Chapter 11
Eleven
“Stand up straight,” Mrs. Williams hissed, as Silas handed her down from the carriage before Mrs. Godfrey’s house two days later. “No slouching.”
“I wasn’t slouching,” he protested. “I was offering you my arm.” It wasn’t his fault the woman was seven inches shorter than him.
“A gentleman should be upright as a stone pillar, even when offering his arm.”
It was all he could do not to snort. But gentlemen didn’t do that either.
Silas kept himself stone-pillar straight as he accompanied the pair of ladies up the approach to the Godfreys’ residence. Mrs. Williams was equally rigid, though her daughter was a good deal softer, both in her carriage and her manners.
Hannah Williams fit neatly against his side as she took his other arm. Her rosewater scent was so faint that Silas found himself tilting his head to catch it before he had the good sense to stop.
What are you doing?
Ever since James had put the notion in his head that Miss Williams might really be fond of him, Silas had started to notice little details about the woman that he would have rather ignored. He had a heightened awareness of her presence, as if his senses had tuned themselves to her.
“You look very well in your new clothes,” she offered.
Silas was wearing the morning coat and trousers the tailor had sent over this morning, his errand boy no doubt wondering why such fine things were going to an address in Southwark with a trio of misfits inside.
Putting on the new clothes hadn’t made him feel any more prepared for this party, though he’d noticed the way Miss Williams’s eyes had widened when their carriage arrived to collect him.
She liked what she saw.
There was that heightened awareness again. What did it matter if she liked the way he looked in his new clothes or blushed when he’d called her darling or anything else?
“Thank you.” Silas didn’t look at her as he spoke.
The more he noticed about Miss Williams, the harder it was to focus on what he was supposed to do this afternoon.
Make his introductions and make a good impression today, so that he could set it all ablaze tomorrow. Or whenever Mr. Williams arrived.
“Do you have word from your husband, madam?” he asked Mrs. Williams. “When do you expect that I might be able to ask for his blessing?”
The older woman stiffened at this question, though it should have been perfectly harmless.
“I don’t have any reason to believe that his plans have changed, so we’re still expecting him Monday after next. He would write to Eli if he’d been delayed. We’ll host a dinner for you that evening so that you might…get acquainted.”
There was something sinister in the way she paused.
Or perhaps it was only Silas’s instincts warning him off this whole scheme.
It was one thing to continue the charade he’d already started with Miss Williams—after all, what was a little extra effort for two hundred pounds?
—but it was quite another to invite the ire of the girl’s father.
He knew nothing about the man, nor how he might react if he sensed something was amiss.
“What is he like?” Silas asked.
“He’s, um… Well, he likes to hunt and fish,” Miss Williams offered brightly.
“And he also likes…” She faltered here, searching for such a long time that they arrived at the entrance to the Godfreys’ residence before she could finish her thought.
In the hubbub of the ensuing introductions, the subject slipped away from them, and Silas didn’t bring it up again.
He hadn’t failed to notice Mrs. Williams’s silence, nor the tension that had radiated from her person when her husband was mentioned.
Is he cruel to them? Miss Williams seemed to be looking forward to his arrival, but plenty of men took their anger out on their wives instead of their children. Or the boys instead of the girls. Silas’s own father had never given the strap to his sisters.
“Your bow to Mrs. Godfrey was entirely too shallow,” Mrs. Williams hissed at his side, the moment their greetings were finished and they were led into the gardens to join the other guests. “Many a gentleman owes his ruin to a shabby bow.”
Had he been worrying himself over this woman a moment ago?
If anyone in the Williams family resembled Silas’s father, it was her, not her absent husband.
Always ready with a word of criticism to let him know where he’d fallen short.
Even the subject matter of their complaints was the same!
What to wear, what to say, how deep to bow.
It reminded Silas of his last year at home, when his father had hired a tutor to instruct him in deportment, hopeful this would help ingratiate his son to the officers once he was a cabin boy.
He’d wanted regular updates on Silas’s progress, growing impatient whenever he forgot something. Do you think I’m paying for my own amusement, boy? he would bellow. This is important. Best get it through that thick skull of yours if you ever want to make something of yourself.
Except that he hadn’t been satisfied with Silas’s success either.
Even once he’d begun to improve, Silas’s father seemed just as angry.
Think you’re too good for your own family?
he’d once snapped when Silas asked why they didn’t have as many forks on their table as the place settings that Mr. Dupont had made him memorize.
Was this going to be the same way? Mrs. Williams harping at him if he failed, and her daughter harping at him if he succeeded?
Silas pushed the memory away. There was no use dwelling on the past. None of these people were ever going to see him again, once he got his money.
He would go into business with Marian and James, where he belonged, and he would never repeat the mistake of reaching too high.
He shouldn’t care what anyone else thought of him.
The garden was an impressive size for a house in town, which was no doubt the reason their hosts had wanted to show it off.
It was a large space that ran the length of five row houses in a shared courtyard, with several paved paths running around the border and crisscrossing through the middle.
A large fountain dominated the center, while the various divisions created by the paths were devoted to different themes.
There were rosebushes in one section, lavender in another, and shrubs that had been carved into the shapes of various animals guarding the entrance.
On the sections holding nothing but trimmed lawn, someone had set up games of ninepin for the guests.
Most of them were just arriving, but the event already had the makings of a large gathering.
Perhaps forty or fifty people and quickly growing.
“Shall we explore the gardens?” Silas invited Miss Williams, hoping for a way to postpone the inevitable.
“That sounds lovely,” she agreed. She looked about as daunted by the crowd as he was.
But her mother crushed their hopes immediately. “It’s impolite to stick to the company of those you arrived with, without properly greeting the other guests. Come along. We’re going to make the rounds. And remember to bow properly this time.”
Silas found himself ushered toward a particularly large cluster of people on the lawn.
Mrs. Williams used the walk down to whisper a last bit of advice into his ear, apparently convinced that he couldn’t be trusted to do anything on his own.
“You must take care to say a few witty things to everyone, but never to broach a subject that might divide the guests or give offense. If you cannot think of anything witty, it is better to hold your tongue than to say something foolish.” Mrs. Williams gave Silas an appraising look that let him understand she considered the latter possibility a serious risk.
“That’s Mrs. Brandon up ahead, the one with the cleft lip. Only take care not to mention it.”
“I had absolutely no intention of mentioning it.” Silas spoke through gritted teeth. Did she imagine that anyone who hadn’t gone to Eton had been raised by wolves?
“Mrs. Brandon, how are you?” Mrs. Williams’s voice grew warm and sunny as she turned her attention to her friend.
“Have you met my daughter’s fiancé, Mr. Corbyn?
Engaged two months ago, in fact. A love match.
You can imagine my great surprise once I learned of their intentions.
And joy, of course. Surprise and joy.” She paused only long enough to draw breath. “Mr. Corbyn, this is Mrs. Brandon.”
Was he supposed to smile, when Mrs. Williams had been insulting his intelligence only a few seconds before?
“A pleasure to meet you,” he managed, with a bow that was precisely deep enough.
When he rose back up. Miss Williams squeezed his arm in reassurance.
The sudden pressure sent a jolt through his chest. He hadn’t expected her to notice how difficult he found this. He’d never told her anything about his childhood, or about his father’s hopes that he might one day find himself invited to exactly such a party as this.
She couldn’t possibly know how Silas felt when he walked in here and realized that this was the closest he would ever come to achieving that dream.
He’d worked so hard to earn each promotion, telling himself that even if it took him twice as long as the gentlemen’s sons, in time he would accomplish what he was meant to.
But in the end, the only way he could reach high society was to cheat his way in with a false engagement and a few borrowed clothes.
His supposed fiancée didn’t know any of that. She wasn’t trying to reassure him, she was probably only reminding him to give her arm back, now that he’d escorted her to the group.
Silas released her, embarrassed by his own assumptions. Why was he looking for understanding from Miss Williams when there was none? Stop thinking of her that way. This is foolish.