Page 34 of The Trouble with Tweed

“Precisely.”

“She has very few regrets about her life. She loved my father. She was devastated when he passed, and she mourns him still. But she still has her friends. She still has me and my sisters.”

Michael knew Claire well enough to see that she was considering his words. He supposed that was all he could hope for at this juncture. Their path had circled back to the main road overlooking the other side of the pond.

“Oh, look. There’s a prime grouping of Tweeds now.” He nodded toward the cluster, who seemed to be discussing the waterfowl. “Let’s pull over.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Whatever for?”

“To speak with them, of course.”

“Why would we?”

“You do realize that in order to marry a boring man, you’re going to have to speak with at least one of them, don’t you? In fact, you’re going to have to speak with one of them for years and years.”

“But—” Claire pressed her lips together, the rosebud pink blanched to white.

“We can hardly hope to find a better hunting ground than this. They’re all grouped together.” Michael frowned. “Flock mentality, most likely.”

CHAPTER 10- CLAIRE

“You truly mean to pull over?” Claire stammered.

Michael steered the carriage to the side of the path and pulled the reins. “Why not? Your Tweeds have stopped on that little hill. Probably got hungry—look at all that fresh green grass!”

Claire tsked at him. He grinned and his red-blond hair flopped over his forehead in that careless arrangement she couldn’t help but find attractive.

“What reason will you give for us intruding upon their outing?” she asked.

“Reason?” He exhaled derision in a great gust. “They’ll be so pleased that a beautiful lady deigned to speak with them that they won’t require a reason.”

“I’ve just been crying—no doubt my complexion is blotched.”

“You’re luminous and your skin is flawless as usual. Stop grasping for excuses. Do you want to snag a Tweed or not?”

Claire did her utmost not to fiddle with her reticule or nibble at the inside of her cheek—both bad habits and tell-tale signs that she was discomfited. Michael was right—if she wanted to achieve her goal of marriage, she’d have to make an effort to speak with gentlemen. Presumably several of them.

She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She could do this. There was no possible way that a genteel outing in the park could come close to the rude cacophony of an early-morning London market. She’d survived many of those; she certainly could handle this with aplomb.

“Very well,” she said.

Claire allowed Michael to help her from the elegant phaeton, keeping her head at precisely the right height—just high enough to exude the confidence she didn’t feel, but not so high that it looked as if she thought herself better than the group of gentlemen they approached. She was aware of her maid hovering at the customary distance to provide excellent chaperonage, and she was grateful.

“Hullo, Lord Hart,” Michael said, nodding his greeting.

The man closest to them turned with a smile. He wore a crisp tan suit that had been ironed to perfection—each pant leg sported a deep crease precisely at the midpoint. The rest of him was impeccable, too—his light brown and grey hair carefully combed and the very tip of a clean handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket.

“Rutheridge,” Lord Hart said. “What brings you to the park this fine day?”

“The most pleasant of reasons.” Michael turned to Claire and smiled down at her so warmly she fought the urge to blush. “Miss Preston agreed to join me for a ride in my new phaeton.”

Several other gentlemen joined their grouping, each of them giving Claire a head-to-toe evaluation that was just a little too frank. Perhaps Michael was right and they would be grateful for her presence, for none of them had enough experience to be sly about their appraisal.

“I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your friends, Lord Hart,” Michael was saying in that easy, affable way of his.

“Of course, Lord Rutheridge, Miss Preston, may I present…”

There were four of them besides Lord Hart, and Claire did her introductory duties with each in turn, nodding her head and giving a benign, pleased sort of smile—the same one she used when a footman placed an unknown dish before her at a dinner party.