Chapter 12 #2
Corbyn had been nothing but aloof with her.
Kind, perhaps, but distinctly aloof. How could he have kissed her until she was desperate and eager to surrender to him?
How could he have held her that way, as if he never intended to let go?
Were men simply able to summon that kind of passion for any lady, or did it mean more? Perhaps he only enjoyed the sport.
But there had been a moment right before the kiss when something real had passed between them. Hannah didn’t think she’d imagined that.
“Mr. Corbyn needs a partner,” Mama admonished her. “Honestly, Hannah, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want to spend time with your fiancé. But that’s absurd, of course.”
Hannah stiffened. “I’m very happy to spend time with Mr. Corbyn. I just don’t dance very well, that’s all.”
She didn’t care for how closely her mother was watching her as she hurried forward to take his outstretched hands. The moment they made contact, even through the shield of their gloves, Hannah found her pulse racing.
When she looked into Mr. Corbyn’s cerulean eyes, he was as inscrutable as ever.
Perhaps he wasn’t even thinking about their kiss.
It must not be any great event for him; he’d probably kissed plenty of girls.
But Hannah had no prior experience to inure her to its appeal, and she found that the most terrible longing overtook her when she thought of it.
She hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night until very late. She’d lain awake reliving that moment, desperate for some sort of release from the hold Corbyn had over her, until she’d finally run her hands over her body again and again while imagining it was him there.
This was not a good way to keep their arrangement uncomplicated.
“You don’t need to know all of the dances,” Mama began. “Mastery of a small number of basic steps will ensure that you are ready for any ball. We shall begin with the chassé, then move on to the allemande, the fleuret, the waltz traveling step, of course, the chassé setting step—”
“Pardon me,” Mr. Corbyn cut in. “What exactly do you consider a small number of steps to be?”
“Do not interrupt.” She flicked her fan through the air just before Mr. Corbyn’s nose. “But to answer your question: about a dozen.”
“A dozen isn’t a small number.” He sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth. There. He’s back to being annoyed. It was a more familiar, far less confusing state of affairs. “It’s a dozen.”
“Which is small considering that it shall give you mastery over nearly every dance you are likely to encounter.”
Hannah confided to Mr. Corbyn, “What my mother isn’t telling you is that the steps aren’t even the hard part. It’s remembering what order they go in.”
“May I leave?” he replied.
“No. You may not.” Mama stomped her foot. “You are both so obstinate. I hate to imagine what your lovers’ spats shall look like. Now, eyes on me. We begin the chassé with a temps levé.”
“We begin what with a what?” Corbyn scowled at her in utter confusion.
“The temps levé is just a small hop. It’s not complicated, I assure you.”
“Why don’t you just call it a small hop, then?”
His voice rose slightly with each question, and Mama raised hers even more in response, until she was practically shouting. “Because civilized Englishmen speak French, Mr. Corbyn. Have you really no education at all?”
Hannah stepped between them swiftly. “Why don’t we break for refreshments?”
While the simmering hostility in the room boded well for the eventual demise of their engagement, she couldn’t let it boil over quite yet. They still had to get Papa to town.
“We haven’t even done the first step!” Mama pressed her hands to her brow. “You two shall be the death of me. We are not leaving this room until one of you can do a chassé.”
Oh, very well. Hannah lifted her skirts ever so slightly to expose her ankles.
“Temps levé, one foot forward, close the step, leading foot forward again, now hop as your following foot closes and you’re ready for the next temps levé.
” She demonstrated in time with her words, while Corbyn watched her feet doubtfully.
When she’d finished, she turned back to her mother.
“There. Now one of us has done a chassé.”
“I meant the other one.” Mama eyed Mr. Corbyn expectantly.
He emitted a strangled sigh. “Which foot am I supposed to lead with?”
“The right.” Hannah executed the step for him again, this time a little more slowly. His eyes were fixed on her movements, which he reproduced clumsily a moment later.
“No, no, no,” Mama scolded. “Don’t look at your feet. Your back must be straight and your arms should be gracefully rounded.”
“Couldn’t I keep my back straight after I learn the step?
” Corbyn executed the chassé a second time, this time keeping his back perfectly rigid.
It would have been nearly passable if the expression on his face weren’t so foreboding.
No one wanted a dance partner who looked like he was about to choke down a spoonful of castor oil.
“I said gracefully rounded. Your elbows are pointing outward like a pigeon flapping.”
“I think I’ve done just about all the chassé-ing I can manage this morning,” Corbyn growled.
“A small break!” Hannah pleaded. “And we shall return refreshed. Mr. Corbyn, why don’t you accompany me for a turn about the room?”
“So long as we’re walking.”
While her mother rang for the maid to bring in something to drink, Hannah whispered to Corbyn quickly. “It’s only dancing. Please endure it for an hour or two. I don’t want you provoking my mother until after my father arrives in town, remember?”
“She’s provoking me,” he hissed. “She won’t stop harping on every flaw.”
“Imagine how I feel. At least you may return home when the lesson is done.”
This silenced Mr. Corbyn, though Hannah regretted her hasty words a moment later.
She shouldn’t be speaking so freely about her family with an outsider.
What was it about Mr. Corbyn that made her feel that she could confide in him?
It must come from sharing a secret. Working together to fool her mother had given Hannah a false sense of intimacy, and now she kept forgetting herself.
She smoothed over her lapse in a calmer voice. “You were doing perfectly well. It would be easier for you if we could take our time instead of rushing through everything at once.”
“You recall that we’re attending a ball in less than a week?”
Goodness, is he actually worried about that?
“I don’t expect you to dance with me. By the time we’re finished here, Mama will see that it’s hopeless.
” When Mr. Corbyn tensed, she quickly added, “I don’t mean that as an insult.
No one could learn how to dance in so little time.
It simply isn’t possible, but we’re humoring her to keep the peace for a few more days, agreed? ”
Oh dear. Hannah hadn’t meant to offend him. Why must he take each task so seriously when they both knew it was an act?
“Not agreed.” Corbyn narrowed his eyes. “What are we doing at a ball if we don’t dance? Won’t it make a poor impression before you’re ready?”
“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I never thought we would dance in the first place.”
“Maybe I could learn one.” Of all the things to fall from Mr. Corbyn’s mouth, this had to be the most unexpected.
Perhaps even more than their kiss. After all, Hannah could understand why kissing felt good, while dancing had never brought her anything but frustration.
Why on earth should he want to do it, except out of some perverse desire to prove that he could?
But Hannah wasn’t going to be the one to tell him no. He got tetchy about that sort of thing.
She brought their walk about the room to a halt and motioned for Mr. Corbyn to stand facing her.
Perhaps he would find it easier without her mother hovering over them.
“Your arms should be like this.” Hannah bent her elbows and wrists to the slightest degree with her hands in front of her body just below her hips, forming a gentle curve rather than a sharp angle.
She held the pose patiently until he tried to imitate it. “No, hands closed. May I?”
She took Mr. Corbyn’s wrists and turned his hands so that they faced sideways rather than palms down. Then she positioned his thumb atop his index finger. When she’d finished, she found him staring at her rather oddly. His eyes were far more intense at this distance.
Why can’t I keep my hands off this man for more than a minute? No wonder he’d kissed her yesterday. He must have thought she was begging for it.
Hannah stepped back and pretended that she was calmly assessing his posture and not fleeing the sound of her own racing heart.
She cleared her throat. “Good. Now just keep your upper body like that anytime you aren’t extending your hand to a lady.
And try to keep your toes pointed down and outward when you take a step. ”
“Should we try the one after the chassé?” His voice was far too determined for such a tedious chore, but Hannah couldn’t argue. If Mr. Corbyn had his mind set to it, it would be pointless to protest. He really was just as stubborn as she was.
Hannah obliged by taking him through a simple waltz step and then the jeté (which Mr. Corbyn found more aggravating than the others at first, though he improved after a few tries).
It was a bit amusing to have him copying her movements with such dedication.
She wasn’t used to people looking to her as an authority on anything; nor was she used to Mr. Corbyn playing the part of an attentive student.
He was so much more experienced and worldly than she was.
It gave Hannah a secret thrill to think that she might help him for a change.