“Oh heavens,” Clara muttered, clutching the chair.
“You will have to return, Mrs. Bentford.”
“This is ludicrous,” Clara said, her voice strangled even to her own ears. “I haven’t—”
“Enough protests, Clara,” a voice said from the doorway, and she all but fainted. “You know perfectly well there is nothing ludicrous about this.”
Edmund whimpered beside her.
“Run, Edmund,” Clara whispered. “Run all the way to Havenworth. Do not stop until you find help.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
As she’d anticipated, the new arrival ignored Edmund’s flight and focused instead on her. She forced herself to meet his eyes. A shiver of sheer terror ran down her spine. He’d found her. Somehow, Mr. Bentford had found her.
Chapter Sixteen
“You’re sure you won’t part with Happy Helper?” Crispin asked.
Corbin shook his head. “Edmund would never forgive me.”
“You’ve become rather attached to that boy,” Layton said, joining the discussion.
Corbin couldn’t deny it.
“And his aunt, I’d say,” Jason added.
“Mrs. Bentford doesn’t even think Corbin is useless,” Crispin said. “Which is more than we can say for a certain lady’s opinion of you.”
Corbin laughed, as did Layton, who had been informed of Miss Thornton’s visit in tremendous detail. Jason, however, didn’t seem amused.
“Mr. Jonquil?”
They all turned at the greeting. Corbin, however, recognized Seth from the stables. He nodded for the boy to continue.
“Thought you’d wanna know someone’s come to the Widow Bentford’s cottage,” Seth said. “’Tweren’t Mr. Finley though. Ain’t no one I’ve ever seen.”
Odd.
“She let him in,” Seth continued. “Must have known ’im. I came an’ told you soon as I saw ’im go in.”
Corbin nodded his gratitude, and Seth made his way to the stable.
“What do you want to do, Corbin?” Layton asked.
“It’s probably nothing.” But he didn’t feel easy. He had a bad feeling, though he couldn’t explain it.
“Wouldn’t hurt to go check,” Jason said.
Convinced he was overreacting but unable to sit still, Corbin nodded and began making his way to the trees that separated their properties.
Layton stopped him. “Might as well ride. It would be faster. Just in case.”
There was some wisdom in that. Corbin hadn’t, however, anticipated the others coming along.
“In case you need a chaperone,” Layton explained with a smile. Crispin grinned as well. Those two could be as bad as Philip sometimes.
They’d barely reached the trees when Corbin spotted Edmund running as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. Corbin reined Elf in.
“Edmund!” he called out to him.
The boy immediately shifted direction, heading directly for him. With rising concern, Corbin realized Edmund was crying.
“What’s happened?” Corbin quickly dismounted and held his arms open to the boy. Edmund threw himself into Corbin’s arms.
“He came.” Edmund’s sobs grew more frantic. “You have to help.”
“Finley?” Crispin sounded as if he suspected the answer was yes.
But Edmund shook his head no.
“Who came?” Corbin pressed, his heart pounding. Edmund was shaking, his face pulled in absolute terror.
“Mr. Bentford,” Edmund whispered, his voice breaking.
Corbin froze. Mr. Bentford? But Mr. Bentford was dead. Clara was a widow. Wasn’t she? Frantically thinking back on it, he couldn’t be certain he’d ever heard her say specifically that her husband was dead.
“He’ll hurt Aunt Clara. He always hurts her.”
He always hurts her.
Corbin took hold of Edmund and set him on Elf’s back, joining him there in the next instant. “C’mon,” he called to his brothers and set Elf at a run.
They were at Ivy Cottage in little more than a minute. Layton took charge of Edmund. Corbin, with Jason and Crispin on his heels, went through the front door without bothering to knock.
“You didn’t really think you could get away with it, did you, Clara?” an unfamiliar voice said, something in the tone menacing.
“I have done nothing wrong,” Clara answered.
Corbin heard panic and rushed into the sitting room.
She spotted him first. “Corbin,” she cried out and rushed straight to him, throwing her arms around him.
Corbin wrapped an arm around her and surveyed the two men in the room. One appeared at least fifty years old, with weak, watery eyes and a hat with a terribly bent brim in his hands. The other man, however, was the one who kept Corbin’s attention. He was younger than his companion, more finely attired, and watched Clara with a proprietary air Corbin found immediately offensive. But if he was, indeed, her husband, Corbin had no right to object. Still, he didn’t let Clara go.
“Visitors, Clara?” the gentleman asked, smirking.
She pressed herself more firmly against Corbin. He sensed she was more than merely uncomfortable with the stranger; she was truly afraid.
“Corbin Jonquil.” Corbin introduced himself without extending a hand.
“Robert Bentford.” The gentleman returned the cold greeting and eyed the group assembled around Corbin and Clara. “And how do you know Clara?” he asked. Bentford apparently had a knack for making even the simplest of questions sound vaguely offensive.
“I am her neighbor,” Corbin answered in a neutral voice.
“Friendly neighborhood.” Bentford’s lips twisted in obvious amusement, taking an exaggerated look at Corbin’s arm wrapped around Clara.
“What precisely are you doing in the neighborhood?” Jason took over the questioning.
“Visiting my dear sister-in-law.” Bentford grinned threateningly.
Sister-in-law. Corbin pulled Clara closer to him. The jack-a-napes was her late husband’s brother. Corbin had never been more relieved in all his life.
“He’s having me thrown in jail,” Clara whispered.
“On what charges?” Jason had obviously heard.
“Assault,” the older of the two gentlemen answered, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.
“Against whom?” Jason asked immediately.
The gentleman looked nervously at Bentford.
“You would bring charges against a lady?” Crispin asked Bentford. “Your own sister-in-law?”
“I don’t believe I caught your name,” Bentford drawled.
“I don’t believe I offered it,” Crispin replied smoothly. “I am assuming you are the one she supposedly beat within an inch of his life.” Crispin looked him up and down in a condescending way that would have injured any man’s ego.
“You jest, sir,” Bentford said. “But I assure you, it was no minor thing. An incensed woman with a fire poker can do a great deal of damage.”
“And what did you do to incense her?” Jason regained control of the interrogation.
“Nothing at all, I assure you,” Bentford answered without batting an eyelash.
Clara’s grasp on Corbin tightened. “Please don’t leave me, Corbin,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”
He rubbed her back in long, slow circles, hoping to calm her and reassure her. He would never leave her to face such a horrid man alone.
“Hers was an unprovoked attack,” the other gentleman said.
“And what is your interest in all this?” Jason asked.
“I am the squire,” the man said, speaking with so much uncertainty the statement sounded almost like a question.
“And you are charged with returning her to the neighborhood where the alleged crime took place,” Jason surmised. “How well do you know Mrs. Bentford?”
“Relatively well. She lived in Hamilton for three years.”
“You believe Mrs. Bentford would cold-bloodedl
y attack a man without provocation?” Jason asked doubtfully.
“Well . . . I . . .” The squire began fiddling nervously with his hat brim and looked to Bentford as if for an answer.
“Hmm.” Jason watched the exchange closely.
Corbin had seen enough. “Where’s Alice?” he whispered to Clara.
“In her room.”
“Edmund, take Layton to Alice’s room,” Corbin instructed. “Bring a doll and a blanket to take with her.”
Layton and Edmund went upstairs immediately.
“You can take the girl anywhere you want,” Bentford said, “but Clara is going back to Sussex.”
“No.” Corbin slipped Clara behind him. “Mrs. Bentford is coming home with me.”
“I might have known you’d be handing out your favors,” Bentford spat at Clara.
That was the last and final straw.
Corbin took a single step toward Mr. Bentford and punched him in the nose. The crunching sound proved eminently satisfying.
“Get out,” Corbin growled at him.
“Not your house, Jonquil,” Bentford snapped, holding his hand to his nose, a tremendous amount of blood pouring from it. His glare was acidic.
Corbin shuddered to think what the man might have done to Clara. “Not yours either,” Corbin reminded him.
“She really cannot go with you,” the squire insisted weakly. “I have to take her back.”
“Would you be willing to release her into the custody of the Baron Cavratt?” Crispin spoke over the squire’s protests.
“Lord Cavratt?” The squire’s eyes seemed to bug from his head. “Certainly. I know him by reputation. Lord Cavratt is well respected and honorable and trustworthy and—”
“Flattered,” Crispin interrupted dryly.
“You’re he?” the Squire sputtered. “He’s you? That is, you’re—”
“Crispin Handle, the Right Honorable The Baron Cavratt.” Crispin made a slight bow. “And I will take full responsibility for Mrs. Bentford until this mess can be straightened out.”
“Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.”
“Reynolds, you dolt.” Bentford spoke through the handkerchief he held to his bleeding nose. “You cannot simply—”
“Perhaps it would put your mind at ease to know that the gentleman who just went upstairs is the future Baron Farland, and these two gentlemen are brothers of the Earl of Lampton.” Crispin spoke with an aristocratic air to his voice and countenance that would have impressed the Prince Regent himself. “And that their mother, the Dowager Countess of Lampton, is at Havenworth, as are Lady Cavratt and Lady Marion Jonquil, daughter of the late Marquess of Grenton. I am certain those honorable ladies will happily vouch for Mrs. Bentford’s remaining at Havenworth.”
“That is certainly enough for me,” Squire Reynolds answered, obvious awe in his voice.
“Good,” Jason said firmly. “Now I suggest Mr. Bentford take himself off. This is Mrs. Bentford’s property, and he has no right to remain here without her consent.”
“And what would you know about it?” Bentford snapped.
Corbin was glad to see him discomposed. He looked almost ridiculous, his entire front stained with blood.
“Jason Jonquil, barrister.”
Bentford seemed momentarily taken aback. He recovered himself though. “So an earl, a baron, a barrister, and a pugilist.” He eyed Corbin with the last word. “Quite a family.”
Corbin moved closer to him and enjoyed seeing Bentford flinch. “Know this, Bentford. The Jonquils are not a family to be trifled with.”
Bentford’s eyes grew wide for a fraction of a moment. Corbin glared back.
“Ready, Corbin,” Layton announced, arriving at the sitting room door, Edmund pale and nervous at his side. Alice was in Layton’s arms, rubbing her eyes and looking around in confusion.
“Mister,” she called out to Corbin and squirmed out of Layton’s arms.
“No, Alice,” Corbin said. “Stay where—” But she’d already begun to scamper across the floor.
Alice stopped suddenly. Her eyes grew wide. Corbin followed her gaze directly to Mr. Bentford. Alice suddenly screamed in a way Corbin had never heard. The piercing, constant wails were not sadness or pain but bone-deep fear.
“Alice.” Corbin crossed immediately to her. Alice threw herself into him, precisely the way her mother had, still screaming as though her very life depended on someone hearing and finding her.
He held Alice more tightly, trying to prevent his mind from formulating reasons why Alice would be so terrified of Mr. Bentford. The possibilities were far too horrendous.
“Tell me, Squire Reynolds.” Corbin turned to the wide-eyed man, barely keeping his temper in check. “Does this seem to you like the reaction a child would have to a man who had done ‘nothing at all’ to her mother?”
That seemed to have an impact.
Corbin kept Alice in his arms and returned to Clara’s side. He could see she was trembling. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned into him. He didn’t flatter himself that she was reacting out of anything other than the need for his support. But she was in his arms, just the same.
“We have our own squire here,” Corbin warned the unwelcome visitors. “He can see to it that you leave Ivy Cottage.”
“Not necessary,” Bentford said with mock civility. He was gone in the next moment.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Bentford,” Squire Reynolds offered, hanging his head as he slipped out after Bentford.
Alice was still sobbing.
“Did he hurt Aunt Clara?” Edmund asked, suddenly standing in front of Corbin, looking up at him with worried eyes.
“No.” Corbin did his best to reassure him. “And I won’t let him.”
Edmund’s chin quivered, and he leaned against Corbin, his arms hanging at his side as if he were too exhausted to even lift them.
Corbin looked to his brothers, to Crispin. “I need you to help me,” he said to them. “We can’t let Bentford hurt this family.”
“You said it yourself, Corbin,” Jason replied. “The Jonquils are not a family to be trifled with.”
“We aren’t Jonquils,” Edmund muttered from the level of Corbin’s waistcoat.
Layton looked down at him. “You are. More than you know. Come on, Edmund. I’ll sneak you into Havenworth before Caroline realizes you’re there.”
Corbin mouthed a thank you as Edmund wandered in Layton’s direction. “Alice, dear.” She was still crying in his arms. “We are going back to my house. Will you let Jason hold you?”
“Is Jason bad?” Alice asked, her words broken by her continued sobs.
“No. I promise you he is not bad. He is my brother.”
Alice nodded and sniffled. Her trust touched him, especially in light of all he’d just seen. He handed Alice over to Jason, hoping their resemblance would put her at ease. She went willingly, though her tears continued.
Corbin turned to Clara. Tears pooled in her eyes, though they didn’t fall. She, no doubt, held them back with a willpower she had been forced to call upon before.
He pulled her back into his arms and held her as she shuddered. It was improper, he knew, to hold her so closely when no one else remained in the room. But he didn’t care. She needed him. And he needed her, needed to know she was safe and comforted.
“You didn’t leave me,” she whispered.
“Of course I didn’t, Clara. Of course I didn’t.” Corbin held fast to her. “Everything will all . . . Everything will be fine.”
“But Corbin”—her voice faltered—“they will put me in jail.”
“No.”
“I did what he said I did.” She looked up at him, fear obvious in her eyes, tears threatening to fall at any moment. “He can prove that I did.”
Chapter Seventeen
Not two steps out of the carriage after arriving at Havenworth, Edmund’s legs seemed to give out. Clara rushed to his side, but Corbin was there in an instant. What would she have done througho
ut this ordeal without him? she thought. Corbin lifted the boy from the steps and carried him inside.
“He’s going to hurt Aunt Clara,” Edmund muttered, his words thick and slurred from exhaustion.
“No, he will not,” Corbin said.
Clara stood still, thoughts of Mr. Bentford filling her mind. How had he found her? How would they escape this time?
Edmund had already collapsed. Alice was whimpering for Mister. Clara did not know how much longer she could hold back her tears. I will not cry, she told herself over and over. I have to be strong.
But again and again came the awful truth. Mr. Robert Bentford had found her, and she didn’t know how she would escape.
“Come up to the library, Mrs. Bentford.” Layton had come up behind her, slipping a hand under her elbow to assist her. She didn’t cringe as she would have with every man she’d known before meeting Corbin’s family. Something about these Jonquils was different. “A few more minutes of your time and then you can rest,” he promised.
“Thank you,” she said softly in reply.
Ahead of them, Crispin and Jason were deep in conversation, leading the way up the stairs to Corbin’s library. Crispin looked back at one point and nodded reassuringly at her.
You are more a Jonquil than you know, Layton had said to Edmund. Did he realize how much she’d come to wish she were a part of this family? They were watching over her and her children, and for the first time in years, possibly in the course of her entire life, she felt, at least momentarily, safe.
But Mr. Bentford was in Grompton. He was there. Nearby. He had the power to destroy her and this new life she had made for herself.
“Why don’t you sit a moment, Mrs. Bentford?” Layton suggested, leading her to a settee near the fireplace. “Corbin will want to be here, and I think Lady Marion needs to be as well.”
“Your wife?” Clara asked, unsure why she was being involved.
“You will understand soon enough.” He offered no further explanation.
Clara sat on the settee and took several deep breaths. Layton had joined Jason and Crispin at the desk. She didn’t attempt to overhear their conversation. She did her utmost not to think of anything at all. She closed her eyes and waited, willing her tears to dry.
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