Page 62 of The Trouble with Tweed

Her appearance in the parlor—on time, dressed for visitors, and occupying the opposite end of the sofa that Margaret sat on—was a marked departure from the norm.

“Are you joining us today, Claire?” Margaret finally asked once they’d sat long enough to strip the silence of all possible comfort.

Claire nodded. She thought it perhaps rude that she didn’t answer aloud, but she found herself quite choked.

“How lovely,” Lily said with a soft smile that appeared genuine. “We’ll be grateful for your company. Some of these gentlemen can be quite persistent with their attentions.”

Claire frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her that her sisters had missed her at all, hadn’t occurred to her that she might have done some good by staying and serving a purpose.

“I certainly hope that the footmen and butler are doing their due diligence,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Quite. And Providence had been on our side, as well. Why, several gentlemen I didn’t care for at all never returned after their first visit.”

Claire didn’t know whether to smile or to resent Lily’s naivety. How pleasant it must have been, to think that things just worked out so nicely all on their own. Claire knew better. She would wager all the gold in her jewelry box that it was her brother and his ever-lurking associate, Abeer, who’d put a stop to those gentlemen.

Then Claire remembered Michael’s advice—that she couldn’t protect her sisters from vulgar knowledge in one breath and resent them for their ignorance in the next.

“Indeed,” she said. “Providential.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at Claire, as if suspicious of her agreement. Now that Claire understood her better, she thought Beatrice might suspect the truth behind those gentlemen’s disappearances as well. Claire shot her a conspiratorial smile, which Beatrice returned.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you deal with all of your beaux,” Margaret said, smiling.

“Indeed,” Lily teased. “You’ve been hiding in that back parlor pretending not to be at home to anyone not on your list. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

Claire was aware she’d received several visits from gentlemen who weren’t of the Tweed persuasion. She’d rarely been at home to receive any of them, due to her determination to be out of doors as much as possible. When she was at home, she’d kept to her back parlor, allowing only certain men entry. She’d as much as forbidden her sisters from using the room, or from copying her idea. It was well enough for her to do so, she reasoned—she was the eldest.

The butler appeared in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Ettrick, to see Miss Margaret, and Lord Rutheridge to see Miss Claire.”

A thrill of relief ran through her as she fluffed her skirts into a smoother arrangement. Apparently, Michael didn’t intend to start courting other ladies this afternoon.

Or, she thought, a dart of fear spearing her heart, perhaps the butler had it wrong and Michael intends to visit Lily.

Michael and the Duke of Ettrick came in nearly together, each bearing a bouquet. It was only because she knew Michael so well that she could read the arch of superiority in his eyebrow when he looked at the duke, as if he were saying, Ha, I entered the room before you did.

But the Duke of Ettrick merely gave a meaningful glance to his bouquet then Michael’s in turn. Claire hid her smile. The duke’s arrangement was larger by the slimmest margin. Michael frowned for a moment, then strode over to Claire.

He said, quite loudly, “Here you are, darling Claire. I have brought you a compact, tasteful arrangement of only the finest flowers—absolutely no excess of carnations to be found. Why, that bloom is nearly a weed, wouldn’t you say so?”

She peeked past him at the duke, who’d narrowed his eyes in Michael’s direction. Claire wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to anger such a large fellow, but apparently he and Michael had some sort of an understanding between them, as he just shook his head before presenting Margaret with the blooms.

“Ha,” Michael said, sitting next to Claire. “I do believe I’ve won.”

He looked quite handsome in a medium-grey suit with a crisp white cravat. His shoes were polished and his hair was only just starting to free itself from the confines of comb and pomade.

“If you mean you have the distinction of being the loudest in the room, then certainly,” Claire said as she brought the flowers to her nose. They were ruffled cabbage roses, her favorite. “The duke had the good sense not to boom his greeting loudly enough that the entire house could hear him.”

“Did I embarrass you?” Michael smiled as if the idea delighted him.

“Not at all. If I had such a weak constitution, I’d never be able to spend an hour in your company.”

“Then I don’t see what the issue is. Everyone in this house has already seen us together. Our relationship, and my courtship of you, is hardly a secret.”

Claire watched him closely for any sign that he was mocking her. “Have you forgotten our last conversation so quickly, then?”

“Not at all. I’m going to do as I promised. I’m going to try to find love.” He said the word with all the gravitas of a minister, and Claire barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “You look ravishing today, by the way. I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear that dress before.”

“I have so many it’s hardly a wonder. Mara has them sorted; I doubt I’ll rewear a gown this entire month.”