As You Are (24 page)

There were a lot of things he had wished over the past ten years that he could have asked his father. He felt that need keenly just now.
What did I do wrong? What is it about me she doesn’t like?
He silently thought through his dilemma as he brushed. Eventually, he finished his ministrations but didn’t feel any closer to the answers he needed.

Corbin sat on the bench he’d kept at the back of Whipster’s stall for years. He’d been coming to this spot ever since he’d arrived at Havenworth. He came there when he was frustrated, upset, confused, lonely.

Why haven’t I sat here lately?
Corbin wondered silently. The past weeks had certainly been confusing, frustrating, and upsetting at times. What was different tonight from a fortnight before?

He knew the answer almost before the question had formed in his mind. He was lonely. The past weeks he’d had some hope that Clara would remain, that she would return his love. That had kept the loneliness at bay.

Well, Father
, Corbin silently said, Whipster bumping him with his nose, his neck bent down to him,
what do I do now?
Corbin reached up and rubbed Whipster’s nose in acknowledgment of his attention.
I’ve done all I know how.

“Is that old Whipster?”

Corbin looked up at the sound of Layton’s voice. He nodded.

Layton leaned against the stall door. He didn’t say anything, just watched Whipster, his expression unreadable. Then after a moment, he said, “Do you remember, Corbin, when Philip said he wouldn’t ride with you because Whipster was the stupidest horse he’d ever seen?”

Corbin nodded, letting his eyes settle back on Whipster. Philip had said that about three months after Father had given the colt to Corbin. Corbin been hurt by the comment, probably more than Philip had realized. If Whipster was a stupid horse, Corbin had thought at the time, it was probably because he had done something wrong in caring for him.

“And Father told us that the puppy Philip had decided to take as his own from Golden Girl’s litter had taken ill and died only the day before,” Layton went on. Corbin remembered. “Father said people often say or do things when they are hurting that they wouldn’t say or do otherwise. He said Philip needed time to recover from his loss and that we needed to be patient with him.”

Father had explained that. Corbin remembered feeling deeply relieved when Father had assured him there was nothing the matter with Whipster, that Philip needed to work through his grief and loss.

“From what I have heard,” Layton continued, “you have had more advice from us brothers than any man should have to endure.” There was a chuckle in his voice that didn’t take away from his sincerity. Corbin looked up at him again. Layton offered an almost-sad smile, the kind he’d worn with regularity before Marion had come into his life. “I thought perhaps you needed some wisdom from Father instead.”

Corbin wasn’t sure how long he sat in the stall after Layton walked away.

Time to recover
. Layton referred to Clara, then? It seemed so. All the other bits of advice he’d received were in regard to her.

Philip had insulted Whipster because he was hurting. Clara, perhaps, had left for similar reasons. And, like Philip, maybe she needed time and space to settle her thoughts.

Could he give her that? Could he step away and let her make up her mind? He wanted her to choose him, and if she did, he wanted it to be because she loved him, not because she felt pressured. That, it seemed, meant letting her slip out of his life.

But only temporarily. Just until she recovered from the difficulties of the past days and months and years.

He could do that. He told himself several times that he could. If Clara needed time and patience and space, he could give her that. He would.

Corbin let out a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t wrong in this path he was choosing.

Spring brought a rainbow of wildflowers to the meadow surrounding Ivy Cottage. Clara spent her afternoons watching Edmund after he returned each day from the Havenworth stables and Alice running and playing in the meadow. She watched them, often joined in their games, but inside, her heart was aching.

She’d brought the children back to Ivy Cottage the day the Duke of Kielder sent Mr. Bentford running for the hills. Alice and Edmund had been upended and overwhelmed. She’d hoped to give them a little quiet time, a chance to calm their worries.

She’d allowed herself to hope Corbin would come see her. Mr. Finley had insisted she was nothing more to Corbin or his family than the latest Jonquil charitable endeavor. In her heart, she had truly believed Corbin loved her.

But more than a week had passed, and he hadn’t come. He sat behind them at church, but he rode his own horse home afterward, leaving his carriage behind to take them home. He didn’t visit, didn’t send any word or greeting home with Edmund day after day.

In the first days after Mr. Bentford’s machinations had been thwarted, she’d written letters of gratitude to all those who had played a role in that miracle. But she couldn’t bring herself to write to Corbin. Anything she might have penned would have fallen far short of what she felt.

For the children’s sake, she kept a smile on her face and tried to focus on all the reasons she had for rejoicing. Mr. Bentford was out of their lives. She’d received her quarterly payment at last, so they had money to live on. Mr. Finley hadn’t been seen in the neighborhood since the day of the Duke of Kielder’s visit. She focused on that and did her utmost to keep all other thoughts out of her mind.

She tucked the children into bed each night. That undertaking was one of the highlights of her day. Until they asked difficult questions.

“Mama,” Alice said from beneath her quilt that night. “Where is Mister?”

Clara kept her expression light, though the question pierced her soul. “He is busy with his horses, dear. But you saw him at church on Sunday. He played peekaboo with you.”

She pouted. “Where is Mister?”

“He is probably asleep, Alice. It is sleeping time.”

Her little brow wrinkled in thought. “Mister is sleeping?”

Clara nodded slowly and pointedly. Alice’s eyes opened wide. She nodded too. In a movement so swift Clara didn’t believe it for a moment, Alice tipped her head to the side and shut her eyes as if very suddenly asleep herself. Clara kissed her cheek and smoothed the quilt.

“Good night, Alice,” she whispered and walked to the bedroom door. She glanced back at her sweet angel.

Even absent from their lives, Corbin was a blessing. The mere suggestion that he was doing something was enough to convince Alice to do it as well. Alice loved him so deeply. Eventually, she would realize her beloved Mister was not coming back, and her tiny heart would shatter.

Clara blinked back a sudden sheen of tears and took a breath to calm herself. Somehow she would hold this family together.

She stepped into Edmund’s room next. He was sitting on a chair at his window, glancing out into the dark night.

“Time for bed, Edmund.”

He didn’t look back at her. “I can see the lights at Havenworth from here,” he said.

“I have noticed them myself.”

“Corbin is visiting his family,” Edmund said. “It’s lonely at the stables without him.”

“Visiting his family?” She hadn’t heard Corbin was gone. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t seen him. “How long ago did he leave?”

“Yesterday.”

Then his journey wasn’t the reason for his absence in the days before that. Clara pushed down her disappointment.

She stopped at the window, settling her arm around Edmund’s shoulder. “You miss him,” she said.

“You don’t think he’ll forget about me, do you?” Poor Edmund sounded so worried, so lonely.

She squeezed his shoulders. “He won’t. And I am absolutely certain he misses you as well.”

“I thought he was going to come here and say farewell before he left,” Edmund said. “Why didn’t he?”

Clara swallowed against the emotion surfacing once more. “He probably meant to but ran too short on time.”

“Probably.” How she hoped Edmund would be satisfied with that. She couldn’t bear examining her own loneliness in any greater depth.

“Come on over to your bed, sweetheart.”

He came without argument, though his gaze returned to his window even after he lay down. He missed Corbin. Alice missed Corbin. Clara’s heart broke with missing him.

She gave Edmund the same kiss on the cheek she gave both children every night, then returned to her own room with a heavy heart. She sat on the edge of her bed, telling herself to simply breathe through her pain. Life hadn’t crushed her before, and she wouldn’t allow it to now.

* * *

Philip and Sorrel returned from Scotland to Lampton Park. Corbin made the trip to see them, grateful for an excuse to get away. Sorrel could walk a few steps without her walking stick and, according to Philip, was improving daily. She still appeared to be in some pain, but Philip insisted that was to be expected, since her hip could never be restored.

There was an apothecary in Northumberland, Philip said, who had developed a brace for rheumatic hips that Dr. MacAslon had some hope might relieve a little of Sorrel’s difficulties on that score. Sorrel herself said little, though her continued pallor spoke volumes. She was improving but slowly.

Charlie remained at the Park and, according to Mater and Philip, kept up his tradition of getting into scrapes. Layton, Marion, and Caroline were in Town. Jason was too, as always. Harold made the occasional appearance during Corbin’s week-long stay but always had something of monumental importance to see to.

Everyone was busy or gone, and Corbin quickly found himself anxious to return home. Edmund would miss him, if no one else. And there hadn’t been a single brown-haired little girl to play peekaboo with during church or an emerald-eyed beauty to watch from a distance. And he lived for the brief glimpses he had of Clara. Sweet, beautiful, loving Clara.

Only a few times had his family brought her up. Corbin had managed to shrug off their inquiries. After a time, they’d stopped asking. Mater, however, had watched him very closely, a look of sadness and disappointment in her eyes. That look alone had convinced him the time had come to return to Havenworth.

Somehow, before his departure, Charlie had been added to the traveling party. “Just keep him busy,” Philip pleaded dramatically. “He’ll be at Cambridge in another month. If you can keep him out of trouble until then, I will be eternally grateful.”

Corbin nodded.

“And Mater needs some peace,” Philip added, his expression suddenly more serious.

“Is something wrong with Mater?”

Philip shook his head. “Napoleon is coming nearer Brussels with each passing day.”

“Stanley,” Corbin answered with a whisper. Stanley’s regiment was in Brussels, along with the rest of the Coalition forces.

Philip nodded. “The latest dispatches from Wellington warn our leaders to prepare themselves for a battle unlike any Britain has ever fought.”

“It is likely to . . . to be—”

“If predictions prove correct, the coming conflict will be extremely deadly,” Philip confirmed.

Corbin nodded once more. “You’ll take care of Mater?”

“Of course.” Philip smiled back at him. “And I’m certain Holy Harry will pray, so we should be fine.”

“Send word when you . . . when Charlie needs to return.”

Philip nodded. “Thanks, Cor.”

Corbin smiled at that. His brothers hadn’t called him Cor since he was eight years old.

“C’mon, Charlie,” Corbin said to his youngest brother, who actually looked relatively happy to be accompanying him back to Havenworth.

During the ride back, Corbin thought over the past months. Clara’s arrival in the neighborhood. Philip and Layton’s weddings. Stanley’s leaving for the Continent and the continued warfare. Trying to win Clara’s heart. Gaining two children he would always think of as his own.

He’d spent a long and lonely week at Havenworth after Clara’s departure and another week at Lampton Park after that. He still loved her. That hadn’t changed. He doubted it ever would. She was good and kind and loving. She was beautiful and graceful. He missed her. Did she miss him?

Had he given her the space she needed? Was she still sorting things out?

He didn’t know. But he was continuing to live his life the best he could without her there. He was closer to his brothers than he’d ever been before. He enjoyed Edmund and Alice, though from more of a distance than he preferred. And he felt more content than he remembered feeling in years. He would never be his brothers’ equal in society or be comfortable in crowds or in front of people, but he had a home he’d grown to love every bit as much as his childhood home, neighbors he cared about, a successful business, and family nearby.

And if there was even the slightest bit of fairness in the world, Clara would come back to him.

Clara slipped into the copse of trees and the welcome shade offered there. A few more yards to the east and she would be on Havenworth land. Corbin wouldn’t object; she knew that instinctively. He was too much of a gentleman and too good a neighbor to do so.

“Oh, Corbin,” she whispered as she walked. She had convinced herself in the first few months after coming to Ivy Cottage that she would never let another man into her life again. Until she’d met Corbin, it had been true. Having known him, having felt the joy of a good man at her side, having felt love, she knew now she would always regret what she might have had.

Part of her still hoped, despite his prolonged absence, that he did care for her. She thought back on the one kiss they’d shared and found she couldn’t entirely dismiss it as friendly or pitying. She was a coward, and she knew it. If only she had the courage to simply go ask him if he loved her.

Movement not far distant caught Clara’s eye. She looked warily in that direction. Tall, lean, and golden-haired—whoever it was had to be a Jonquil. She knew, despite not seeing the person at all clearly, it was not Corbin. Edmund had told her the day before that Charlie, the youngest of the seven brothers, had come to Havenworth to stay for a while.