She took Mr. Corbyn’s wrists and turned his hands so that they faced sideways rather than palms down. Then she positioned his thumb atop his index finger. When she’d finished, she found him staring at her rather oddly. His eyes were far more intense at this distance.
Why can’t I keep my hands off this man for more than a minute?No wonder he’d kissed her yesterday. He must have thought she was begging for it.
Hannah stepped back and pretended that she was calmly assessing his posture and not fleeing the sound of her own racing heart. She cleared her throat. “Good. Now just keep your upper body like that anytime you aren’t extending your hand to a lady. And try to keep your toes pointed down and outward when you take a step.”
“Should we try the one after the chassé?” His voice was far too determined for such a tedious chore, but Hannah couldn’t argue. If Mr. Corbyn had his mind set to it, it would be pointless to protest. He reallywasjust as stubborn as she was.
Hannah obliged by taking him through a simple waltz step and then the jeté (which Mr. Corbyn found more aggravating than the others at first, though he improved after a few tries). It was a bit amusing to have him copying her movements with such dedication. She wasn’t used to people looking to her as an authority on anything; nor was she used to Mr. Corbyn playing the part of an attentive student. He was so much more experienced and worldly than she was. It gave Hannah a secret thrill to think that she might helphimfor a change.
She was so caught up in their efforts she didn’t notice the time pass until the grandfather clock chimed the half hour. Where had Mama gone? Hannah looked around the room to find that her mother had been sitting on one of the dining chairs the whole time, watching their progress from over the top of a crystal sherry glass.
Hannah flushed. She’d let her guard down. Had she said or done anything that might not match the image of a devoted fiancée? She didn’t think so, but she’d been so absorbed in their lesson that she hadn’t been on her guard. She would have to be more careful.
“What do you think?” Hannah tried to keep her voice light.
“Better than when you started,” Mama admitted after a long sip of her sherry. “I’m glad to see you’re both taking this seriously.”
Mr. Corbyn eyed the bottle and empty glasses the maid had left on the table. They were both a little flushed from their practice.
“May I offer you a glass, Mr. Corbyn?” Mama sounded reluctant, but there was no way she could fail to show hospitality to their guest. She poured out a miserly serving of sherry, which Mr. Corbyn downed with the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.
“And me?” Hannah asked. It didn’t hurt to try.
“You may drink sherry at four o’clock in the afternoonafteryou’re married,” Mama said flatly.
This is why I’m cursed to be the only clearheaded one in the group.
Hannah turned back to Mr. Corbyn. “We should start teaching you the formations for one dance before we run out of time.”
He frowned. “We still have about nine more steps to learn, by my count.”
“Yes, but we won’t be able to teach you everything. To be honest, you can muddle your way through most of the footwork as long as you know where you’re supposed to be standing and you get there in time. Dancing is mostly just walking nicely in time to the music.”
“You cannot ‘muddle your way’ through good footwork,” her mother protested. “Skill as a dancer is what separates a real gentleman from an oaf.”
“I thought that a shallow bow was what separated a real gentleman from an oaf,” Corbyn pointed out.
Her mother clearly didn’t appreciate this remark, and Hannah judged it best to interrupt before a fresh quarrel could break out. “Mama, you have to admit that Mr. Corbyn is at a disadvantage. The other gentlemen have had years with their dancing masters where we have only five days. Our most realistic option is to pick the simplest dance to be called at the ball and ensure that he knows all the figures to it. So long as he keeps his position in time, no one will be staring at his feet to ensure his footwork is perfect.”
Mama pinched her lips, but reluctantly agreed. “Very well, but we shall need to perfectallhis steps before your wedding. This won’t be your only ball, you know.”
A trace of alarm flashed over Mr. Corbyn’s face, but Hannah spoke before he could. “Of course.”
It was no concern to anyone what she promised; they would end their engagement long before then.
* * *
Silas struggled to keep from protesting. It had taken his full resolve to learn the few steps they’d practiced this morning. How was he to keep track of even more? But Miss Williams didn’t seem worried in the least.
Because her mother will have run me off by then, Silas reminded himself. Somehow, he couldn’t seem to approach this charade with the same disregard as her. It felt wrong to keep making promises he didn’t intend to keep.
Who is it you’re worried about lying to? Surely not her mother.
“Let’s begin with the First Set of quadrilles.” Mrs. Williams strode to the dining table to fetch a dancing manual she’d set at the ready. “Now, there are several variations on this arrangement, but Thomas Wilson’s version is likely to be the most useful to us. You may adapt it at the ball if you see they’re following another.”
Silas sincerely doubted his ability to tell one version of a quadrille from another.
Why did I agree to this?It had been a point of pride to tell Miss Williams that he could learn at least one dance by Thursday—to prove that he was capable of more than she assumed—but pride came before the fall.
