Chapter 15 #2
Besides which, Silas hadn’t forgotten that this was ostensibly his last service to Hannah. She’d asked him to keep up the act until Mr. Williams arrived in town, and now he was here.
Did she still mean it, after what they’d shared the other night?
Of course she still means it. Why wouldn’t she?
A few kisses under the moonlight didn’t take their arrangement from a necessary trade to a love affair. If Hannah wanted him, she was no different from any of the other women he’d formed a brief connection with in his life. Drawn to a handsome face, but never expecting more.
She would have said something if it were otherwise. Smuggled him a secret note to call the whole plan off. She’d had three days since the Brandons’ ball to contact him and she hadn’t said a word, which meant he was still supposed to sabotage their engagement and set her free.
Silas rapped on the door and was greeted a moment later by the maid, who actually smiled at him this evening. Her disposition had gradually warmed over the past few weeks.
“Good evening, Molly.” He gave her his hat and followed her into the drawing room where everyone sat waiting.
Silas greeted Hannah first, though she wasn’t even looking at him by the time he’d finished his bow. That was odd. Normally he caught Hannah staring at him whenever they were together. But Silas had no time to reflect on it, as Mrs. Williams was already presenting him to the new arrivals.
Hannah’s other brother, Jacob, looked much like Eli, save that his face was a bit broader and his hair a bit lighter.
Their father was a beefy, imposing sort of man with deep lines on his brow that indicated that he’d frowned far more often than he’d smiled.
He had a firm handshake and a critical eye.
Silas was introduced with a few pleasantries, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Williams was searching him for visible flaws. He was suddenly grateful for his new wardrobe. On the outside, at least, he could pass for a gentleman.
“So, what does your father do?” Mr. Williams asked gruffly the moment they all sat down. “Was he in the navy as well?”
“No, sir,” Silas replied. “He’s a cooper. He’s in business with my mother’s father, who owns a brewery.”
This information clearly took Mr. Williams by surprise, though Silas had expected him to know it already. Why hadn’t his wife informed him? Silas glanced at Mrs. Williams, but found her uncharacteristically silent, observing them at a distance from an easy chair.
She didn’t seem quite herself. Normally she would have offered him some unwanted advice by now.
“A cooper,” Mr. Williams repeated, rolling his mouth over the word as if it left a bad taste. “And Hannah tells me that you’re considering the army next? Why should you change your career at your age?”
They really haven’t told him anything.
If Silas revealed the truth now, it was sure to provoke the man. Was that what Hannah wanted?
No. Even if she still expected him to ruin their engagement tonight, surely she wouldn’t ask Silas to use his disgrace from the navy as the source of the conflict. She knew how much it had hurt him.
Silas searched Hannah’s face for a signal, but as before, she wasn’t paying him any mind. She seemed to have eyes only for her father this evening.
Oddly enough, it was Mrs. Williams who came to his rescue. “It was my suggestion. The army is a more respectable profession, you know. Remember old Mrs. Peterson’s eldest boy, who went off to be an ensign. He did very well for himself, you will recall.”
“I suppose so.” The concession seemed to be drawn from Mr. Williams against his will.
“He came home with enough money to buy that cottage for his mother.”
Was Silas dreaming? Mrs. Williams was the last person he would have expected to help him.
Perhaps it was only a coincidence. Whatever the reason, her comment had turned the conversation down another path, and now Mr. Williams and Jacob were debating whether the cottage in question had been a good purchase considering the shabby state of its roof. Silas was quite forgotten.
He owed Mrs. Williams a debt.
When they went in to dine, they found the table richly decorated with an elaborate centerpiece. Juniper branches formed a wreath around the base, while roses and hyacinth alternated to form a crown rising from below. A little spray of matching greenery had been set on each of their place settings.
“Did you make these, Hannah?” her father asked, picking up the tiny bundle from his plate and twirling one between his thumb and his index. It had a carnation in the middle, surrounded by a sprig of juniper to match the centerpiece on the table, all tied up with a little blue ribbon.
“No,” she replied. “Mama did. Don’t you think she’s talented?” She was watching her father eagerly.
“Hmm.” Somehow, this one empty syllable managed to convey his immediate disinterest. “What am I supposed to do with it while I’m eating?”
“You may put it in your lapel as a boutonniere, Mr. Williams,” his wife suggested crisply. “Or you may give it to me if you don’t want it.”
Mr. Williams did neither, but simply cast the tiny arrangement upon a stretch of empty tablecloth before taking his seat without another word.
The temperature in the room must have dropped five degrees.
They hate each other, Silas finally understood.
And not the routine annoyance that might build up between any couple if one caught them on a bad day.
This was something deeper. The whole situation made a good deal more sense now—why Mrs. Williams and Hannah had come to town alone, why they had said so little about Mr. Williams whenever the subject came up.
Silas wasn’t sure what was behind it, but he didn’t relish passing the rest of his evening walking the tightrope of their feud.
He examined his own boutonniere, which was complete with a little pin to ensure its safe anchorage, before he slipped it through the buttonhole in his evening coat as he’d been invited to do.
He hadn’t thought that Mrs. Williams would have gone to such trouble over this meeting, given how little she thought of Silas as a future son-in-law.
But the boutonnieres must have taken considerable time to make.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “They’re lovely.”
There was a murmured agreement from her sons.
Mrs. Williams froze momentarily, as if surprised by his words. When she recovered herself, she offered him a tentative smile. “I’m glad you like them.”
It might be the first time he’d received a sign of warmth from the woman. Silas hardly dared to believe he’d seen it. But then, she’d appreciated his dancing at the ball the other night too. Maybe he was finally beginning to earn her approval.
Just in time to disappoint her. Was that regret he felt? No. Mrs. Williams had hated him from their first meeting. Just because she’d let her guard down once or twice didn’t make them friends.
“So, where is your family from?” Mr. Williams fired the question off sharply.
Is he angry with me for complimenting his wife, or is that always his tone?
“Staffordshire, sir,” Silas replied.
“I told you that in my last letter,” Mrs. Williams murmured.
“No, you didn’t.”
Mrs. Williams bit her lip rather than arguing the point. She looked like she’d tasted a lemon.
“Mr. Corbyn has a brother and cousin here in town,” Hannah volunteered. “They seem lovely.”
“Are they in trade as well?” Mr. Williams looked suspicious, as if the possibility betrayed some damning information about Silas.
“Yes.” Better not to elaborate. Mr. Williams was no more likely to approve of their plans to start a brewery than his wife would be. It might be the only thing the pair would agree on, if their conduct this evening was any indication.
“Hmm? Speak up. I can hardly hear you.”
“Yes,” Silas repeated, a good deal more sharply.
“I can’t abide mumbling.”
Silas flinched. He’d heard those words from the mouth of his own father so many times that for an instant it felt like he was back home, defending himself from an interrogation on his progress over the dinner table.
Sit up straight, boy. Speak up. How do you expect anyone to take you seriously if you skulk about like a thief?
He hadn’t even been mumbling; he was just thinking.
Silas tried to catch Hannah’s eye. Surely she could see how uncomfortable her father was making everyone—not least of all himself.
Why had she been so eager to wait until he came to town, anyway?
She couldn’t have expected this meeting to go well.
The man was the type to never be satisfied. Silas knew his kind.
Did she want me to fail?
The notion crept into his mind like a spider, the brush of its arrival sending a shiver down his back.
Of course she wanted him to fail. That had always been their agreement. But Silas hadn’t known that it would feel like this, with a demanding parent picking apart his every move. He wanted to signal Hannah somehow, to warn her this was a bad idea.
It all felt wrong suddenly. He didn’t want to make an ass of himself in front of her family, not even for two hundred pounds. He wanted Hannah to take him aside and say the whole plan was off. That she’d changed her mind.
But she wasn’t paying any attention to him. Her eyes were fixed on her father. “Papa, why don’t you tell me what your wedding was like? All these plans for my wedding got me to thinking, I don’t even know the story.”
Across the table, her brothers exchanged a glance. It looked like Silas wasn’t the only one who found this train of thought a bit odd.
“Oh.” The question seemed to throw Mr. Williams off-balance as well. He coughed and took a long swallow of his wine. “It was so long ago, I hardly remember now. We were married in the parish church. I suppose your grandparents and your Aunt Catherine were there. It was just like any other wedding.”
Hannah was obviously dissatisfied with this summary. “I’m sure Mama was a beautiful bride,” she prompted.