Page 45 of The Trouble with Tweed

At least there was that. Michael was many things, but he wasn’t a liar.

“Your sister seems to be enjoying herself this evening.” Claire nodded to where Sylvia twirled through the steps of a dance, a handsome young man beaming down at her.

Michael grunted. “It’s strange. I want her to succeed, while at the same time wanting to kick at every gentleman who glances her direction.”

“The complexity of being a brother, I suppose.”

“I didn’t have this issue with my other sisters,” he said, still frowning at the dancing couple.

“They were older than you. Sylvia is your younger sister.”

He gave that noncommittal grunt once more and Claire smiled.

“Never mind all that,” he finally said, turning to her. “May I have the next dance?”

Claire pressed her lips together to keep from rolling her eyes. “You know very well we’ve already danced twice. Another would be unseemly.”

“Would it, though?” He grinned.

“Of course it would. Three dances wouldn’t be appropriate unless we were on the verge of becoming engaged.”

“Ah.” He rocked back on his heels and gave a private little smile. “I keep forgetting.”

“More like you keep being purposefully obtuse.”

Despite her outward display of exasperation, Claire was secretly amused and a bit flattered by Michael’s refusal to conform to social norms where she was concerned. Though he’d never danced with any other lady twice in the same evening, Claire had no doubt that if she agreed to his request, he’d sweep her out onto the dance floor again, without care for the consequences.

“Completely accidental, I assure you,” he said, a teasing smile on his face.

“If you mean that, there might be something wrong with you.”

“Perhaps. Mother always does say that I should eat more vegetables. Or maybe there’s a tonic that Dr. Halveston can whip up for me. Though, I’ve already gotten distracted. What was it we were talking about?”

She sighed. “Whether you and I should dance together again.”

He grinned. “Why, Claire, what a wonderful idea. I accept.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

CHAPTER 14- MICHAEL

“Come on, then,” Michael said irritably, waving his sister through the Preston front door.

“But we haven’t been invited,” Sylvia protested as she followed him in and looked around with wide eyes.

Michael couldn’t blame Sylvia for her awe of the entryway. He’d been impressed too, the first time he’d seen it. The statue of the Grecian lady was detailed and massive—and obviously cost a small fortune.

“I’m always welcome here. As my sister, you are too. Besides, Claire specifically invited me to breakfast.”

“Today? You were invited to this specific breakfast? Perhaps the ladies of the house are still recovering from the Perkinses ball; we should come back a different day.” Sylvia half turned toward the door as if she hoped he’d follow.

“The ball was two days ago. Stop stalling and give the maid your hat,” he said.

If he sounded a bit testy, Michael thought he could hardly be blamed for it. It had been a very trying two days. He himself had been woken the morning after the Perkinses’ ball by an ear-splitting shriek that had him jack-knifing up in bed, laying hands on the first thing that could approximate a weapon (the antique saber hanging above his mantel) and charging out into the hall wearing nothing but his unmentionables and a dressing gown. Thank goodness he’d paused to don the dressing gown, as the source of the uproar wasn’t violent in nature, but something far more banal and domestic.

Sylvia’s shoulders slumped as she untied her bonnet and handed it over to the waiting maid. It was a testament to the training of the staff that the young woman’s eyes didn’t so much as widen. She took the offered hat and cloak and bustled off to the adjoining cloak room to freshen both.

“Do we have to?” Sylvia whispered miserably.