Chapter 13 #2
Mr. Corbyn finally seemed to realize that she wouldn’t be deterred.
He inhaled slowly and replied in a tight, even voice.
“It isn’t that I’m afraid of crowds. It’s only that my father used to dream of the day I might find myself invited to a place like this.
More than anything, he wanted to see me advance my station.
It’s difficult not to imagine what he might say if he could see me now. ”
“What do you think he would say?”
Hannah should have thought to ask Mr. Corbyn about his family sooner.
It was a bit suspicious that she couldn’t name most of the people who were supposed to become her in-laws shortly.
Corbyn’s family must be close if his brother and cousin had come all the way to town to see him, but Hannah hadn’t forgotten his words to her on the night they’d met.
That he understood what it was like to have a parent controlling his every move.
If Mr. Corbyn’s father was as determined to advance his children’s futures as Mama, perhaps they had a great deal in common.
His expression soured. “Nothing complimentary.”
“You aren’t on good terms, then?” she guessed.
“We aren’t on any terms at all, is more like.” Mr. Corbyn’s face was grim as he explained. “I stopped being his son when I got myself discharged.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that,” Hannah reassured him. Surely no one would cast off their own child. Mr. Corbyn must be overstating the breach.
“Those were his exact words.” His voice was as cold and sharp as the glint of light off a razor’s edge.
Oh.
Hannah had thought she understood what Mr. Corbyn was facing, but she didn’t understand this at all. No matter that she and Mama might argue, Hannah couldn’t imagine that she would ever be cut off. And I’ve certainly done far worse than Mr. Corbyn has.
He’d only been trying to help a woman in need. What kind of father would turn his child out for that? It was heartless.
“I wish you would say something.” Mr. Corbyn sounded as if he were having second thoughts over his decision to share the story.
“I was just feeling embarrassed for all the times I’ve complained about my mother,” Hannah admitted. “You must have thought I sounded like a spoiled child.”
“I thought you had some fire in you. That’s all.”
Hannah smiled. She liked the sound of that. Most men took her for nothing but a dull, timid miss. Mr. Corbyn made her sound almost exciting. She was absurdly grateful to him for that, even if she hadn’t already owed him more than she could repay.
“What if we forgot all about our parents this evening and simply enjoyed ourselves?” she suggested.
After all, this might be the last time either of them were invited to such an event.
Once she forced Mama to see reason and broke off her engagement, Hannah would return to the country and Mr. Corbyn would return to his own sphere of life.
“Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do at a party? ”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been invited to a ball before.”
“No, but you must have been to a country dance or a May Eve,” Hannah encouraged him. “The same principles apply.”
“I haven’t been to many of those either,” Mr. Corbyn confessed. He didn’t sound embarrassed, exactly. Perhaps the right word was cautious. “I went to sea when I was eleven, remember?”
Hannah stopped to ponder this. She’d imagined that Mr. Corbyn was far more worldly and experienced than she was.
And in some ways, he must be. He’d seen lands and peoples that she would never lay eyes on, learned lessons in hardship that she would never face.
But his experience had come at the price of simple occasions she took for granted.
It filled her with an unexpected tenderness toward him.
“That’s all the more reason to do whatever you want tonight.
” Hannah had planned to make the most of her evening, but now she found that she cared a great deal whether Mr. Corbyn enjoyed himself too.
They could seize the moment together. Although it would be a good deal easier to accomplish if they left the area before Mama came back from the powder room to arrange any more introductions.
“Go ahead. What would you like most? And remember, I’ve fled from a ball before, so I won’t object if you want to go somewhere else. ”
Mr. Corbyn looked at her in surprise. “I thought you didn’t want me to sabotage our engagement until your father arrives. Though abducting you from a ball does seem an effective way to go about it.”
“Drat, I suppose you’re right. Something we can do here then,” Hannah amended. “Only hurry, before Mama comes back and forces us to dance.”
The musicians were tuning their instruments in the next room, the vibrato of a violin creeping out to reach her ears. If they lingered here too long they were liable to find themselves engaged for the next six sets.
She looked expectantly at Mr. Corbyn. There was the spark in his piercing blue eyes that told her he’d already seized on his idea, but he didn’t share it with her.
“Well?” she prodded, shooting a nervous look over his shoulder. Her mother was already back! She’d just been waylaid by Mrs. Godfrey near a large potted fern. She might rejoin them any minute.
“I want to dance with you.”
“What?” Hannah couldn’t have heard him correctly. “But we don’t have to. I don’t even want to.”
“I saw the program,” Mr. Corbyn explained. “They’re starting with the First Set. The same ones we learned the other day.”
“Is ‘learned’ the right word?” Hannah asked delicately.
“I studied it some more back home.”
Nothing seemed to deter Mr. Corbyn once he’d set his mind to something. If only he could have picked a better goal. “It’s going to be exceedingly long and boring,” Hannah warned him. The quadrilles were always the longest, with all their arrangements.
“There you are!” It was Mama, back to torment them before they could make their escape, just as Hannah had feared. “Why aren’t you in the ballroom? They’re about to begin!”
Mr. Corbyn observed them with a look of patient determination. “Your dance card, darling?”
Hannah knew when she was beaten. Or if she didn’t, his endearments were always enough to make her flustered and forget her arguments.
She turned the card over to Mr. Corbyn, who wrote his name in the first space. The rest were blissfully empty, for her mother had been too focused on presenting their engagement to her friends to worry about any of that.
At least it’s only one set.
They filed into the large ballroom to meet their fate.
With this many people in attendance, their hosts had arranged for several groups of eight to dance the quadrille in separate parts of the floor.
Mr. Corbyn escorted Hannah to their place as one of the side couples in Mrs. Brandon’s circle.
The ballroom was full tonight. Hannah had danced the First Set so many times by now that she could probably do it in her sleep, albeit without much enthusiasm, but Mr. Corbyn had never done this before.
She didn’t think he’d take it well if he fell on his face in front of a crowd.
Why should he want to risk it, when they might easily have escaped?
The first notes of “La Coquette” rang out, and the dancers all greeted each other with little curtsies and bows. It was only then that Hannah realized who stood across from her. The other side couple consisted of Sir Richard and a young lady she didn’t recognize.
Oh goodness, how unlucky. He’d seen her, judging by the thin set of his mouth, but said nothing.
The head couples advanced to the center of the circle and withdrew again, beginning the dance.
There was nothing for Hannah to do for the next twenty-four bars but stand awkwardly across from Sir Richard and watch the head couples chassé and set.
Mr. Corbyn didn’t seem to have noticed the source of her discomfort.
His eyes were riveted to the head couple’s movements, plainly trying to remind himself of all the steps before it was their turn.
Please don’t let us stumble in front of Sir Richard. Hannah cast a silent prayer skyward until it was time to step forward.
Miraculously, Mr. Corbyn managed to execute the next few steps without error.
Though his footwork was occasionally a bit shoddy or slower than his neighbors, he kept himself in the right position as they moved about the floor.
When the dance had ended with a successful chassé croisé from all the couples, he shot Hannah an exuberant glance.
She smiled encouragingly, afraid to offer any congratulations while they still had four more dances to get through.
But to her increasing astonishment, Mr. Corbyn performed the next two in the set, La Sybille and Jacintha, with the same methodical determination.
He looked frequently to the other gentlemen to remind himself of the steps, and occasionally he hesitated, but he never faltered. Hannah could hardly believe her eyes.
By the time they reached Nannette, Mr. Corbyn had grown confident enough to tear his attention from the other dancers and make eye contact with her during the brief introduction to the song.
“How did you learn all this since yesterday?” she whispered.
“I told you, I practiced after with Marian.”
Though he said no more than this, it was evident that Mr. Corbyn was pleased with himself. There was an energy in his gaze that she’d never seen before. Instead of nerves or frustration, it looked like triumph. There was something rather touching in the sight.
He must have done nothing else since our last meeting.
Hannah could hardly comprehend the sheer scale of the effort involved.
She had only taken dancing lessons because she’d been forced into it, but Mr. Corbyn had thrown himself into the task entirely of his own choosing, all to make this night a success.
For me.
Hannah wasn’t sure when anyone had shown her such consideration. Certainly none of the gentleman callers that Mama had dredged up from the rubbish piles of the season.
It made her feel a little sad that she would have to say goodbye to him soon. She was never going to meet someone who would show this much concern for her happiness again.
Because you promised him two hundred pounds, she reminded herself firmly. For that price, of course he would take it seriously.
But the explanation didn’t seem as persuasive as it once had. Somewhere along the way, she and Mr. Corbyn had begun to blur the tidy lines they’d tried to draw around this arrangement, and now she wasn’t sure how to put them back again.