Chapter 10 #2
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?
” What right 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 until after he 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?”
“It’s the sarcasm I don’t like,” Hannah tried to explain, feeling more flustered by the second. “If you keep speaking to me that way, people are going to notice that it’s a hoax.”
“Are you asking me to call you ‘darling’ like I mean it?” The movement of Mr. Corbyn’s throat told Hannah that he’d swallowed. Of course, this made her look up, which was a terrible mistake.
He was staring right at her. That piercing blue that threatened to swallow her whole.
When he spoke again, his voice was scarcely above a whisper. So soft that it seemed to brush against the rise and fall of her nervous breath in a slow waltz. “Like this…darling?”
She never should have said anything. This was far worse than sarcasm.
Even though she knew he was still mocking her, the gentle endearment brushed over her body like a caress.
Hannah couldn’t move a muscle, her heart pounding in her ears.
How could he make her senses dance like puppets on his string when she knew it was all an act?
“We must do something about that hair.”
“Oh!” Hannah nearly jumped out of her skin. How had Mama crept up on them so quickly? Had she overheard anything incriminating? She couldn’t have, or she wouldn’t be speaking with such a casual air.
“It’s far too long. Once we’ve finished here, why don’t you go to the barber while we get you a new top hat?”
“We’re not cutting his hair!” Hannah protested, her voice shaking.
How could Mama suggest such a thing? It would be like chopping up the golden fleece to make a pair of socks. Sheer butchery.
“Of course we are. He needs to look like a gentleman, not a highwayman.”
“He doesn’t look like a highwayman. He looks perfect.”
Oh no. Had she really just said that aloud? Mr. Corbyn’s lip twitched, the only sign of amusement to break through his icy exterior since the morning started.
Hannah’s face grew so hot, she was sure that she was about to combust. Mama fixed her with a long stare before she finally grumbled, “We’ll see about a haircut later.”
If Hannah was being tested, there was no doubt she’d performed convincingly just there.
A touch too convincingly for her own dignity, but never mind that. Maybe she could persuade Mr. Corbyn that she was only pretending to love his hair, the same way he was only pretending to love her.
Perhaps he had a point about how long it was taking her father to come to town. Every day that she passed with Mr. Corbyn made it more difficult to tell which of her feelings were part of their act and which were true. It was far safer to get this over with quickly, before it got too confusing.