“That’s enough,” Mrs. Williams said abruptly, startling Silas from his thoughts. “I think you’ve got it.”
Without any music to guide them, they didn’t stop at exactly thesame moment. Miss Williams came to a halt one step before Silas, then wobbled uncertainly when he kept moving. He tightened his grip on her waist to steady her, his blood heating, before he released her and stepped back as he was meant to.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“It was my fault. I stopped too sharply.” Miss Williams was looking at her feet, suddenly flustered. “You did very well.”
Silas tried not to swell at this praise. He wasn’t some foppish peacock, living for the moment a woman looked his way. It made no difference if he secured Miss Williams’s good opinion before she paid him his due and flitted back out of his life. He would get his money either way.
This did little to explain why Silas accepted when Mrs. Williams pressed her copy of Wilson’s dancing manual into his hands and instructed him to study as much as he could before the ball on Thursday. Nor could he account for the stubborn resolve that had him flipping through the pages on the carriage ride back to James and Marian’s lodgings. It was probably impossible, but he wanted to learn it well enough to muddle through a few dances without making an ass of himself. If every other man in the ballroom could manage it, why shouldn’t he?
It was the most useless sort of desire, but Silas couldn’t seem to help himself. He was trapped in a cage of his own making. Even if Miss Williams was meant to be finished with him soon, he wanted to prove himself before the end. Starting with this ball.
Thirteen
Mrs. Brandon’s ball was the first event of its kind that Hannah had attended without a knot of dread in her stomach. What a difference it made to know that she wouldn’t have to fend off a single suitor tonight! She normally spent her time huddled up with Annabelle, or whichever friendly face she was fortunate enough to find, trying to avoid eye contact with eligible men until her mother pried her forcibly away and pressed her into the acquaintance of some third-rate fortune hunter.
But tonight would be different! With Mr. Corbyn there to protect her from any unwanted attention, Hannah would be free to enjoy herself however she wished, without any thought of matchmaking.
She wasn’t even sure what she would do. This was the only time since her coming-out that she would spend an evening in mixed company without a defensive strategy. It was an entirely novel situation.
She dressed with particular care, fishing through her closet for something worthy of the occasion. Hannah normally didn’twantto make herself look fetching, lest it help her mother’s efforts, so shehadn’t bothered to bring any of her favorite gowns with her from Devonshire. Now she rather regretted that decision.
I wish I’d known in advance that I’d be attending a ball with my unaccountably handsome pretend fiancé.
She solicited Jane’s opinion, and together they finally settled on a teal blue silk that Hannah had considered a bit too plain for the occasion, but which Jane helped her elevate with a lace shawl and a series of hairpins that made it look as though she’d strung pearls through her braided bun.
“I wish you were coming,” Hannah lamented. Much as she was looking forward to an evening of freedom, she wasn’t entirely confident how she and Mr. Corbyn would be received at such a formal event. Some reinforcements might have been welcome.
“I’m needed at the club tonight.” Jane offered her an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Just before she went down, Hannah remembered to put on her best necklace so that she could pretend it was an engagement present from Mr. Corbyn if Mrs. Brandon asked again.
There. Now she was ready. Hannah looked herself over one last time in the mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Even done up to her best, she couldn’t hope to match Mr. Corbyn. He had the sort of face that turned heads in a crowd, while hers faded into the shadows. Would people think them silly together?
Never mind that. Worrying won’t change it.
Hannah forced herself to turn away and went downstairs to wait for their carriage to return. Mama had sent the coachman ahead to collect Mr. Corbyn while they finished dressing, seeing as he was in the opposite direction from Mrs. Brandon’s Mayfair town house.
When he finally arrived, Hannah felt inexplicably nervous. It was too dark inside the coach at this hour to get a good look at Mr. Corbyn, but she imagined that she could feel his eyes on her as hemurmured a polite “good evening.” No one spoke much on the short ride over. There was tension in the air, though Hannah couldn’t tell who was causing it. Surely this event was no more momentous than anything else they’d done?
Mama seemed to read her mind. “There is no greater test of a gentleman’s mettle than a ball,” she opined gravely.
NowHannah was fairly certain most of the tension was coming from Mr. Corbyn’s side of the carriage, if it hadn’t been before.
“I’m sure everything will be fine.” She repeated Jane’s earlier prediction like a talisman. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
No one seemed to find this statement as encouraging as Hannah had intended it. She winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tempt fate.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Corbyn murmured. “I speak without thinking all the time.”
Hannah thought she could hear the smile in his voice as he echoed the declaration he’d made at their first meeting. It seemed so long ago now, but she hadn’t forgotten. From the very beginning, he’d sent her his quiet reassurance. They were in this together.
Once they arrived, Mr. Corbyn got out first and handed Hannah down, his palm firm and warm even through the layer of his evening gloves. He set his free hand on her waist to steady her as she descended, though she hadn’t stumbled. Surely she was imagining the way his fingertips lingered before he turned back to the coach to assist her mother. Reading meaning into commonplace gestures.
It was only once they reached the lanterns lining the approach to the Brandons’ house that Hannah finally got a good look at Mr. Corbyn.
My goodness.It had been one thing to see him in the fine new clothes they’d had made for the garden party the other day, and quite another thing to see him in full evening dress. He wore the ivory waistcoat that Hannah had selected, with a matching bow tie framedbetween the smooth, black lapels of his tailcoat. This one fit him perfectly, skimming his muscular frame with an expert cut. He even had the new silk top hat that Mama had insisted on. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen fit to follow her advice about the haircut. His golden waves were smoothed into place, tamed but unharmed.
