”

  Corbin nodded.

  “You are Señor Corbin?” Miss Thornton hurried across the room without managing to look as though she were hurrying. “As you see, I have met your evil twin.”

  There was an ocean of mischief in Miss Thornton’s eyes, and Corbin found himself smiling down at her, liking her on the spot.

  “Come, Miss Thornton,” Jason instructed tensely.

  “It was wonderful to meet all of you,” Miss Thornton offered to the room in general.

  “Now,” Jason snapped.

  Miss Thornton shook her head daintily, then made her way from the room as slowly as humanly possible.

  The moment the door closed, Charlie burst out laughing. “She is perfect,” he declared between gasps.

  “Miss Thornton is near to driving poor Jason out of his mind.” A smile tugged at Mater’s lips as she made the observation.

  Good, Corbin thought, remembering the horrid advice Jason had given him regarding women. Very good.

  * * *

  Clara couldn’t sit and wait any longer. Edmund hadn’t returned immediately from Havenworth. That had to be a good sign. But Suzie said he’d gone inside the house at the invitation of young Caroline Jonquil and her nurse. Clara had no idea what reception, if any, he’d received from Corbin.

  Edmund loved the time he spent in the stables. If he lost that because of her, Clara would never forgive herself. Corbin had let her apply the ointment, and he hadn’t yelled or scolded. But she couldn’t be certain he hadn’t harbored a grudge.

  There was nothing for it but to go see him. Suzie agreed to look after Alice while Clara was gone. Clara tied the ribbon of her bonnet firmly under her chin and strode determinedly toward Havenworth.

  She would simply reason with him, explain that accosting him had been entirely her fault and he ought not to punish Edmund for it. Self-implicating pleadings had worked wonders with Mr. Bentford. He had been rather easily convinced of her guilt in all things. Taking the blame upon herself for every little thing had made life easier for Edmund.

  Over and over, Clara rehearsed her speech. She hardly noticed the passing scenery, nor how quickly she approached Havenworth. She’d cut through the small copse of trees separating their properties, that being the shortest route.

  “Surely you must know how pleased I am to see you.” A voice sounded from among the trees. “There’s no need to pretend you aren’t pleased to see me as well.”

  Instantly, Clara was alert and on her guard. She knew Mr. Finley’s voice the way a person recognized the sound of an angry dog—it instantly announced danger. She realized in the next moment that Mr. Finley was not talking to her.

  “You never seemed to be at any of the functions I attended in Town,” Mr. Finley continued.

  Clara moved quickly, quietly. She spotted him. He was close on the heels of a young lady, probably Clara’s age, who seemed to be quite determinedly walking away from him. Good for her, Clara thought.

  “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 b
y 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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “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 wa
rned 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.