Her mother was equally unimpressed, judging from her expression.
“Is it money you’re after?” Was the woman clairvoyant? Mrs. Williams abandoned her grip on Silas’s forearm, confident that she’d found a better means to be rid of him. “I’ll give you two pounds never to darken our door again.”
“I’m not for sale,” he replied, insulted.
Never mind that he was only here because Miss Williams had already bought him. That was different. He couldn’t have explained exactly how, but it was. She didn’t look at him with scorn, for a start.
“Then whatdoyou want?” The gray-haired woman regarded him with a piercing stare.
My old life back.The answer sprang to his mind unbidden. But that wasn’t something anyone could give him. Instead, Silas replied, “I…just want Miss Williams to be happy.”
It wasn’t a response he’d fully considered before speaking. Itsounded far too sentimental. Not like him at all. But in a way, it was true.
If Miss Williams found what she was looking for, maybe she would stop asking him for help. More than that, maybe he would feel like he’d done something useful for once.
He might not be able to undo his discharge from the navy or find himself a new trade, but he could fix this young lady’s problems before he went on his way.
“What’s her favorite color?” Mrs. Williams snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What?”What has that to do with anything?
“Her favorite food? What sort of music does she like to dance to?”
Silas didn’t even have time to consider one question before Mrs. Williams volleyed a new one at him. He didn’t have the faintest idea what to say, but they were all staring, even the maid. Miss Williams tried to signal him with a wiggle of her eyebrows. Was he supposed to know what that meant?
Maybe he could reason this out.
“Um…pink?” Women liked bright, flowery colors, didn’t they? Miss Williams was frowning at his reply, but it was too late to stop now. “Cake? And…uh…” What did rich people even dance to these days? Dancing lessons hadn’t been part of his education. “The waltz.”
That was definitely the name of a dance that people did.
“Wrong on all three!” Mrs. Williams crowed in triumph.Damn it.He should have known better than to try. “You see? You don’t know the first thing about my daughter. You can’t possibly love her. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I know when I’m being hoodwinked. Admit it.”
“It’s not a trick!” Miss Williams rushed to his defense. “Idolove pink. And cake. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,Mama. My tastes have changed since I was a little girl.”
“And waltzing?” Her mother raised an eyebrow in challenge. “You hate dancing. I hear all about it anytime I try to take you anywhere.”
“That one was a trick question! You didn’t give Mr. Corbyn a real chance!”
“Enough.” Mrs. Williams had raised her voice in her frustration, prompting more than one neighbor to peer out their windows at the spectacle. “You really expect me to believe that you’re in love with this”—she wrinkled her nose in the direction of Silas, seeming to search for an alternative to the wordgentlemanbefore she settled on—“individual?”
“Yes,” Miss Williams replied immediately. Silas was spared the need to feign agreement, as no one had asked him.
“And he’s the reason you won’t consider any other suitor?”
“Yes. Exactly,” she said again. “I’m simply too much in love to give my heart to another man.”
“I suppose this means you won’t want to return to Devon.” A self-satisfied smile melted the stern line of Mrs. Williams’s mouth. “Seeing as how your beloved is here in town.”
“Oh. Er—” Her daughter couldn’t quite conceal her dismay at this turn. After a brief struggle, she squared her shoulders and bravely proclaimed, “Of course. Although I would have thoughtyouwould want to keep us apart, Mama. If you’re letting me stay in London, does this mean you’ll accept Mr. Corbyn as a suitor?”
Did they spend every day trying to outwit each other this way? It looked exhausting.
And Miss Williams might haveaskedhim before she made plans to take this ruse any further. Just how long was he supposed to play along?
Thankfully, her mother didn’t call this bluff. “No! He’s entirely unsuitable and you know it.”
“Then it seems we’re at an impasse. You can bring as many menas you like to call; none of them could make me forget Mr. Corbyn.”
