Chapter 13 - Claire
Lord and Lady Perkins were not the flashiest of the ton, but their family name was old and the London manor they inhabited was exceedingly grand.
Claire wasn’t surprised, then, that their large ballroom was nearly filled by the time she and her siblings made their fashionably late entrance that Friday night.
Claire felt exceptionally pretty in a deep-blue-green silk-satin gown.
The square neck was edged in tightly pleated ribbon in the same shade, and the sleeves had just a hint of a puff.
It was a deviation from the more severe cut of gown she typically favored.
Mara had curled Claire’s hair into soft, romantic curls before pinning it loosely with several small peacock feathers and topped off the ensemble with dangling sapphire earrings.
Claire had barely scanned the room—looking for Michael, if she were being honest—when a man appeared suddenly at her elbow.
“May I have this dance, Miss Preston?” he asked.
In reflex, she frowned at him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Though they hadn’t, in fact, been introduced, she recognized the gentleman. Lord Nelson was popular with the female set. He had blond hair and blue eyes and was the smooth kind of good-looking that Claire instinctively never trusted.
Even as a lady, Claire found it nigh on impossible to keep her person flawless.
Yet every time she saw Lord Nelson, he was impeccable, his hair perfectly in order with not even a strand out of place.
Perhaps it was the combination of his pomade and his smarmy smile that made him appear as some sort of caricature, as if a cartoonist had been instructed to draw a very good-looking man.
Tonight was the same as always—his appearance was immaculate. Even his terrible eggplant waistcoat had been ironed to a mirror-like perfection.
He caught her fingertips and bowed over them. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Nelson.”
Claire withdrew her fingers as quickly as possible without yanking them from his slightly too-firm grasp. “This is highly irregular.”
A marionette—that’s what he reminds me of, Claire thought. With his dead eyes and perfect smile, Lord Nelson looked like one of those creepy dolls that were made to speak and dance on stage.
“But don’t you agree that some of the best things in life are just slightly improper?” He grinned at her, standing a little too close.
Claire was aware of many eyes upon them.
It simply wouldn’t do. Lord Nelson had left numerous heartbroken young ladies in his wake.
When it came to rakes, there was none as established or prolific as he.
Claire thought the only reason he was forgiven for his exploits was because of his title and how well respected his father had been.
Of course, such things were always blamed on the young ladies, not the gentlemen.
Society had placed the burden of propriety squarely on young ladies’ shoulders.
It was hardly fair, Claire thought. After all, the young ladies weren’t warned of what a rake truly was—at least, not in clear enough language to understand the true danger.
Ladies were so often told what not to do, but not any of the reasons why.
If a rumor started about her and Lord Nelson, no Tweed within a hundred miles would call upon her. Claire took a pointed sidestep away from Lord Nelson. His smile remained firmly affixed, but something in his eyes went sharp.
“On the contrary,” Claire said, “I have never found any joy in impropriety, and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Will you please grant me the length of the next dance in order to convince you otherwise?”
He gave a smile that some ladies might have found perfectly charming. To Claire, it appeared a cheap veneer over a poorly made piece. She had experience that other ladies didn’t—Claire knew how to spot a fake from twenty paces. Lord Nelson stepped forward again. Claire’s frown grew.
“I’m afraid my dance card is filled,” she said icily. Her tone and expression could leave no doubt as to how unwelcome his invitation was.
“Your sister is quite popular, but none of the rest of you have had any offers,” he hissed. “Do you really think that you’re in a position to reject a man such as me as a suitor?”
His cruel tone was a grotesque juxtaposition to the wide smile that still lingered on his lips. Perhaps if she’d been as sheltered as she’d once been, his words would have hurt enough to injure. As it was, she barely felt the sting. That didn’t mean she was going to stand for his intended cruelty.
Claire turned to face him fully. “I believe it would be a desperate lady indeed who’d agree to spend more than a single moment in company as odious as yours, Lord Nelson.”
There were several gasps around them. Claire blinked and looked up. She hadn’t realized that their sidestepping had brought them into earshot of a group of fashionable young ladies.
Lord Nelson dropped the pretense of a smile altogether. His eyes flashed in anger. “I’ll make sure you regret your lack of civility towards me, Miss Preston.”
He turned and stalked away through the crowd. Claire tangled her fingers together as whispers erupted around her. She didn’t know what she had done to earn his attention or his ire, but she regretted the whispers far more than what she’d said.
“What was that about?” Michael appeared and frowned after Lord Nelson.
Claire shook her head. “He asked for the next dance. He was…quite insistent.”
Michael’s expression blazed with fury for a moment before he controlled it. Claire had only seen that expression on his face a couple of times prior and wondered why Lord Nelson’s invitation would be the cause of it.
“Though gentleman in title, I don’t believe he deserves the moniker. I’d advise you to stay clear of him if you value your good reputation,” he said.
Claire lifted her chin. “You know that I’m capable of making such decisions for myself.”
“Then you accepted him?” Michael challenged.
“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I told him my dance card was full.”
Michael smiled at her as if the entire exchange with Lord Nelson was all but forgotten. “Is it truly? Or do you perhaps have a dance for me?”
Claire pressed her lips together to hide her very real pleasure. “Of course.”
Michael grinned and swirled her out onto the dance floor.
In the end, Claire’s dance card did fill up.
Several of the gentlemen weren’t at all what she was looking for—too young, too irresponsible, or too boring.
But there were a decent number of likeable gentlemen on her paper fan as well.
She did wish that the Tweed set had spent a little more time practicing their dance steps, however.
Lord Saunders, for example, stepped on her toe twice. Claire smiled serenely and reminded herself of his vast fortune and his lack of interest in any other lady.
Then there was Lord Peel, who, though he remembered all of the steps, was exceedingly bouncy as he did so.
It appeared that he was jumping through the entire dance, and the experience left Claire embarrassed and partly seasick.
She managed to slip away on the excuse of getting punch but headed to the other side of the room instead.
Michael appeared at her elbow several moments later and offered her a cup of frothy pink liquid.
“Thank you,” she murmured, sipping the punch gratefully.
He gave a sly smile. “You looked parched. One can hardly wonder, what with all that jumping.”
“It wasn’t I who was jumping.”
Michael snickered. “Peel looked like he was trying to hoist you into the back of a wagon with every step.”
“That was hardly my fault.” Claire hoped the flush on her cheeks could be attributed to exertion, not embarrassment.
“Of course not,” he said easily. “You danced as gracefully as ever, and anyone watching could see it was an uneven pairing.”
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.”