Chapter 7 - Claire
For most of society, the first ball was the overture of the Season, the ringing of the starting bell at Ascot, the beginning. For so many young ladies, it was just as important as their official presentation.
After all, presentation conveyed the approval of royalty, but society’s approval was perhaps even more important when it came to their futures. No matter how important royalty was, one could not marry them.
For Claire, the stakes were even higher.
Not only was it the first ball for three of her sisters, it was her return to society after four years of increasing familial disgrace.
Tonight would be telling—would the ton forgive Claire’s absence these past years, or would they resent her sudden reappearance?
Thankfully, the dresses that Dahlia Warrington had designed for the Prestons were impeccable.
Claire begrudgingly admitted that even she couldn’t find fault with her ensemble.
Her gown was navy taffeta, and it displayed a great expanse of her pale shoulders and neck.
Mara had swept her hair up, leaving several wisping tendrils to frame her face.
Claire had completed the look with a pair of dangling gold earrings that William had brought back from India.
The ballroom of the Duke of Bedford was awash in all of the glitter and splendor that the ton had to offer.
Floral swags draped from marble pillars.
Gold veining in the marble floor winked shimmering reflections of candlelight from the massive chandeliers above.
Every dozen feet or so, huge urns were filled to bursting with an explosion of flowers.
The arrangements were large enough for any wallflower to hide behind, though Claire sincerely hoped that none of her sisters would need to avail themselves of such cover.
She kept her eyes straight ahead as she and her sisters were announced.
Despite Claire’s fears of entering a ballroom to stark, judgmental silence, there was barely a dip in the volume as they descended the staircase.
By the time the Prestons gained the main floor—none of them had tripped, which had been Claire’s other fear—the conversations nearly overpowered the music as before.
Michael arrived at Claire’s elbow immediately. He looked exceptionally well this evening in a deep-charcoal suit with a light grey waistcoat. His reddish hair had already flouted whatever controlling measures he’d taken to subdue it, but that only made him look even more daringly attractive.
“This isn’t going to work,” he stated flatly, his gaze raking her from head to toe.
“Pardon?”
Claire was still recovering from Michael’s appearance. His was the kind of handsome that she easily dismissed as an exaggeration of her imagination when he wasn’t present, but it was impossible to ignore when she stood face to face with him.
“You’re far too pretty for any of the Tweeds to get the courage to ask you to dance.” Michael frowned at her as if in censure.
Her nerves of only moments ago loosened in the face of his complimentary obstinance. “I’ll be satisfied as long as none of us Preston ladies trip and sprawl in the center of the dance floor.”
“I hardly think they’re in any danger of that. Well, perhaps Margaret,” he admitted. “But the rest of your sisters are as graceful as you. Unless someone pushes them, I daresay they’ll stay upright well enough.”
“Your vote of confidence is appreciated,” she said dryly. “But tonight will determine much about my sisters’ futures.”
“It’s only the first ball of the Season.”
“And yet the first ball sets the tone,” she said, in a way that implied he was an idiot for not knowing it.
Though how could he possibly understand the pressures put on a young lady when he was a gentleman of rank and fortune?
Michael nodded to where couples swirled on the dance floor. “We must set a tone of our own this evening, one regarding our grand love story. Let’s join in the dance.”
“The dance is well underway.”
“Then it will be half a dance.”
Michael was already steering her toward the dance floor; she could hardly pull away without making a scene.
A scene was the last thing any of the Preston ladies needed this evening.
Claire had reminded her sisters on the carriage ride over until Beatrice snapped at her that, for heavens sakes, they knew that.
“Won’t it look strange? Wouldn’t it be better if we waited for the next one?” she whispered.
“Don’t be silly. Just follow my lead.”
Before Claire could utter another murmur of protest, Michael swept her into his arms and spun her in the steps of the waltz.
She’d never waltzed with a man before—she’d only been asked to dance a handful of times her first Season out, and they’d all been dances with less contact between the partners.
Her skirts swirled beautifully around her feet as they moved in time to the lovely strains of the music.
The entire setting was as beautiful as any painting, and she was part of it.
Wasn’t that what she’d longed for, those four dark years?
For her family to be restored, to be included in the merry swirl of high society once more?
Yet Claire found she could barely pay attention to the culmination of all her long-held dreams. The warmth of Michael’s hand at her waist was dreadfully distracting.
She was grateful he guided her confidently through the steps; without his capable lead, she might have stomped on his foot or come to a stupid standstill on the dance floor.
“You didn’t tell me you were this nervous about the first ball of the Season,” he said. “I thought your concern lay primarily with your sisters.”
“It does,” she said, a bit too quickly. “However, there’s very little I can do to help them now.”
He hummed as if he didn’t quite believe her. “You can help set the example for their evening. If you enjoy yourself, it might give them the courage to do the same.”
“Perhaps.”
Claire refocused on the steps of the waltz, gratified that her many hours of dance lessons had apparently not been wasted.
Even still, dancing with her sisters had not prepared her for the distraction of being so close to Michael.
She could smell him—some mixture of fresh soap and cologne that had no right to be as enticing as it was.
Besides that, his keen gaze never shifted from her face. She had the sudden fancy that he was able to read her every thought—an idea that threatened to raise color in her cheeks.
“Let’s make a wager,” he suggested with a smile. “Which of your sisters do you think will be asked to dance first?”
“Lily.”
“Do you not think that the gentlemen might be intimidated by her?”
She arched a brow. “I thought you hadn’t noticed how lovely she was?”
He chuckled lowly, a sound that threatened to make her blush in earnest. “No matter how lovely any of your sisters are, they could never compare to you in my eyes.”
Claire had no response for that, particularly because he sounded so earnest when he said it. Though she knew Lily to be far more beautiful than she was, there was part of Claire that wanted to believe Michael…and that was a very dangerous path to trod.
The dance soon concluded, and Michael deposited her near a potted plant and left to wrestle his way through the crush around the punchbowl. In his absence, Claire felt socially adrift. She offered tight smiles whenever she happened to meet someone’s eyes, but no one greeted her.
The next dance was beginning. None of her sisters had been asked yet, but it was still early, and introductions needed to be made. She hoped William was up to the task; it appeared he hadn’t yet budged from his position near a far pillar.
A tinkling, feminine laugh had Claire glancing up. Dahlia Warrington was surrounded by a veritable crowd of gentlemen. It was no wonder—she looked impossibly gorgeous in a deep-purple gown threaded through with gold.
Claire exhaled a laugh through her nose. At least Miss Warrington wasn’t letting William’s idiocy ruin her Season.
“Something funny?” Michael appeared at her elbow and offered her a cold glass of punch as he followed Claire’s gaze. “If your sisters cannot find suitors, perhaps Miss Warrington will be so kind as to lend them one of hers.”
“Indeed.” She smirked.
Michael frowned. “I thought you’d said your brother fancied her?”
“My brother isn’t smart enough to know what he wants.”
Though Claire hadn’t liked Dahlia at the beginning, her opinion of the lady had gone through a remarkable change in their short acquaintance.
Though she was wealthy and beautiful and her family exceedingly well-connected, the woman wasn’t vain.
Instead, she was practical, plain-spoken, and clear about what she wanted in life.
As she watched Dahlia flutter her fan and laugh at one of the many gentlemen surrounding her, Claire was surprised to realize that she quite admired the lady.
Michael grumbled, “He and I suffer from different afflictions, then. I’ve known what I’ve wanted for years.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing worth repeating, I assure you.” He nodded in Miss Warrington’s direction. “Speaking of setting a tone, she appears as if she intends to make good use of the Season.”
“Good for her. She certainly shouldn’t wait around for William to sort himself.”
He leaned closer and murmured, “Rumor has it, she intends to become engaged this year.”
“She and I have similar goals, then.”
“Luckily, you aren’t hunting in the same forest, so to speak. None of the Tweeds have dared to do more than glance her direction.”
Claire frowned. “They haven’t glanced at me, either.”
He smirked. “Perhaps more gentlemen would approach if you didn’t seem so uptight.”
“I’m not uptight,” she very nearly snapped.
“My mistake. You’re the picture of relaxation and ease.” He wiggled her arm for emphasis. It was locked; her shoulders were near her ears with the pressure of it all.