Page 65 of The Trouble with Tweed

Instantly, Claire regretted her protestations. She should have encouraged his attention to the ridiculous Miss Pennington or the dour Miss Rullond, as either would have sent him scurrying back to her with all haste. But she was Michael’s friend. She did care for him. And she’d promised to help him.

“She should come from a good family, of course. Your mother and sisters deserve no less. She should have an excellent mind to keep up with your quick wit. You shouldn’t choose any Miss fresh to the marriage mart. You should look for someone along the fringes. Some of the most obvious choices aren’t the best ones.”

“All very sound advice, indeed,” he said, his eyes sparkling with some amusement she couldn’t identify. “Anything else?”

“It would be best if you could manage friendship first, as friends often know each other much better than engaged couples do.”

He gave a low hum in his throat. Claire couldn’t tell if it was agreement or polite dismissal. “So an intelligent lady, not too young, from a good family. And I should become her friend first.”

“Precisely.”

Claire smiled—she hoped it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. At the last moment, she’d realized that all of those qualifications applied to her. She certainly didn’t want Michael to think that she was trying to suggest that he court her for real. That would have been presumptuous.

Even though there was a small part of her that whispered she did want that, very much.

CHAPTER 21- CLAIRE

“Another night, another ballroom,” Michael said, sidling up to Claire.

Claire suddenly found it difficult to manage the size of her smile. She hadn’t seen Sylvia or Michael when she and her sisters first entered, and she’d been worried that some last-minute foible had kept them from the ball altogether.

But there he was, wearing a suit that was so deep of a navy it appeared black at first glance. Claire couldn’t help but admire the way it brought out his blue eyes.

“Good evening, Michael,” she said.

“I hope it’s not too forward to say that you look ravishing this evening,” he murmured.

“Not at all. Thank you. You look quite well yourself.”

“You are a shameless flatterer. However, since I quite enjoy your compliments, I’ll allow you to continue.”

Claire pressed her lips together and shook her head as she studied the dancers before them. “Is this the aforementioned coat your mother warned me about?”

He grinned. “This one is new, though I’ll be sure to wear the other one when I visit you next.”

“I cannot wait to pass judgement upon it, though if it’s anything like this one, I’ll have to rescind my disapproval.”

Michael smiled down at her. Claire met his gaze long enough for it to feel as if her stomach was filled with champagne bubbles—warm and lovely and bright. She quickly averted her eyes and watched the dancers once again.

“Sylvia looks as if she’s having a wonderful time,” Claire added, mostly to steer the conversation away from the moment they’d just shared.

They were happening with increasing frequency, those moments. And though Claire could have written off one or two such exchanges without a second thought, she was beginning to believe that something was changing between her and Michael. Something fundamental and important. It felt much like standing at the top of a steep cliff, with her toes just over the edge. Yet no matter how often she told herself to back away from the edge, she was frozen.

Then there was the way she’d started to think of him as of late. He wasn’t a means to an end at all anymore. He was simply Michael. And though that was all well and good—they were old family friends, after all—lately, her thoughts toward him were so proprietary that it was difficult for her to ignore. Even when she was trying her hardest.

Michael chuffed and nodded toward his sister. “If she’s looking quite well, you might thank your brother.”

“William?” A small dimple appeared between her eyebrows. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He sent her the diadem she’s wearing.”

“Did he really?”

Claire had never known her brother to make a gift of jewelry to anyone but his sisters. As Sylvia’s dance partner led her past, Claire was able to get a good look at Sylvia. She wore a stunning lavender silk-satin dress that shimmered in the candlelight. The bauble twinkling in her hair wasn’t a diadem, as Michael had claimed, but a tiara—a very pretty amethyst and diamond tiara.

“At first I thought he’d sent it as some sort of a jest,” Michael said. “It’s the same color as her hair, you see. But Mother took out her magnifying glass and inspected it. It’s not paste at all.”

Claire scoffed. “Have you met William? I don’t think the man knows what faux means.”