Chapter 9 #2
It was absurd to imagine he could ever be matched to someone like Miss Williams, trapped in so much finery that she shone like a jewel. But why did she blush? Maybe she really was taken with him, no matter how unlikely this pairing might be.
It was such an unexpected notion that he had trouble keeping his thoughts focused on what he was supposed to be doing.
“We’re so happy you could join us,” Miss Williams said.
He’d forgotten how warm and reassuring her voice was—or perhaps it only seemed that way in comparison to the frosty temperature radiating from the rest of the room.
Still, the sound did something to soothe the agitation that had plagued him all afternoon.
Silas realized he was staring, and quickly tore his gaze away.
Wait. No. He should stare. He was supposed to pretend to be in love with her, wasn’t he? In fact, he should probably force himself to sigh a bit. Or compliment her. Or something.
“You, er, you look lovely this evening. That’s a very pretty, uh, ribbon.
” Silas tried not to wince as he landed on the first object he spotted.
He sounded like an idiot. But if Miss Williams thought his delivery was ham-fisted, she didn’t give any sign.
She merely thanked him in her gentle voice and took her place on the settee.
Mrs. Williams claimed the space beside her daughter, motioning Silas to the armchair facing them, no doubt eager to maintain a safe distance between the wolf and the lamb.
The interrogation began the moment he took his seat.
“So, Mr. Corbyn, what does your father do?” Mrs. Williams paused to take a sip of her tea. “I presume he must have some occupation. Is he in the navy as well?”
That didn’t last long.
He’d hoped he would have more than a minute before he ruined things. He shot a glance to Miss Williams, who gave him a tentative smile of encouragement.
Did she believe his father was a gentleman? Would she be disappointed to learn otherwise? He could hardly lie, with her brother sitting right there. He already knew Silas was a tradesman’s son.
They’d likely all known the minute he’d walked into their house in an ill-fitting, hand-me-down coat.
He would stick to the truth then.
“No, ma’am.” Silas kept his back straight and his voice firm. “He’s a cooper. He works with my mother’s father, who owns a brewery.”
“I see.” Mrs. Williams struggled to conceal her disappointment before she spoke again in a falsely bright tone. “No matter. It speaks very well of him that he wanted a better future for you. The navy is a very respectable path.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Silas said tightly. This conversation was in danger of going the same way as his interview with Miss Danby, except that he didn’t think he was liable to get a second chance this time.
Remember why you’re doing this. You can get everything Marian and James need if you just hold your bloody tongue for a few hours.
By some act of grace, Mrs. Williams didn’t ask for the details of his inglorious exit from the navy. Perhaps her son had slipped her a word of warning beforehand. Instead, she surprised him completely.
“Have you ever considered joining the army, now that you’re, er, at liberty to do so?”
The army? Silas glanced toward Miss Williams once more. If only they could find some way to speak alone for a minute, he might know what script he was meant to follow. She’d left him fumbling in the dark. Again.
“I…hadn’t really thought about it,” he confessed.
Miss Williams’s dark-brown eyes were boring holes into him, an urgent plea cloaked in total silence. What was that supposed to mean? Did she think he could read minds?
“Well, you should think about it.” Mrs. Williams swelled up with enthusiasm at her own suggestion.
“They couldn’t keep you out on account of your leaving the navy, could they?
They’re entirely separate institutions, after all.
I should think the only thing that matters is whether you can buy a commission.
” She coughed delicately, seeing Silas hesitate.
“Perhaps your family could help you. It would be such a tremendous opportunity. A way to restore your reputation and advance in society.”
Silas clenched his teeth. If his family could have afforded a military commission, they would have done that in the first place, instead of sending him to sea.
“Mama, I’m sure Mr. Corbyn has his own plans for his future,” her daughter cut in smoothly.
Perhaps she’d sensed the tension gathering on his side of the room.
She didn’t seem to like it when people were uncomfortable.
“Eli told me that you have family visiting.” She turned to Silas with a smile. “How are they enjoying London?”
“Please don’t change the subject,” Mrs. Williams scolded. “I want to hear what Mr. Corbyn has to say for himself. If he intends to marry you, he’ll need a way to support you properly.”
If he intends to marry you. The words shouldn’t have made every muscle in Silas’s body clench. After all, he’d known there could be no other reason to invite him for dinner. But it was one thing to suspect; quite another to hear it laid out in such plain terms.
Mrs. Williams was watching him expectantly. There was a right answer here and a wrong one. He was fairly certain which category his plans to found a brewery with a pair of rebellious youngsters fell into, which left him only one thing to say.
“I’ll be sure to discuss the idea of a commission with my family. Thank you for the suggestion, Mrs. Williams.”
His first outright lie of the evening. There was no way his father could come up with that sort of money, even if they’d still been on speaking terms. And if Silas managed to come out of this evening with some extra coin, he had no intention of throwing it after his old man’s doomed fantasy of seeing him become a gentleman. He knew how that story ended.
Marian and James had a far more realistic opportunity. He would stick to his place from now on.
Mrs. Williams smiled, blithely ignorant of his deceit. He’d passed his first test.
But instead of looking pleased, her daughter bit her lip, her eyes flashing with…something.
What did I do wrong? Silas suppressed a surge of irritation. He’d come when he was summoned, put on an ill-fitting black tailcoat for her, and he’d told her mother exactly what she wanted to hear. What more could she possibly want, if none of that was enough to please her?
* * *
All Hannah wanted was for Mr. Corbyn to do or say something so offensive that her mother would declare the evening a failure and storm from the room. Was that really so much to ask?
He was ruining everything—precisely by not ruining things, that is.
Mr. Corbyn hadn’t exactly been the most polished dealer at Jane’s club. But he must be putting on his best effort tonight, for he managed to navigate the treacherous small talk before their meal without giving her mother any cause to eject him from the house.
And what was that business about joining the army? Pure nonsense! If only Hannah had been able to signal him somehow. But there had been no chance to get a word to Mr. Corbyn without Mama overhearing.
He even looked the part of a respectable dinner guest. Though his coat could do with some tailoring, he still looked very distinguished in his evening attire.
If anything, the way the clothes hugged his muscular frame a bit too snugly made her acutely aware of what a striking figure he cut.
His gorgeous hair was combed back in gentle waves that shone like brass in the gaslight.
It really wasn’t fair that a man should have hair like that.
Wait, what had she been thinking of a minute ago? Oh yes, how Mr. Corbyn was meant to be offending her mother instead of buttering her up.
Maybe he’ll do better at the meal. All he needed to do was chew with his mouth open or knock over a wineglass, and the tide would turn against him. Really, he might accomplish his spectacular failure without any effort on Hannah’s part. She was worrying over nothing.
She’d hoped to get a private word to Mr. Corbyn when the time came to go in to dine, but Mama wanted to be led in on Eli’s arm, which left Mr. Corbyn to escort both Hannah and Jane to their seats.
Drat. It seemed there was always someone hovering at her shoulder. But at least she was seated beside her supposed suitor while they dined, instead of halfway across the room from him.
He pulled out her chair for her, his hand accidentally brushing her wrist as she stepped forward to take her assigned place. Hannah drew in a swift breath at the contact. With their gloves removed for the meal, the heat of his bare skin on hers had startled her.
She sat down, too flustered to thank him for his assistance.
Don’t get distracted just because he has a pretty face. You need to be on your toes tonight.
“Where is your family from?” Mama resumed her inquiries the moment they were all seated and Molly brought out their first course, the consommé, and began to serve the sherry.
It was strange to eat a meal served so informally with a guest in the house, but Jane and Eli didn’t have the income to keep a full staff with a footman quite yet.
“Staffordshire, ma’am,” Mr. Corbyn answered. “Burton upon Trent.” That should be a point against him, seeing as how Mama was always saying that she wanted to find Hannah a husband close to home.
Then again, if Mama had gone all the way to London without Papa, there was no telling how far she might be willing to run.
“I thought I detected a northern accent. It’s very faint, though.”
“I left home young.”
“How old were you?” Hannah asked. It wasn’t only that she wanted the chance to wrest the conversation from her mother’s grip; she was also curious to know more about Mr. Corbyn. For a man who’d become her partner in duplicity, she knew precious little about him.
“Eleven.” He delivered this news as if it were perfectly ordinary, though Hannah couldn’t receive it with quite the same composure.