“Oh.”Why didn’t I think of that?She couldn’t very well say that he hadn’t bought one yet, if Mama was spreading the story that their engagement was already two months old. She should have thought to rescue some relic from her jewelry box that could pass as a love token.
“It’s too fine to wear to an afternoon party,” Mama cut in, with a speaking look to Mr. Corbyn, who was doing his best to pretend he couldn’t see her.
Mrs. Brandon seemed to notice that something was amiss, for she watched Hannah’s “fiancé” with a questioning air.
Hannah cleared her throat delicately. “Is anything wrong, m-my love?” She stumbled over the unfamiliar endearment. “You don’t seem like your usual, sunny self.”
He finally deigned to look her way, an unspoken challenge in his eye. “I’m sure I’m as sunny as ever, darling. How is Miss Annabelle doing?”
What had Miss Annabelle to do with anything? Was he put out that she’d gone off alone? It had only been for a few minutes; certainly nothing worth making a fuss over in front of the other guests.
“Quite well. She extends her congratulations.” Annabelle wouldforgive the lie. Particularly once all of this was all over and she learned that Hannah wasn’t really getting married.
The conversation lapsed into an awkward silence. Mr. Corbyn looked supremely uncomfortable. Though he was trying to stand at attention, his thumb was running over his index and middle fingers mechanically, in a repetitive motion he didn’t seem to realize he was making. He must be more nervous than he let on.
It isn’t easy to be the newest face at the party.Hannah still remembered how uneasy she’d felt in her debut season. And she had the advantage of extensive preparation, while Mr. Corbyn had been thrust into it with a week’s notice. How did he feel about all this?
“Would you please take me to see the roses?” she asked, remembering his earlier attempt to avoid socializing. “I should love to go before the path gets too crowded.”
For a moment, it looked like Mr. Corbyn might refuse, but then he extended his arm without a word and she slipped her hand through the opening to link their bodies once more.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brandon,” he said with a curt nod.
Mama must have felt that Mr. Corbyn had put in enough time to deserve a respite, for she let them go with a warning: “Don’t be too long. I want to introduce you to a few more friends before we leave.”
It was amazing what a difference the promise to marry had wrought. Only last week, Mama would have sooner died than let Hannah stroll through the hedges with a man.
Not that there was much risk to her reputation at a garden party in broad daylight.
“Is everything really all right?” she asked, once they were free from eavesdroppers. “You seem like something is troubling you.”
“I’m fine.” His voice was clipped. “This just isn’t the sort of party I’m ordinarily invited to. That’s all.”
Even through the silk fabric of her gloves and the wool of Mr. Corbyn’s sleeve, Hannah could feel the tension in his forearm. Like a spring coiled too tight.
“Are you angry with me for going off to see Miss Annabelle?” she guessed. “I’m sorry I left you alone, but I haven’t been able to see anyone else in weeks.”
“I’m not a child. I don’t need you to keep me on leading strings.”
“No,” Hannah agreed, “but I suppose it wasn’t very considerate of me not to help you through the introductions when it’s my fault you’re here. I’ll stay with you from now on.”
“If you like,” Corbyn muttered. Though he tried to sound indifferent, Hannah thought he relaxed a bit.
She let their conversation lapse into silence, trying to read Mr. Corbyn’s mood. He was a difficult man to know. It seemed everything that she’d learned about him thus far had been obtained in accidental snippets.
Still, even if he was mostly a mystery to her, Hannah had to admit that it was thrilling to walk around the garden party with the most handsome man here on her arm. Normally she spent her time relegated to the corners of these events, trying to avoid attention until she could escape back to her guest bedroom at Jane and Eli’s house. This was the first time she could walk with her head held high—safe from her mother’s machinations and happy in her present company.
“Do you want some refreshment?” She slowed their step as a waiter came by with a plate of almond biscuits and glasses of lemonade. The food was designed to be easy to eat with gloves on, and Hannah popped the tiny treat into her mouth in a single bite to avoid the risk of any crumbs. “Here. Go on.”
She took a second one to offer Mr. Corbyn, who eyed the treat suspiciously.
When he didn’t make any move to take it from her hand, she brought the biscuit to his lips.
The instant she did, Hannah recalled herself. What had possessed her to be so bold? She’d been so carried away by the thrill of appearing on the arm of Mr. Corbyn that she’d overstepped the limits of their arrangement.
Hannah froze, her gloved fingers a scant inch from Corbyn’s lovely mouth. Could she still pull back or was it already too late? It would be so embarrassing if anyone saw him snub her publicly.
Mr. Corbyn must have been thinking the same thing, for he parted his lips and took the almond biscuit from her fingertips, barely touching them. The curve of his Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed.
