As You Are (3 page)

“We may expunge the dandy out of you yet,” Sorrel said.

“That is quite an undertaking, Sorrel.” He leaned closer to her, one eyebrow raised.

“Philip.” She half laughed, half scolded as he leaned ever closer.

“Yes, my dear?” Philip kissed her quickly.

“Suppose Corbin were to walk in suddenly?” Sorrel pushed him back a little with her hand.

“He would be pleased to see you haven’t murdered me yet.” Philip leaned back at her continued insistence.

“
Surprised
, perhaps,” Sorrel answered.

Corbin stepped back out of the sitting room. It would have been terribly awkward to have entered while the couple was talking about him. He waited a moment before reentering.

“There you are, Corbin,” Philip said.

Corbin nodded, his usual greeting. He offered Sorrel a bow.

“We’ve come to brighten your day, brother.” Philip smiled. Sorrel seemed to roll her eyes. “Bring a little color.”

Philip gave the immediate impression of a dandy, a man with little but fashion and nonsense on his mind. Corbin knew better, as did all of the Jonquil brothers, save one. Jason, Corbin’s twin, found Philip and his posturing annoying and made a point of making his feelings obvious. Corbin did not know why Philip had adopted the mannerisms he had. But since falling in love with the lady who was now his wife, Philip had begun showing signs of returning to the intelligent, thoughtful gentleman who had resided just below the surface for years.

“Simmons said you were away from Havenworth,” Sorrel said.

“I was visiting. A neighbor.” Corbin explained his absence.

Philip seemed surprised. Corbin did tend to keep to himself, not being very skilled as a conversationalist and always feeling a little out of his element in company. His one attempt at a Season in Town had been painfully awkward for everyone involved. Philip had never suggested Corbin try again.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me”—Sorrel awkwardly rose to her feet, hand clutching an ebony wood walking stick—“I would appreciate lying down for a time.”

“Of course.” Philip walked with his wife to the door of the sitting room and kissed her on the cheek before she disappeared through the doorway.

“She seems to be in pain—in more pain than before,” Corbin said.

“Traveling makes her stiff.” Philip still watched through the open door as his wife made her way up the stairs to the guest chambers above. There was less and less of the mindless fop in his tone. Corbin liked seeing again the brother he’d known growing up. “We’ve come from London, you know.”

Corbin would have expected Philip to stop at the family seat, a mere fifteen miles from Havenworth.

“We received word from Dr. MacAslon, a surgeon in Edinburgh,” Philip said, crossing back to the settee he had occupied before. “He and a colleague have been discussing Sorrel’s leg, and he thinks he can help her. We are going directly to Scotland.”

That was decidedly good news. From what Corbin understood of the new Countess of Lampton’s history, she’d been severely injured by a rampaging horse a few years earlier and was plagued by continued pain, difficulty walking, and recurrent infections. It would relieve Philip’s mind to have his wife’s pain alleviated in any way possible.

“I hope you don’t mind putting us up for the night,” Philip continued. Sorrel truly had proven a sobering influence for her husband. Corbin approved of the change. “Sorrel needs to rest.”

Corbin answered with a nod, though he wondered again why they hadn’t stopped at their own home.

Philip briefly smiled his gratitude, but his expression remained far too grim. Corbin took a seat nearby and watched him closely. Philip almost never allowed his worry to show. Even after their father died, Philip, at only eighteen and left with the weight of a large family and estate on his shoulders, had come across as unfailingly confident and assured.

He seemed to notice Corbin’s scrutiny and chuckled a little. “I’ve turned into a doting husband, haven’t I? It will be the next trend, you realize. Husbands throughout the
ton
will waste away, worrying over their wives.”

Marriages in the
ton
were too often based on mutual apathy and seldom included doting in any form. If anyone could set a trend, however, it would be Philip. The Earl of Lampton, though generally lauded as not entirely intelligent, did have a sense of fashion just eccentric enough to be famous.

Philip’s smile and humor faded. “It will be a difficult surgery.” His brows furrowed in concern. “And terribly painful. Her leg will have to be broken again and reset. Though she is going to great lengths to hide it, Sorrel is nervous. And there is no guarantee the operation will be successful.”

“Can I do anything?” Corbin offered, realizing he likely could do nothing but wishing otherwise.

“Actually, yes.” Philip straightened and resumed the air of an earl and a man in control of every situation. “I do not plan to bring Sorrel back until I am certain she has fully recovered. We could be in Scotland for a month or more. Layton and Marion will be in Derbyshire for at least another week. And Stanley just left for Tallow to rejoin his regiment, thanks to Napoleon’s escape from Elba.” Philip rose and began pacing. “Jason, no doubt, won’t budge from Town, regardless of the motivation.” Philip shook his head.

Why is it that Philip and Jason don’t get along
? Corbin wondered for not the first time.

“Harry, despite being a new cleric, is still relatively young,” Philip said. “And Charlie is only seventeen.”

Seventeen—only a year younger than Philip had been when Father died.

“I am leaving behind a family in need of looking after,” Philip said. “Sorrel, despite her insistence otherwise, will need my attention during her recovery. Layton ought to be permitted time with his new bride. So I need you to take charge of things while I’m away. Check on Mater now and then. Make sure Charlie isn’t giving her too much grief. She’ll have Caroline with her at the Park while Layton is gone, so she’ll be run ragged as it is.”

Corbin nodded his consent. Havenworth was an easy distance from Lampton Park. He knew he could be spared now and then.

“I will feel more at ease knowing you are nearby to help with the family in my absence.”

“I would do whatever—would do anything for—” The words weren’t coming out right.

Philip seemed to understand the avowal Corbin couldn’t manage to get out intact. “I too would do anything in the world for this family.” Philip gave him a look that told him, beyond any doubt, that he had sacrificed more for his brothers and Mater than any of them realized.

Corbin couldn’t remember Philip ever turning to him for assistance with anything. Layton or Jason, even, had more often been the brothers looked to in difficulty. Corbin liked the idea that Philip trusted him—Philip, who had pulled the Jonquil family through the death of their father, had held them together through countless difficulties in the years since.

“I’ll look in on Mater,” Corbin promised.

“Thank you.” Philip immediately looked relieved. Then he smiled the way he always did when he was up to some mischief. “How are things in the neighborhood, Corbin?”

Why did Philip seem to find that question so amusing? Corbin shrugged a reply.

“You were visiting a neighbor, you said,” Philip went on. “Anyone in particular?”

Corbin couldn’t hold back a smile. Philip could be remarkably pointed. “Mrs. Bentford,” Corbin answered quietly.

“And
Mr.
Bentford?” Philip asked, studying his fingernails.

Corbin didn’t answer but looked away.

“It is she, isn’t it?” A hint of excitement entered Philip’s voice. “She is the lady you mentioned to Layton.”

“He told you?” Corbin shifted uncomfortably.

“Corbin.” Philip chuckled. “You have never once in your twenty-five years shown the slightest interest in a female, except when you were six and were in love with Bridget Sarvol for a few months, until you found out she didn’t like horses. Of course Layton told me.”

He heard no pity or laughter in Philip’s voice.

“So have you finally been introduced to Mrs. . . .
Bentford
, was it?”

Corbin nodded.

“And?” Philip pressed.

It didn’t go well.
But Corbin didn’t express the thought out loud.

“What did you talk about?”

Corbin cringed inwardly.
Talk about?
Corbin had never held an actual conversation with a virtual stranger. His business dealings were conducted as much as possible in writing.

“Oh, lud.” Philip chuckled, apparently realizing his error. “You must have done something. I can’t imagine the two of you simply sitting in silence for the space of an afternoon call.”

“Tea,” Corbin answered. “With the vicar. And his wife.”

“And during tea you . . . ?” Philip attempted to lead the conversation.

“Cut her quills,” Corbin answered under his breath.

“Cut quills?” Philip answered with obvious disbelief.

“They needed cutting.” They’d been terribly dull. He’d wanted to do something helpful.

“So now she is probably convinced you were bored out of your mind.” Philip shook his head.

“Truly?” Corbin felt uneasy all over again.

“Truly,” Philip insisted.

Corbin rose to his feet, making his way tensely to the windows of the sitting room. Did Mrs. Bentford think he’d been bored? Or unhappy? Nervous, yes. But there was a vast deal of enjoyment to be had just watching Mrs. Bentford as she went about her duties as hostess. Her grace and smile had been entrancing. Listening to her conversation had been captivating.

No, he hadn’t been bored or unhappy in the least.

“Or she may simply forget you were at her home in the first place.” Philip did not particularly ease Corbin’s mind.

He certainly didn’t want Mrs. Bentford to be as oblivious to his existence as she had heretofore been. “What do I do now?” Corbin asked no one in particular.

“Make your presence known,” Philip suggested, joining him at the window.

Corbin looked at him.
What does he mean by that?

“Sorrel and I did not get along when we first met,” Philip said. Corbin smiled—that was certainly true. “But I guarantee she didn’t overlook me. Catching a lady’s eye is half the battle, brother.”

“Just . . . just getting her attention?” It seemed too simple.

“Once she’s noticed you, she’s more likely to fall head-over-heels for you. That will never happen if you blend into the wall.”

“How?” Corbin had never captured anyone’s attention before.

Philip grinned.

Corbin got the sudden impression he would not like whatever was tossing around in Philip’s head.

The congregation grew unusually talkative just before Mr. Whittle began his sermon. Something had set the citizens of Grompton chattering, but Clara couldn’t say what.

“They sound like bees,” Edmund whispered to her not long after the conversations around them began.

Clara smiled back at him. “They certainly do.”

As the vicar’s sermon continued, a feeling of barely suppressed energy filled the air as if the worshipers were anxious to get on with their discussions.

Alice had, once again, taken it upon herself to entertain Mr. Jonquil. Clara had noticed him behind them—his head of molten gold was difficult to miss. She’d hardly needed to turn her head. The briefest of glances in his direction had identified him.

He had acted so strangely at tea a few days earlier. It seemed as if he couldn’t quit Ivy Cottage and her company fast enough. While Clara didn’t want to be warding off a suitor, she didn’t appreciate being looked down on either.

The moment Mr. Whittle closed his remarks and the services ended, the conversations erupted again. What was everyone talking about?

Clara guided the children from the chapel, hoping that whatever occupied the neighborhood would continue to do so until they could make good their escape. There would be no prayer-book ruse to rescue her this week, and she truly did not wish to be accosted. Her life and her past were for her alone and were not open to the evaluation of the curious.

Only a few steps from the door of the chapel, Alice pulled free of Clara’s grip and ran around the edge of the pressing crowd. So unexpected was Alice’s defection that Clara lost a few precious moments in stunned surprise before she and Edmund followed Alice’s path. The girl had managed to weave a bit into the crowd, making following her a little tricky.

“Mrs. Bentford,” a cringe-inducing voice greeted her.

She did not stop to converse.

Mr. Finley was often in Grompton. She had seen him importune more than one woman, preferring, as near as she could tell, those whose situations or personalities made them most vulnerable. Despite her best efforts, he had somehow sensed that in her. He followed her about if they were ever in Grompton at the same time, and he tracked her down after church when he attended. She only hoped his attentions would never go beyond bothersome.

Clara continued navigating the crowd, attempting to follow the path Alice had taken, unwilling to call out to the child and draw extra attention from those who were far too busy gossiping to take much notice of her. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was to be left alone.

“Mrs. Bentford.” Mr. Finley caught up with her once more, stepping in her line of progress and effectively stopping her in her tracks.

She forced herself to remain calm. He was too forward, too sure of himself, and too often threw himself in her way. But thus far he’d not gone beyond that. He had never raised a hand to her, hadn’t taken to verbal threats. In that respect, he was better than any of the other men who had ever been part of her life.

“You are blocking my path,” Clara told him calmly.

Edmund took refuge behind her, clutching her hand the way he did when he was worried or afraid. How Clara wished the boy had a role model, someone to teach him how to be a man, but a good one.

Mr. Finley doffed his tall beaver hat and smiled quite handsomely. Behind the benign expression, though, was the very clear belief that she should be falling at his feet, flattered at his attentions. He was too arrogant by half. “I only wished to give you good day,” he said.