Page 7 of The Trouble with Tweed

“Someone steady. Someone prudent…” She faltered and studied her teacup.

“Someone boring, you mean.”

Claire shrugged, not discounting his claim. “Where you see boring, I see security.”

“So he must be wealthy too?”

“Of course.” Claire sipped her tea and frowned.

She always had liked her tea at a scalding temperature. Memories and nostalgia flooded Michael’s mind—he wanted to laugh at the pleasure of her presence; he wanted to sigh with the relief of it. She was really here. She was speaking to him once more.

She set her teacup upon the tray and deposited a warming pour into the cup. “I want someone predictable. Someone prudent and sensible.”

Michael grimaced as he set his cup next to hers. “Ugh, you want a Tweed.”

“A Tweed? What’s that?” she asked as she complied with his silent request and filled his cup along with hers.

“A Tweed,” he repeated. “An exceedingly boring man. Never steps out of line. Follows the rules. The sort who’s never invited to stay late at a party. A Tweed.”

“You needn’t say it like that, with your mouth all twisted up.”

“It’s the only way one can say it. Detestable word, Tweed.”

“Very well.” She nodded sharply, plunking a cube of sugar into his tea. “I want a Tweed.”

“Why on earth would you want one of those? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who makes you laugh?”

“Laughter’s overrated. Laughter fades.”

He took his teacup from her and nodded his thanks. “My parents laughed throughout their entire marriage.”

“And yet, it still faded,” she pointed out. “Forgive me for mentioning it, but your father has passed.”

Michael shook his head, incredulous. “Do you think my father’s passing made my mother wish she hadn’t laughed with him for the thirty-plus years prior?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know your mother very well anymore.”

“Come round for tea tomorrow. She’ll be delighted we’ve reignited our friendship.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.” She shifted uncertainly.

He arched a brow. “What would you call it? We’re in each other’s confidence.”

“I don’t want her to get any incorrect ideas about the nature of our relationship.”

“Yet you want me to pretend to court you? You do realize if you want the Tweeds to believe I’m interested, others will have to, as well.”

Claire stared into her cup and pressed her lips together.

Suddenly concerned that he was close to talking her out of the arrangement, Michael laughed. “I doubt Mother will get any ideas. After all, I’m not the least bit boring, and you wish to marry the most boring kind of man in existence.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know that.”

“I’ll tell her,” he said reasonably. “Come by tomorrow. She’d love to see you.”

“Very well,” Claire said. “Tomorrow at three.”

“Two o’clock would work better.” It was hardly the truth, but Claire was so used to getting her way in everything that he thought it best to start off as he meant to go on. She would not rule him the way she did everyone else. Not anymore.