Chapter 12 #3
She was so caught up in their efforts she didn’t notice the time pass until the grandfather clock chimed the half hour.
Where had Mama gone? Hannah looked around the room to find that her mother had been sitting on one of the dining chairs the whole time, watching their progress from over the top of a crystal sherry glass.
Hannah flushed. She’d let her guard down. Had she said or done anything that might not match the image of a devoted fiancée? She didn’t think so, but she’d been so absorbed in their lesson that she hadn’t been on her guard. She would have to be more careful.
“What do you think?” Hannah tried to keep her voice light.
“Better than when you started,” Mama admitted after a long sip of her sherry. “I’m glad to see you’re both taking this seriously.”
Mr. Corbyn eyed the bottle and empty glasses the maid had left on the table. They were both a little flushed from their practice.
“May I offer you a glass, Mr. Corbyn?” Mama sounded reluctant, but there was no way she could fail to show hospitality to their guest. She poured out a miserly serving of sherry, which Mr. Corbyn downed with the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.
“And me?” Hannah asked. It didn’t hurt to try.
“You may drink sherry at four o’clock in the afternoon after you’re married,” Mama said flatly.
This is why I’m cursed to be the only clearheaded one in the group.
Hannah turned back to Mr. Corbyn. “We should start teaching you the formations for one dance before we run out of time.”
He frowned. “We still have about nine more steps to learn, by my count.”
“Yes, but we won’t be able to teach you everything. To be honest, you can muddle your way through most of the footwork as long as you know where you’re supposed to be standing and you get there in time. Dancing is mostly just walking nicely in time to the music.”
“You cannot ‘muddle your way’ through good footwork,” her mother protested. “Skill as a dancer is what separates a real gentleman from an oaf.”
“I thought that a shallow bow was what separated a real gentleman from an oaf,” Corbyn pointed out.
Her mother clearly didn’t appreciate this remark, and Hannah judged it best to interrupt before a fresh quarrel could break out.
“Mama, you have to admit that Mr. Corbyn is at a disadvantage. The other gentlemen have had years with their dancing masters where we have only five days. Our most realistic option is to pick the simplest dance to be called at the ball and ensure that he knows all the figures to it. So long as he keeps his position in time, no one will be staring at his feet to ensure his footwork is perfect.”
Mama pinched her lips, but reluctantly agreed. “Very well, but we shall need to perfect all his steps before your wedding. This won’t be your only ball, you know.”
A trace of alarm flashed over Mr. Corbyn’s face, but Hannah spoke before he could. “Of course.”
It was no concern to anyone what she promised; they would end their engagement long before then.
* * *
Silas struggled to keep from protesting. It had taken his full resolve to learn the few steps they’d practiced this morning. How was he to keep track of even more? But Miss Williams didn’t seem worried in the least.
Because her mother will have run me off by then, Silas reminded himself. Somehow, he couldn’t seem to approach this charade with the same disregard as her. It felt wrong to keep making promises he didn’t intend to keep.
Who is it you’re worried about lying to? Surely not her mother.
“Let’s begin with the First Set of quadrilles.
” Mrs. Williams strode to the dining table to fetch a dancing manual she’d set at the ready.
“Now, there are several variations on this arrangement, but Thomas Wilson’s version is likely to be the most useful to us.
You may adapt it at the ball if you see they’re following another. ”
Silas sincerely doubted his ability to tell one version of a quadrille from another.
Why did I agree to this? It had been a point of pride to tell Miss Williams that he could learn at least one dance by Thursday—to prove that he was capable of more than she assumed—but pride came before the fall.
In this case, the fall might be a very literal one, and was sure to take place publicly.
Mrs. Williams opened the manual to display the instructions she wanted.
The lines on the page looked like an elegant pile of scribbles drawn by a five-year-old trying to fit every geometric shape they’d ever learned onto one page.
As Silas took the booklet from her outstretched hands and flipped through the next pages, he saw that the First Set consisted of six distinct dances, each with its own steps.
Hell and damnation.
Mrs. Williams called out instructions as they began their practice, which helped a little, although her comments about the placement of the other dancers were rather distracting.
“The head couples will dance for the first thirty-two bars. You’ll likely be one of the side couples, so you can repeat everything they do afterward. ”
Miss Williams, standing opposite him patiently, seemed almost as lost as Silas. “This would be easier with music.”
Her mother’s emphatic “one-two-three-four” was more of a distraction than a help.
“We’ll ask Jane to play for us next time,” Mrs. Williams conceded. “She was engaged today. Right hand to the opposite lady here, Mr. Corbyn, then left hand back to your own partner.”
“There is no opposite lady,” he muttered as he passed an invisible phantom and extended his hand back to Miss Williams. She took it so tentatively that he could only conclude she’d lost all trust in him.
She’d been behaving differently ever since that kiss.
Where she used to let her hands linger on his body when she took his arm, now she pulled away quickly.
As if she was afraid that Silas might pounce on her the instant she let her guard down.
The worst part was she might be right. When Hannah had taken his wrists into her hands to help position him earlier, Silas felt a jolt of…something. He’d grown uncomfortably aware of each touch, no matter how innocent.
It made it damnably difficult to focus on the steps.
When he accidentally turned left instead of right on the two-hand turn, Mrs. Williams decided she’d had enough. “No, Mr. Corbyn! It’s always clockwise, remember?”
“No one in their right mind could remember all of this,” he ground out.
“Why don’t we finish with a waltz?” Miss Williams suggested. “It will be easier for him.”
Silas bristled at the suggestion that he needed something easier, even if he was in no position to argue. Mrs. Williams seemed to recognize the urgency of their situation too.
“Very well.” She was assessing him with something like despair.
“You will only need the traveling step and the pivot for this. You stride forward for the first three beats, leading with your left. After that, Hannah will stride forward while you pivot—put your right foot back and then two small steps—until you’ve made a circle and you start again. ”
Miss Williams placed her hand upon Silas’s shoulder, then clasped his left hand lightly in hers. He hesitated a moment, then set his right hand on the small of her back. They weren’t exactly pressed together, but the distance between them was narrow enough that it felt decidedly more intimate.
He could see her pulse at the hollow of her throat.
Imagine how soft her skin would be. Silas tried to focus on the steps instead of staring.
Was that scent of roses from her soap, or did she put little flowers in her wardrobes?
It was soothing. He fought the urge to pull her closer and inhale deeply.
Get ahold of yourself.
“One-two-three, one-two-three.” Mrs. Williams clapped her hands on the first beat for emphasis, watching their footwork critically as Silas turned Miss Williams around the room in controlled circles.
This one was easier than the quadrille, for there was nothing much to remember. Once he got used to the rhythm, he managed it without stepping on her toes.
I will be able to dance with her.
The triumph was a small one, by any reasonable standard. He’d learned one dance, and the simplest one, at that. It was hardly exceptional. But Silas couldn’t deny that it meant something to him.
He felt…happy.
The understanding nearly made him miss his step, but he caught himself in time. When was the last time he’d been happy? Months ago, certainly. Before he’d ruined his naval career. Before his father had cast him out like a criminal.
Somehow, being near Miss Williams made him forget all that for a while.
He studied her face as they continued to spin together. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion and her dark eyes sparkled. He wished he could kiss her again, if only they’d been alone. Last time hadn’t been long enough.
Miss Williams looked at him with a touching blend of longing and trepidation. It felt good to have someone look at him that way.
Whatever their differences, she felt something for him.
A physical attraction that came through in every touch.
Silas might not be her equal in class, education, or good breeding, but he held that one advantage.
As they fell into an easy rhythm, there was a sense of rightness to it he couldn’t explain.
Silas let his eyes roam over her, imagining what it would be like if they were lovers instead of accomplices.
Miss Williams might not have the confidence he was used to, but she had a rebellious spark.
Enough fire to her that things might get interesting, once she learned what she was doing.
And surrounding it all, there was a gentleness to her. A soothing quality that called to him.
But if he seduced this woman, there would be no going back.
Silas would have to make their engagement a real one.
They both knew that was impossible. Miss Williams didn’t want a husband; she wanted an accomplice in deceit and perhaps as an occasional distraction.
And her mother would never allow the match if she knew that Silas was secretly planning to use his three hundred pounds to fund a brewery instead of buying a commission.
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Williams said abruptly, startling Silas from his thoughts. “I think you’ve got it.”
Without any music to guide them, they didn’t stop at exactly the same moment.
Miss Williams came to a halt one step before Silas, then wobbled uncertainly when he kept moving.
He tightened his grip on her waist to steady her, his blood heating, before he released her and stepped back as he was meant to.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“It was my fault. I stopped too sharply.” Miss Williams was looking at her feet, suddenly flustered. “You did very well.”
Silas tried not to swell at this praise. He wasn’t some foppish peacock, living for the moment a woman looked his way. It made no difference if he secured Miss Williams’s good opinion before she paid him his due and flitted back out of his life. He would get his money either way.
This did little to explain why Silas accepted when Mrs. Williams pressed her copy of Wilson’s dancing manual into his hands and instructed him to study as much as he could before the ball on Thursday.
Nor could he account for the stubborn resolve that had him flipping through the pages on the carriage ride back to James and Marian’s lodgings.
It was probably impossible, but he wanted to learn it well enough to muddle through a few dances without making an ass of himself.
If every other man in the ballroom could manage it, why shouldn’t he?
It was the most useless sort of desire, but Silas couldn’t seem to help himself. He was trapped in a cage of his own making. Even if Miss Williams was meant to be finished with him soon, he wanted to prove himself before the end. Starting with this ball.