Chapter 13
Thirteen
Mrs. Brandon’s ball was the first event of its kind that Hannah had attended without a knot of dread in her stomach.
What a difference it made to know that she wouldn’t have to fend off a single suitor tonight!
She normally spent her time huddled up with Annabelle, or whichever friendly face she was fortunate enough to find, trying to avoid eye contact with eligible men until her mother pried her forcibly away and pressed her into the acquaintance of some third-rate fortune hunter.
But tonight would be different! With Mr. Corbyn there to protect her from any unwanted attention, Hannah would be free to enjoy herself however she wished, without any thought of matchmaking.
She wasn’t even sure what she would do. This was the only time since her coming-out that she would spend an evening in mixed company without a defensive strategy. It was an entirely novel situation.
She dressed with particular care, fishing through her closet for something worthy of the occasion.
Hannah normally didn’t want to make herself look fetching, lest it help her mother’s efforts, so she hadn’t bothered to bring any of her favorite gowns with her from Devonshire. Now she rather regretted that decision.
I wish I’d known in advance that I’d be attending a ball with my unaccountably handsome pretend fiancé.
She solicited Jane’s opinion, and together they finally settled on a teal blue silk that Hannah had considered a bit too plain for the occasion, but which Jane helped her elevate with a lace shawl and a series of hairpins that made it look as though she’d strung pearls through her braided bun.
“I wish you were coming,” Hannah lamented. Much as she was looking forward to an evening of freedom, she wasn’t entirely confident how she and Mr. Corbyn would be received at such a formal event. Some reinforcements might have been welcome.
“I’m needed at the club tonight.” Jane offered her an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Just before she went down, Hannah remembered to put on her best necklace so that she could pretend it was an engagement present from Mr. Corbyn if Mrs. Brandon asked again.
There. Now she was ready. Hannah looked herself over one last time in the mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Even done up to her best, she couldn’t hope to match Mr. Corbyn. He had the sort of face that turned heads in a crowd, while hers faded into the shadows. Would people think them silly together?
Never mind that. Worrying won’t change it.
Hannah forced herself to turn away and went downstairs to wait for their carriage to return. Mama had sent the coachman ahead to collect Mr. Corbyn while they finished dressing, seeing as he was in the opposite direction from Mrs. Brandon’s Mayfair town house.
When he finally arrived, Hannah felt inexplicably nervous.
It was too dark inside the coach at this hour to get a good look at Mr. Corbyn, but she imagined that she could feel his eyes on her as he murmured a polite “good evening.” No one spoke much on the short ride over.
There was tension in the air, though Hannah couldn’t tell who was causing it.
Surely this event was no more momentous than anything else they’d done?
Mama seemed to read her mind. “There is no greater test of a gentleman’s mettle than a ball,” she opined gravely.
Now Hannah was fairly certain most of the tension was coming from Mr. Corbyn’s side of the carriage, if it hadn’t been before.
“I’m sure everything will be fine.” She repeated Jane’s earlier prediction like a talisman. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
No one seemed to find this statement as encouraging as Hannah had intended it. She winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tempt fate.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Corbyn murmured. “I speak without thinking all the time.”
Hannah thought she could hear the smile in his voice as he echoed the declaration he’d made at their first meeting. It seemed so long ago now, but she hadn’t forgotten. From the very beginning, he’d sent her his quiet reassurance. They were in this together.
Once they arrived, Mr. Corbyn got out first and handed Hannah down, his palm firm and warm even through the layer of his evening gloves.
He set his free hand on her waist to steady her as she descended, though she hadn’t stumbled.
Surely she was imagining the way his fingertips lingered before he turned back to the coach to assist her mother.
Reading meaning into commonplace gestures.
It was only once they reached the lanterns lining the approach to the Brandons’ house that Hannah finally got a good look at Mr. Corbyn.
My goodness. It had been one thing to see him in the fine new clothes they’d had made for the garden party the other day, and quite another thing to see him in full evening dress.
He wore the ivory waistcoat that Hannah had selected, with a matching bow tie framed between the smooth, black lapels of his tailcoat.
This one fit him perfectly, skimming his muscular frame with an expert cut.
He even had the new silk top hat that Mama had insisted on.
Fortunately, he hadn’t seen fit to follow her advice about the haircut.
His golden waves were smoothed into place, tamed but unharmed.
“What is it?” Mr. Corbyn noticed her stare as he led them up the approach, but misinterpreted its cause. He slowed his stride. “Is something the matter?”
“No. You look perfect.” Hannah was too dumbstruck to care whether she sounded foolish. She couldn’t let him think there was anything wrong when he’d come here looking like that. “You were meant for these clothes.”
Mr. Corbyn looked at her oddly before continuing up to the house. She wasn’t sure whether her words had brought him the reassurance she’d intended. There was no time to think about it further, as Mama urged them on.
“Don’t dally, we’re delaying the queue.”
* * *
Inside the house, a servant announced their entrance in a booming voice, causing a number of heads to turn their way.
Mama ushered them over to pay their respects to their hostess directly.
Though Hannah spotted some ladies murmuring behind the safety of their fans while she was trapped in polite conversation with Mrs. Brandon, her arrival had provoked less of a reaction than she’d feared.
News of her engagement to Mr. Corbyn must have stolen most of the shine from the rumors.
Even so, Mr. Corbyn looked ill at ease with all the attention.
Hannah recalled how wooden and standoffish he’d been at the outset of the garden party two days ago.
These events took a toll on him, but he came because she needed him.
Who else would have done this for her? Even if she was paying him for the service, Mr. Corbyn took his role far more seriously than she’d expected.
They spent the first hour being paraded around to Mama’s friends like a shiny new bauble, and Hannah did her best to keep a smile on her face and steer the conversation in directions most likely to be easy for Mr. Corbyn to navigate.
He played his part admirably, being perfectly charming to everyone.
Well, perhaps charming wasn’t the right word.
He was a bit too reserved to make fast friends.
But so long as they avoided the subject of his naval service, he gave no one cause for any offense, which was all she needed.
It was only once Mama had finally exhausted her supply of very dear friends and had progressed down the list to passing acquaintances that she finally saw fit to break for some refreshments, giving Hannah and Mr. Corbyn a much-needed moment alone.
“You’re doing very well,” Hannah encouraged him, sipping her punch and wincing at the taste.
The Brandons had been far too generous with their rum this evening.
She’d best watch herself, or she was liable to have a headache tomorrow.
“Thank you for letting my mother introduce you to everyone she’s ever met.
I know these events can be a trial for you. ”
Mr. Corbyn stiffened. “I’m perfectly capable of making chitchat for a few hours.”
Oh dear. Why did he always presume that she looked down on him, even when she was trying to be kind?
“I know that,” she assured him. “I didn’t mean to give insult.”
This seemed to mollify him somewhat, though he still had a guarded look in his eye as he took a long swallow of his own drink.
“Mr. Corbyn, if we are going to spend the rest of the evening posing as an engaged couple, we may as well speak to one another openly.”
“Very well.” He waited.
“I really do have every confidence in you. But you can’t deny that you become tense when we’re forced to mingle in a crowd.
” As Mr. Corbyn didn’t deny this observation when Hannah paused to draw breath, she felt bold enough to continue.
“I understand it completely. I’m the same way.
I only want to know if there’s anything I could do to make it easier on you. ”
“It will be over soon enough,” he replied simply, without acknowledging her offer. Was he counting the minutes until they could part ways? The possibility stung.
Just when she thought Mr. Corbyn must care about her, at least a little, he said something to make her wonder if she’d imagined everything.
“I tried not to leave you alone this time,” Hannah pointed out, childishly wanting him to notice her efforts. “I hope that helped.”
“You don’t need to stay with me if you’d rather seek out your friends.”
“I want to stay,” she insisted. “You’re doing me a favor. I want to return it in kind, if you would tell me how.”