As You Are (9 page)

He smiled more. That was the very best change of all. When she’d asked Mr. Jonquil to take Edmund on, Clara had hoped simply to give Edmund something to look forward to each day. She hadn’t anticipated the influence Mr. Jonquil would have on him.

Clara looked back at the letter in her hands. Mr. Jonquil really hadn’t asked much, a simple visit. She could accompany the children, see to it that they were well received.

“If the atmosphere at Havenworth is too cold, we can always leave,” Clara told herself. Despite her well-crafted scheme and her determination to remain out of Mr. Jonquil’s debt in the matter of the horses, Clara found herself very much indebted. Bringing the children to spend an afternoon with Mr. Jonquil’s niece was not much of a sacrifice when weighed against all he’d done for Edmund.

A man who was a good influence?
Clara shook her head in disbelief. It had never before seemed possible. And yet, having found someone who seemed to be exactly that, she found she couldn’t walk away without learning more about him.

* * *

“I want to go home, Aunt Clara,” Edmund whimpered.

Clara secretly agreed. All her bravado had faded during the walk over. There was every possibility that more than one member of the aristocracy had come to visit Havenworth. The prospect was astoundingly intimidating. Voices echoed from up ahead. Clara had a feeling they were about to face more than just a five-year-old girl.

The butler led them into what Clara assumed was the drawing room. She grasped Edmund’s and Alice’s hands. They could survive a room full of lofty people—they’d certainly survived worse.

“Mrs. Bentford. Mr. Edmund Clifton. Miss Alice Bentford.” After making his announcement, the butler stepped aside.

Edmund’s hand tightened around Clara’s. A sea of faces watched them enter. Clara froze. The room was full of men. Tea in the nursery, the invitation had said. Mr. Jonquil had mentioned nothing about a house full of tall, fully grown men. She glanced around quickly, immediately and entirely on her guard. Then looked again, amazed.

The men quite closely resembled Mr. Jonquil: golden hair, blue eyes, and tall, lean builds. The similarities were pronounced enough to be almost eerie.

“Mister!” Alice shrieked excitedly. How could the girl tell which one was which? Alice ran to the side where Clara hadn’t been looking and threw herself at Mr. Jonquil as she always did.

He didn’t hesitate but scooped her off the floor and into his arms. “I’ve found you a friend, Alice.”

She simply repeated her earlier squeal and squirmed in his arms, squeezing his neck ever harder. Mr. Jonquil smiled at Alice, and Clara felt herself relax. He was different somehow than she’d seen him before, more at ease. But, then, he was among his peers, she would guess, looking around at the fine clothing in the room.

Edmund had tucked himself quite firmly out of view behind her skirts. He kept himself hidden, even as Mr. Jonquil came up next to them.

“I’m afraid Edmund is having second thoughts,” Clara whispered to Mr. Jonquil, not wanting to embarrass the boy but wishing to explain and, hopefully, avoid any humiliation Edmund might suffer should those gathered be inconsiderate.

Mr. Jonquil seemed to study her for a moment. Clara fidgeted a little under the scrutiny. Did he realize she too was doubting the wisdom of this visit?

He nodded, then turned to Edmund. “May I introduce you to my brothers?” Clara heard him say softly to the white-faced boy.

“I suppose,” Edmund whispered, his voice shaking a little.

Had she been wrong to come? Edmund always felt uneasy in social situations.

“Mr. Clifton.” Mr. Jonquil spoke quite formally, turning a little to face the room. Alice continued to cling to his neck. “May I introduce you to Mr. Jonquil.” He motioned at one of his look-alikes. “Mr. Jonquil.” He gestured to another. “And Mr. Jonquil.”

Edmund snickered. Clara couldn’t keep back a smile.

“Don’t laugh, you’ll forget . . . won’t remember their names,” Mr. Jonquil warned.

At that, Edmund laughed harder. Clara watched as he slipped his hand in Mr. Jonquil’s. No, that would no longer suffice; the room held far too many Mr. Jonquils.
Corbin
, she reminded herself. Their Mr. Jonquil was named Corbin.

Their
Mr. Jonquil? Clara forced that uncomfortable thought to the back of her mind.

“This”—Corbin indicated the Mr. Jonquil who seemed nearest to his own age and resembled him most closely—“is Jason. He is a barrister. We are twins.”

Twins? Despite the remarkable family resemblance, Clara did not think they were identical as some twins were. Edmund seemed impressed by the connection, just the same. He nodded his understanding and simply stared at the man.

“This”—Corbin moved to the Mr. Jonquil who wore an extremely sober expression, matched by the black he wore from head to toe, except for the white of his cravat and collar—“is Harold. He’s a vicar.”

Clara nodded even as Edmund did. The gentleman’s occupation explained his sobriety.

“And Charlie.” Corbin motioned to a youth with the same golden hair and blue eyes and familiarly featured face. “He just finished at Eton.”

A
young
man, then.

“My Aunt Clara says I will go to Eton next year.” Edmund’s voluntary response shocked Clara to the very soles of her feet. Edmund never spoke of his own volition to strangers.

Charlie smiled in return. “Next year, is it?” he asked.

Edmund nodded, eyes wide.

Charlie looked at Corbin. “We’ll have to introduce him to Fennel Kendrick. Never hurts to have someone there looking out for a new boy.”

Who was this Fennel Kendrick? Was he trustworthy? Would he look out for Edmund or simply make things worse?

Corbin looked at Clara, almost as if sensing her uncertainty.

“Fennel is a friend of your family’s?” she asked.

“He is a fine young man,” Corbin said. He offered nothing further, but his words eased her concerns for the present.

Mr. Bentford would have harangued her for her concerns, taunted her with them.
No.
Mr. Bentford would have been oblivious to her concerns, haranguing and taunting her for her deficiencies instead. Having an audience as witness would only have increased the likelihood of a scold.

Corbin Jonquil, she realized, had never belittled her. He had often seemed to look down on her, but he had never humiliated her. He was sweet and patient with her children, holding them quite as if he had been doing so all their lives.

How unexpected—
pleasantly
unexpected for a man.

“Did they come, Uncle Corbo?” a child’s voice asked, pulling Clara’s attention, and everyone else’s, it seemed, to the doorway.

Clara shook her head in amazement as yet another pair of blue eyes and a head of golden hair skipped into the room. This time, however, the golden hair hung in perfect ringlets all around a cherubic face. The child was beautiful.

For a moment, watching the little girl, Clara mourned for the child she had once been. Unlike this angelic girl, Clara had always worn long sleeves to cover the bruises there. She had kept to corners, afraid of her own shadow, watching the people around her with an inescapable feeling of terror. Nothing showed in this girl’s face but curiosity.

“Caroline,” Corbin greeted the tiny angel. “May I . . . This is Edmund Clifton.”

Caroline curtsied prettily. If she wasn’t the daughter of an earl, she certainly had the air of one. Edmund hid himself behind Corbin.

“And this”—Corbin bounced Alice as she clung on his neck—“is Alice Bentford.”

Alice giggled. As always, the sound pulled an answering laugh from Clara.

Corbin looked over, apparently surprised to hear her laugh. Clara was a little surprised as well. Strangely nervous at his sudden gaze, Clara could only manage a smile. She expected him to be dismissive or disapproving of her show of levity. But he surprised her. Corbin smiled back, his gaze lingering on her.

“Do you like dolls?” she heard Caroline ask.

She assumed the question was directed at Alice. But it was Edmund who answered. “No,” he quite adamantly declared.

Clara held back a laugh, not wanting to embarrass Edmund. He was doing better than usual with strangers.

“Do you like cake?” Caroline tried again.

“Mm-hmm.”

Clara’s eyes darted to Corbin. He seemed to be enjoying the children’s conversation as much as she was. She felt an unexpected kinship with him.

“There is cake in the nursery.” Caroline shared the information with Edmund, almost as if it was a closely guarded secret. Edmund smiled a little. “And biscuits.”

“Biscuits!” Alice squealed and began wiggling out of Corbin’s arms.

Caroline clapped her hands together as if thoroughly delighted. A young woman, whom Clara assumed was the nursemaid, led the children from the room. Edmund lagged a little behind but followed without any prodding from Clara.

Corbin chuckled lightly. “How quickly she abandoned me.”

“There are few things Alice likes better than biscuits,” Clara said.

The smile remained on his lips. Clara turned back, as he did, toward the room. Her own smile vanished in an instant.

A lady of indeterminate years, quite finely attired with crystal-blue eyes that seemed far too insightful, looked directly at Clara. She didn’t appear pleased—confused, perhaps. The lady’s gaze moved from Corbin to Clara and back again, her expression never clearing.

Clara stood her ground, though she very much felt like fleeing. Every eye in the room was on her, confusion written on every face.

“Mater,” Corbin interrupted the silence, “this is . . . May I introduce Mrs. Bentford. Mrs. Bentford, this is my mother, the Dowager Countess of Lampton.”

Clara offered her best curtsy.
A countess?
I must be utterly insignificant to her.

“Mrs. Bentford,” Corbin continued, “may I intro . . . This is . . . I—”

He stopped. Clara heard him take a breath, then watched as he muttered silently. She couldn’t make out his grumblings. After a moment, he continued with the introductions.

“This is Mr. Jason Jonquil, Mr. Harold Jonquil, and Mr. Charlie Jonquil,” he said very quickly. To his brothers, Corbin said, “This is Mrs. Bentford.”

Never before had she been so grateful that her governess had insisted she learn to curtsy properly. Clara would make certain Alice learned as well.

“Mrs. Bentford.” The dowager countess addressed her, still something like shock lingering on her face. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“Yes, Lady Lampton,” Clara answered as composed as she could manage to be. She would give the countess no reason to disapprove of her manners. “I believe we are your son’s nearest neighbors.”

“In the cottage? Just west of here?” the dowager pressed.

“Yes.” Clara did not like that all eyes in the room were trained on her. Three men. Four if she counted Corbin, though he did not make her nervous the way the others did.

“And
Mr.
Bentford?” the dowager pressed.

“Mater,” Corbin quietly interrupted, “Mrs. Bentford is . . . She is a widow.”

“A widow,” the dowager repeated in an amazed whisper.

Clara glanced around. Smiles had spread across the faces of all three Jonquil brothers. Corbin had turned a little red. Why did Clara have the feeling she’d missed something?

“Have you been in the neighborhood long?” Jason—Clara felt nearly certain that was the barrister’s name—asked.

“About six months,” Clara answered, feeling herself tense. Had they all moved closer, or did it simply feel that way?

Jason smiled even more broadly. The siblings exchanged a few looks. Corbin remained silent, his color rising. Did her presence embarrass him? The thought settled like a weight on her heart.

“Oh, Mrs. Bentford!” The dowager suddenly seemed emotional. “You’re newly arrived. And you’re a widow.”

Clara took a step back, all her defenses up. Why had that information struck the countess as significant? Heaven help her if the Jonquils had discovered her history. They would likely help Mr. Bentford drag her back to Bentford Manor.

An actual tear shimmered at the corner of the dowager’s eye. “This is so . . . so . . .”

Tears? Tears made no sense whatsoever. Something was decidedly wrong, and Clara had no idea what. The dowager seemed not entirely in control of her faculties. The men in the room were unwavering in their attention.

“I really should stay with the children,” Clara said rather quickly. “Edmund is uncomfortable with strangers.”

With a quick and probably poorly executed curtsy, Clara hurried from the room. She would locate the nursery and make a hasty exit. She didn’t know the Jonquils’ intentions, but she couldn’t feel comfortable among them. They were too pointed in their questioning of her, too far above her in station, and, more to the point, too heavy on males.

Mater was teary. Corbin didn’t know what had set her off. He had introduced her to Clara and, within a minute’s time, Mater had become emotional. At the same time, his brothers had all looked remarkably close to laughing.

It was no wonder Clara had bolted. Corbin had tried to think of the right words to ask her to stay. But she’d been obviously anxious to go.

“So that was the famous widow recently moved into the neighborhood.” Jason smiled, taking a seat near Corbin by the windows of the sitting room.

Corbin could only stare in confusion.

Jason shrugged. “Philip wrote and told us.”

Philip never had been one for passing up a good story.

“We were informed you had shown an inordinate amount of interest in a widow who had recently come to live near Havenworth. Philip indicated she lived in the cottage just west of your property line.” Jason was using his barrister’s voice as he rattled off the list of evidence. Corbin very nearly rolled his eyes. “Now a young lady who lives in said cottage arrives, and you, brother, cannot keep your eyes off her for more than a moment. She declares she only just arrived in the neighborhood and is indeed a widow. Hence, Mrs. Bentford is the newly arrived widow of your conversation with Philip.”