As You Are (20 page)

Clara grasped almost desperately at the window sill. How she hated reliving the years she’d spent under the tyranny of the Bentford family. Was it any wonder she’d so naturally assumed the worst about Corbin?

“If something were to happen to me, there would be no one to care for my children.” Clara rushed through the words. “They would find themselves in a poorhouse or an orphan asylum.” She was crying in earnest now, her worst fears verbalized.

Corbin came and stood beside her at the window, facing her. “Clara.” Though he spoke her name quietly, something in his tone made her shiver, not with fear or apprehension but at the tone of authority she heard in his voice. “Do you truly believe I would allow Edmund and Alice to be sent to any such place?”

“I hoped not,” she whispered without looking up at him. “But I couldn’t ask you—”

“You didn’t have to,” he replied.

She believed him. Immediately. “If . . . if I am forced to return to Bentford Manor, I cannot take the children, Corbin. I know what he’ll do to them. I know the pain he will happily and repeatedly subject them to.”

“Them and you,” Corbin reminded her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. But if I can save them from that, I can endure it myself. Can they stay here with you if I am forced from Ivy Cottage?” She couldn’t phrase the question as
when
she was forced to leave, though she knew that would be more accurate.

“I . . . We won’t allow that to happen, Clara.” He took her hand once more. “Whatever it takes, we’ll fix this.”

She couldn’t manage a reply. “Thank you again for not abandoning me to all of this. No one has ever stood by me before. No one has ever cared what happened to me.”

“Someone cares now, Clara.” His look was so intent she couldn’t help but believe him.

She joined her free hand with the one he held, clasping his hand between hers. The children were sleeping, their world for once peaceful and safe. What would she have done without Corbin in their lives? He had stood by her, supported her through the past days.

Though he had never said he loved her, never expressed that sentiment, she knew he cared. She cherished that, treasured it. Their disparate state might prevent anything greater from coming out of it, but she would cherish the connection they did have.

“Do you ride?” he asked unexpectedly.

She turned to look at him. “Horses?”

He chuckled lightly. “Yes, horses.” His blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. Corbin was ridiculously handsome with a smile on his face.

She managed a half smile of her own, wiping a lone tear with her hand. “I haven’t ridden since we left Bentford Manor.”

“Do you have a riding habit?”

Clara nodded. “Provided it was brought over from Ivy Cottage.”

“I am certain it was.” He still hadn’t released her hand, and she wasn’t fighting to be freed. “I am . . . There is . . . You—”

He stopped suddenly, a hint of color tinting his face. He was flustered.

Heavens
, Clara thought,
he
is
shy. Why did I never see it before?

He was muttering to himself as he often did when stumbling over words. Again, she wondered how she’d missed that connection. She’d always assumed he was telling himself how displeased he was. But that wasn’t it at all. He only did that after fumbling over his words. It was clearly his way of regaining his composure. How could she have been so blind?

“There is a mare in the stables I think you would . . . would enjoy riding.” He took another breath. “She’s well trained. And Elf would appreciate a ride too.”

“Elf is your mount,” Clara said, remembering Edmund telling her so several times.

“I . . . Will you ride with me?”

She heard the uncertainty in his voice as he made the request, and her heart jumped inside her. All this time, he really had simply been shy. She’d misinterpreted his aloofness. That lightened her heart in a way nothing else could have.

“What about the children?” Clara asked.

“We can take them to the nursery.” He seemed anxious for her reply.

She nodded her agreement. “A ride would be splendid.”

An orphan asylum? The poor house?
Did Clara really think him so heartless as to allow the children to go to any such place? The memory of those words haunted Corbin as he waited at the front door for Clara.

She’d spoken as if convinced she’d be hanged or transported. Corbin clenched and unclenched his fists. He wouldn’t allow it. He would take Clara out of the country if he had to.

It was no wonder she’d looked so painfully tired. With such a weight on her shoulders, she likely wasn’t sleeping. He probably ought to have insisted she go to her room and rest instead of accompanying him on a ride. But he couldn’t help thinking she needed distraction every bit as much as she needed rest.

The children had hardly stirred when they’d laid them on their beds in the nursery. A nap would do them good. The two would, with any luck, begin sleeping through the night once more, which meant Clara might too.

“It is still creased, I am afraid.” Clara interrupted his thoughts as she came hurrying down the stairs, smoothing the front of her riding habit. “I haven’t laid it out in more than a year.”

She was a vision. The green of her riding habit brought a reddish hue to her hair and made her emerald eyes all the more vivid. Her hurried descent had brought a hint of color back to her cheeks. For the first time since Mr. Bentford’s arrival in Nottinghamshire, Clara didn’t look burdened.

Riding had been a very good idea.

Corbin motioned for her to precede him through the door. Outside, the sun shone, and a light breeze ruffled the lawn and trees. It was a wonderful day for a ride. Clara smiled at him, and the day was suddenly perfect. She seemed more comfortable with him than she had ever been before. He would need to tread lightly, be careful not to overstep himself.

“I hope this mare is not too docile,” Clara said. “I have not had a good, bruising ride since I was a schoolgirl.”

“A bruising ride?” Corbin raised his eyebrows. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her riding neck-or-nothing. “You want a dangerous mount?”

“Do you have a horse that is dangerous?” Clara asked, interest evident in her eyes.

Corbin nodded. “Devil’s Advocate. Philip’s mount.”

“The great black one?”

Corbin nodded. How had she known that? They hadn’t reached the stables yet.

“Edmund is in awe of a great black horse that he, apparently, sees with regularity here.”

“That would be the dangerous one.” Corbin smiled. “Only Philip and I have ever ridden him.
Successfully
ridden him.”

“Then I have no desire to make the attempt,” Clara assured him.

Corbin came to a sudden conclusion. “Whipster.” She looked up at him in obvious confusion. “A stallion,” he said. “He’s more than . . . He has more than a decade behind him but still has some fire left. Though not so much that he’ll unseat you.”

“That sounds perfect.”

They reached Whipster’s stall quickly. The horse was all but retired now, reserved for the occasional jaunt about Havenworth.

“He is beautiful.” Clara watched the roan, which stood still and peaceful.

“My father gave him to me,” Corbin said. “About three years before he died. He was only . . . Whipster was only a colt then.”

“So you raised him?”

Corbin nodded. The Lampton Park grooms had done most of the raising, as he was still at Eton. But the horse had been Corbin’s responsibility, one he’d taken very seriously.

“And now you have an enormous stable full of horses to raise.” Clara’s gaze followed the long line of stalls. “Edmund would love such a thing.”

“And he would do a fine job of it,” Corbin answered. “He has been a joy to have here. He works hard, and he loves the animals.”

Clara rubbed Whipster’s nose, clearly taking to the old stallion. “I cannot thank you enough for allowing Edmund to work here. Knowing you has changed him—for the better.”

The praise brought a blush to Corbin’s face. He wondered if he’d ever outgrow that tendency. At twenty-six, it didn’t seem likely.

“Do you want me to saddle Elf, Mr. Jonquil?” Jim asked, stepping up to the stall.

“Yes, and a sidesaddle for Whipster.”

Jim nodded and fetched the saddles.

“You are a sweet one, aren’t you?” Clara cooed to Whipster. The old stallion nickered in response. Clara smiled adoringly.

“Whipster likes you,” Corbin said.

She turned that same smile on him. “And I like him. I like him very much.”

Corbin had always dreamed of finding a lady who loved horses. Watching Clara gently interact with the one animal in the stables that meant the most to him, Corbin lost a little more of his heart to her.

A few minutes later, Jim returned to guide Whipster from his stall. Clara walked alongside Corbin but watched the animal she’d come to adore so quickly. Corbin could easily grow used to moments like this one. Clara at his side.

They reached the paddock, and Jim quickly saddled Whipster. The stable hands had neglected to bring a mounting block for Clara, and Corbin glanced expectantly at Jim. The man smiled back at him, grinned, really. It took but a moment to understand he was being conspired against, though the staff likely thought they were plotting
with
him. There was but one way for a lady to mount her horse without a block—someone had to assist her.

He cleared his throat, willing his face not to redden further as he turned to face Clara. “It seems the staff has neglected your mounting block.”

She glanced in the direction the block ought to have been, then returned her gaze to him. “They are likely not accustomed to needing one. I do not imagine you ride out with many ladies.” Her expression seemed to almost freeze as an unmistakable hesitancy entered her eyes. “Do you?” she asked. “Ride with many ladies?”

The redness he had feared a moment earlier threatened to erupt at any moment. He shook his head but did not answer out loud. Other than Mater, he had never ridden with any lady.

A blush touched Clara’s cheeks. Corbin thought he saw relief in her features. Though she’d fled from him after that unforgettable kiss, he could not help thinking now that she was not so very indifferent to him. “I can send the staff for a block. Or—” He swallowed against a sudden lump. “Or I can assist you.”

He wasn’t sure which answer he hoped for or dreaded more. If she allowed his assistance, he’d be permitted to touch her again. Happy as such a circumstance would be, he’d probably shake like a leaf. But if she refused his offer, he’d not be able to explain away her decision as anything but a rejection. He stood quite still and waited.

“I have not ridden in some time,” she said, giving no hint as to her inclination. “I’m as likely as not to fall right back off.”

Though she affected a light tone, Corbin detected a little nervousness beneath the words. “I’ll not let you fall,” he assured her.

She watched him intently as if searching for something. The fear he’d heard in her voice earlier when she’d spoken about the children’s fate struck him anew. Life had obviously taught her not to depend on anyone, least of all a man. Even mounting a horse seemed a nerve-racking exercise in trust.

“I promise you,” Corbin said, “I’ll not let you be hurt.” He hoped she understood he referred to more than merely helping her into her saddle.

“Sometimes that cannot be prevented,” she said, her tone heavy. “All we can do is hide and hope the danger doesn’t find us.”

She referred to Mr. Bentford, he would wager. She had been hiding from him, and just as she said, he had found her.

Corbin stepped closer, desperate to know how he might wipe the worry from her eyes. She didn’t back away from him. He took her hand in his, the simple touch setting his heart pounding. He knew he ought to say something, but he’d never been one for words. So he stood there with her hand in his, unsure if she understood what he wished he could convey.

Whipster nudged Clara’s shoulder with his nose. She glanced quickly at the horse, then gave Corbin an uncertain smile. “I believe he is growing impatient with us.”

Corbin nodded.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me up?” she asked.

“Not at all.” Even the simple phrase proved difficult to produce.

He cupped his hands for her foot and gently but firmly gave her the needed lift. While she situated and balanced herself, Corbin remained at Whipster’s side, determined to be there should Clara need him.

Clara breathed something of a sigh of relief. She looked around her, a hint of a contented smile creeping across her face. “A moment or two in motion and I believe I shall quite have the knack of it again.”

Corbin mounted as well, and they set off at a leisurely pace. He watched Clara as they rode. Despite her earlier concerns, she showed no signs of being ill at ease. She sat her horse with a natural grace and agility. Perhaps they might undertake a swifter pace before the ride was over. He had always found a cathartic release in letting his horse have its head and feeling the rush of wind against his face.

At the moment though, he simply enjoyed her company. She did not speak much, commenting now and then on the scenery or on Whipster. Corbin offered little beyond a word or two in response, something that did not seem to bother her. She didn’t push him to rattle on and on as Harold had suggested he do, nor to heavy-handedly direct their outing as Jason might have suggested. Neither did she object to his subdued choice of riding attire. He felt peaceful with her as they rode, not constantly wondering if he ought to be or act differently than simply who he was.

They ambled across the back grounds, far from the noise of the stables. Before Clara had moved to Ivy Cottage, this had been Corbin’s favorite place at Havenworth. Upon her arrival, it took second place to the copse of trees that led to her home.

“I am afraid I would get little done if I had a horse as fine and a view as tempting as this.” Clara sighed, looking around her.

Corbin would give her all the horses she wished and free rein of the entire property in an instant. He wanted nothing more than to have her at Havenworth. He’d realized in the brief moments he’d thought Clara’s
husband
had come to Ivy Cottage just how desperately he wanted her to be his wife, that he would give anything to have her with him always. But he couldn’t simply say that. The words would never come out whole. Neither could he say with any certainty how his admission would be received. He thought she cared for him, perhaps even harbored some tender feelings. But could she grow to love him, the rather useless Jonquil? He doubted it.