Chapter 12
Twelve
Silas didn’t even remember how the rest of the afternoon passed, except that he was fairly certain he hadn’t managed to say anything witty enough to satisfy Mrs. Williams. No matter. There was no pleasing that woman.
It was her daughter who had him tied in knots.
What was he thinking? Why had he kissed her?
He had the entire carriage ride back to his lodgings to ponder these questions, staring at his “fiancée” for most of the way.
His silent observation was probably making her uncomfortable, but Silas couldn’t seem to turn away for more than a minute before he found himself drawn back to her face. What was it about her?
She wasn’t a classic beauty. He hadn’t been particularly struck by her looks upon their first meeting, but she’d seemed to grow prettier every time he saw her.
Now her plain brown eyes had become warm and encouraging.
Her nose was no longer too pointed; it was resolute.
Her lips were… Well, the only thing her lips made him think of was the way they’d tasted when he’d kissed her.
The tart hint of the lemonade mixed with the sweetness of her reaction.
He hadn’t planned that. Miss Williams had drawn it out of him the same way she’d drawn out his story, listening with a patience his own father hadn’t managed. She’d asked him what happened and she’d believed him.
Why?
That was what Silas couldn’t understand. Why should she care about what happened, when he’d already been judged and condemned? It was too late to change anything. His fate shouldn’t have mattered to her.
He was staring again.
Miss Williams’s eyes darted up to meet his, caught him looking, then fled downward once more. They’d been playing this game for the past ten minutes.
“Your bow has improved.” The grudging admission reminded Silas that Mrs. Williams was still in the carriage with them. He’d all but forgotten her. “But you need to work on your small talk.”
“Not everyone is comfortable in a crowd, Mama.”
There she went, defending him again. It wasn’t that he needed her help to deal with her mother’s criticism, but it gave him an odd feeling to know there was someone on his side.
He’d never had that before. Silas had the unsettling suspicion that he could come to need it far too much, like a drunk who couldn’t keep himself from the bottle.
He’d only just tasted a hint of her kindness, and he already wanted more.
Don’t get too used to it. It wasn’t a good idea to come to depend on Miss Williams for anything other than the two hundred pounds she’d promised him. Three hundred and twenty, if he counted what she already owed from that day he’d scared off her suitor.
“The art of conversation is a skill one can learn, like anything else in life.” Mrs. Williams turned to Silas, undeterred.
“If you are at a loss, the safest course is to ask the other person some questions and feign a great interest in the answers, until eventually you stumble on an opportunity for a good discussion. What part of the country did he grow up in, how does he know the host, does he have any children, and so forth.”
“Thank you, madam. I shall keep that in mind.”
Miss Williams was struggling not to frown, though whether her displeasure was directed at her mother’s patronizing advice or his chill tone, he couldn’t tell.
Honestly, she should be grateful that he’d managed to hold his temper this well.
When it was finally time to sabotage their engagement, he would have a few words saved up for Mrs. Williams.
“You can practice at Mrs. Brandon’s ball.”
“What ball?” What fresh hell is this? “I thought the next event was to be the supper for your husband’s arrival.”
“It was,” Mrs. Williams confirmed, “until Mrs. Brandon invited us to her ball next Thursday. This is a coup for all of us, Mr. Corbyn. I couldn’t refuse.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You don’t dance?” She looked horror-struck.
This should have been obvious to everyone. Did they think the navy kept a dancing instructor on each ship to impart a little refinement to the men between their duties?
“I also don’t dance,” Miss Williams pointed out. “So I don’t see how it will matter.”
“You don’t dance due to sheer obstinacy.” Her mother looked at her through half-lowered lids. “Whereas I presume Mr. Corbyn means to tell us that due to some defect in his education, he does not know how.”
Silas judged it better not to reply to this than to issue the retort that was on his tongue. He glanced out the window of the carriage. They hadn’t even crossed the Thames yet.
“You will call on us tomorrow and we shall do our best to teach you,” Mrs. Williams announced.
The words felt like a noose closing around his neck. “I’m otherwise engaged tomorrow,” Silas tried. He had a very pressing obligation to do absolutely anything but this.
“Then you shall have to cancel your plans. What could be more important than your future bride?”
“Don’t make me responsible for this,” Miss Williams protested, an attractive flush coloring her cheeks. “I don’t even want to attend this ball. Can’t we send our regrets?”
“It would be the height of rudeness to cancel on less than a week’s notice.”
“Mama, she invited us on less than a week’s notice. You can’t think that she really minds whether we’re there. She must have sent out her invitations a month ago.”
“Which is why it’s all the more important that we make an appearance!
” Mrs. Williams scolded her daughter. “You were a social outcast only yesterday, but now that you are engaged, you’re being given a second chance to prove there was an explanation for your behavior. It would be foolish to squander this.”
Silas looked away. Once he found an excuse to disgrace himself and end their engagement, he didn’t think her “second chance” would last too long.
It wasn’t his concern. It was what she wanted. So why did he hesitate?
He didn’t want this woman. He preferred a lover with a bit of experience, someone who knew what she liked and wouldn’t expect more than he could give.
Hannah Williams was an innocent. She was naive.
Her outrage at the story of his captain’s misdeeds had been unfeigned, as if the prospect of someone in power using their position to do harm was entirely unknown to her.
This must have been what her brother meant when he’d warned Silas that she lived a sheltered life.
It should have been irritating that another person could reach adulthood with so little understanding of human nature.
But that same innocence was what gave Miss Williams her unquestioning faith that Silas couldn’t be guilty of what everyone said about him, for no better reason than that she liked him.
Another why. Plenty of women might turn their heads to watch him pass, but Silas wasn’t sure that any of them had liked him.
He’d never had much time to know a woman well, growing up on a ship.
They were fairy-tale creatures that glided in and out of his life when he came to harbor.
Half the time, Silas couldn’t even speak their language.
If one occasionally wanted to share his bed, it was only for an evening, and only because he had a striking face.
They didn’t know anything more about him.
He hadn’t realized that he regretted that until Miss Williams asked him for his side of the story. Hadn’t realized that he’d wanted someone to care about him.
I do want her. The knowledge cloaked Silas in something like dread.
What was he supposed to do with this feeling?
He couldn’t act on it; that much was clear.
She’d chosen him for the sole reason that he was the most unsuitable man she could find.
Though if the way she’d reacted to his kiss was any indication, her opinion of his social standing didn’t keep her from wanting him in return.
The way she’d trembled and then yielded to his kiss, her hands clutching at the lapels of his morning coat…
It had been obvious what sort of power he held over her.
If he put his mind to it, Silas had no doubt he could divest Miss Williams of her virtue before the week was out.
“Tomorrow then.” Mrs. Williams seemed to have taken his prolonged silence for consent, rather than a very dangerous reflection on his ability to deflower her daughter. “Come by the house around three.”
Dancing lessons. This was not the best way to deal with his inconvenient attraction to Miss Williams.
* * *
The dancing lessons were not only for Mr. Corbyn, as Hannah discovered the following afternoon. They were also for her.
“But I know how to dance!” Hannah protested when she was summoned to the dining room to find the table and chairs had all been moved to one side and her supposed fiancé was already waiting for her. “You don’t need me for this.”
Truth be told, she wasn’t ready to face Mr. Corbyn again.
She still wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her.
Until now, she’d always thought of herself as something of a nuisance in this man’s life—she popped up and made unreasonable requests that he was only good enough to accept because he was in a state of financial desperation.
The emotion that he provoked in her might be a confusing mix of guilt, gratitude, and attraction, but the only emotion that she provoked in him was supposed to be grudging pity.
Had it been a pity kiss? It certainly hadn’t felt that way, but a lonely evening to ponder the question had left Hannah less sure of herself.
If Mr. Corbyn found her pretty (this was already a rather tenuous possibility, she was forced to acknowledge), then shouldn’t he have given some sign before now?
Paid her compliments, or sent her flowers with a coded message like the arrangements Mama was always working on?
That’s what men were supposed to do when they wanted to win a lady’s heart.