All right. There was no point in trying to make peace with him this morning. Perhaps she would do better to stick to business.
“If you don’t have any use for your new clothes, you could always sell them and take it from what I owe you. These are expensive fabrics.”
He narrowed his icy blue eyes. “I’d rather have banknotes.”
“Well so would I, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one holding the purse strings.” Hannah tipped her chin in the direction of her mother’s back. “So if you want to be paid anytime soon, you’re going to have to help me find excuses to get at those funds.”
Mr. Corbyn looked as though he might have something more to say about this—and nothing complimentary, from the storm brewing in his eyes—but Hannah’s mother called her over before he could share any unkind words.
“Which do you like best, poppet? The medium blue or the navy?”
“Oh. I—” Hannah edged forward. “Mr. Corbyn, wouldn’t you like to choose?”
“Whatever you like best…darling.” The endearment made Hannah’s heart pound, no matter that he was being sarcastic. He’d drawn out the word in a slow, deliberate rumble. Like a rough hand sliding down the line of her spine.
Hannah shivered.
Fine. If he doesn’t care, Iwillchoose for him.
She glanced at the wools that had been set out for the morning coats. The muted navy was certainly more practical, but the other choice was a vivid cobalt that seemed to shine. She could picture it on Mr. Corbyn easily. It would suit his eyes.
“This one, please.” She let her finger alight on the more striking fabric. After all, this was the only time she would ever walk into a gathering with such a beautiful man on her arm. Even if she wasn’t really going to marry him, she might like to show him off. Just a little. “Do you think you could have it ready by Friday morning?”
Hannah picked out a few flashier silks for the waistcoats next—nothing garish, just enough to give him a pop of color beneath the more understated brown frock coat, and of course an ivory waistcoat for evening wear. Occasionally she held up a fabric against Mr. Corbyn, who by this time was being measured by the tailor’s apprentice and looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the entire process.
“It’s going to look lovely on you,” Hannah assured him. She couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, stuck there awkwardly as everyone else fussed.
“I feel like I’m your doll,” he muttered darkly. Hannah’s mother was safely at the other end of the shop by this time, perusing ascots.
“Nonsense. You’re just acquiring some valuables, that’s all.” She hadn’t only chosen the fabrics that looked the prettiest—though that was certainly a factor. She’d also picked the ones that seemed expensive. Someone might be willing to pay for anything Mr. Corbyn was too stubborn to keep, though it would be a shame to see them go. He’d looked so handsome last night in his ill-fitting tailcoat that she could scarcely imagine what a properly tailored wardrobe would do for him. “By the way, I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night, but I don’t want you to spoil our engagement until after my father arrives in town.”
Mr. Corbyn looked at her sharply. “How long will that be?”
She bristled at his tone. “He couldn’t get away this week because he had plans, but he’s supposed to set out from Devon next Wednesday, so I imagine he might reach town by the following Monday if the roads are good.”
“What were his other plans?”
“A fishing trip with our neighbors,” Hannah answered reluctantly. Why should this be any concern of Mr. Corbyn’s?
“He couldn’t cancel that for his daughter’s engagement?”
“I wouldn’t expect him to. Why should he have to rush?” Whatright did Mr. Corbyn have to judge her father? It didn’t signify how quickly Papa came, so long as he got here. Mr. Corbyn was reading too much into this. “Anyway, I’m paying you enough that a few extra days shouldn’t matter,” she retorted, hoping this would put a stop to his questions.
It didn’t.
“Why do you need me to keep up the act until your father arrives? I thought your mother was the one pushing you to marry.”
“That’s none of your concern,” Hannah replied stiffly. If Corbyn made such a fuss about the timing of her father’s visit, he wasn’t likely to appreciate the merits of her plan to repair the breach between her parents. She didn’t want to explain all that to him anyway. It was her problem to solve. “But I don’t want him to cancel his trip, so please promise me you won’t execute our plan untilafterhe arrives. If you want your money, that is.”
Mr. Corbyn let out his breath in a loud huff, evidently put out by this additional delay. “As you wish, my lady.”
“I do wish you would stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Saying things that sound deferential or romantic in such a sarcastic tone.” Hannah found it was hard to maintain eye contact with Mr. Corbyn while discussing this, so she addressed her comments to his Adam’s apple instead. A far safer place to look. “You called me ‘darling’ earlier.”
“You asked me to pretend to be in love with you,” he pointed out. “I’m only trying to hold up my end. What is it you want from me, Miss Williams?”
