Chapter 20 - Claire #2
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.”
He arched his brow in a mischievous way. “A pity. There are several I have exceedingly fond memories of.”
Claire pursed her lips and shook her head in lieu of rolling her eyes. Truth be told, she was fighting the hint of a blush from his words, though she hardly wished to reward his impertinence.
“Lord Gill, Lord Evans, and Lord Cook to see Miss Lily Preston,” the butler intoned from the doorway.
“Good heavens.” Claire’s head snapped up to inspect the men filing through the doorway. “Is it always like this?”
Michael smiled. “Isn’t the crowd why you’d keep to the park or the parlor?”
“Of course, but I thought the gentlemen were more evenly distributed amongst my sisters.”
“Lord Brooks, Mr. Craig, and His Grace, the Duke of Dunn to see Miss Lily Preston.”
“If any more gentlemen join us, we might as well hold Parliament right here. We’re very near a quorum as it is,” Michael murmured.
Claire jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow as surreptitiously as possible. “Do be serious. Have none of them come for Beatrice?”
“I’m sure she’ll have visitors, but rumor has it that Lily is the main draw this Season. Indeed, I believe she and Miss Dahlia Warrington are fighting tooth and nail for the top spot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; Lily would never fight for that,” she murmured distractedly as a fresh wave of gentlemen took their positions around Lily. It now looked rather like she were the last open bet-taker on Ascot Day.
“Certainly she couldn’t have encouraged all of them,” Claire whispered.
“Lily doesn’t strike me as the type to know how to discourage a gentleman, does she?”
“Oh dear,” she said faintly.
“Lord Hayes to see Miss Lily Preston.”
It was the man in the dark suit, the one Claire had seen dancing with Lily during the first ball. His grim expression hardly seemed warmer than the first time she’d seen him, and it only grew darker when he saw the crowd surrounding Lily.
“Who is that?” she murmured to Michael.
“Lord Hayes,” he replied instantly.
Claire might have tsked him for his obvious answer, but she was too distracted by the tableau of gentlemen across the room. “But who is he?”
“He’s a man who knows how to get what he wants, apparently,” Michael said, sounding impressed.
Michael was right about that, at least. Lord Hayes had walked forward, said something lowly to the man sitting closest to Lily, and promptly taken his spot.
“Do you think he paid that man to get here early so that he might save a place for him?” Michael raised an eyebrow.
“He certainly wouldn’t look so put out were that the case,” she murmured.
Indeed, the man who’d relinquished his seat looked positively mutinous. Lord Hayes grandly ignored him, turning his focus to Lily.
For several moments, Claire studied the grouping around her sister. Though the other gentlemen conversed with each other in low tones when Lily was otherwise engaged, Lord Hayes’s focus was solely on her sister. Whoever he was, he seemed very serious about the business of courting.
On a sudden thought, Claire turned to Michael with a frown. “If you mean to follow through with our deal, then why are you here?”
“You said you’d help me choose,” he said smoothly.
“Choose?”
“Which lady to court, of course.”
Her stomach twisted in something close to nausea; Claire wondered if she’d had too much breakfast, or perhaps not enough.
“Are you well?” he asked lightly.
“Yes.” She gave a slight shake of her head to clear her mind. “Of course I’ll assist you. Which lady has, er…caught your eye?”
Claire prayed silently that it wasn’t one of her sisters. Even though Michael hadn’t given any of them so much as a second glance when he’d entered, Lily was still the most obvious choice. She was beautiful, and their families shared a connection of friendship that went back many years.
“What about Miss Alice Pennington?” he said.
Claire’s mouth dropped open; she reared back in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” he said easily. “Unless you have a charge against her?”
Miss Pennington was the single silliest young lady of Claire’s acquaintance. It was a testament to her ridiculousness that even a dowry as large as hers could not overcome the difficulty in being in her presence for more than a quarter hour.
“Didn’t her last dance partner fake an injury in the middle of a waltz because she couldn’t stop giggling?”
“Ah, Lord Forthswithe.” Michael half smiled, half winced. “He’s having a rough go of it this Season. Everyone knows that his family is nigh on bankrupt and that he has to marry for money. A shame he couldn’t abide Miss Pennington—she has plenty of it.”
“She hee-hawed like a donkey during the entire song. It was so loud, it distracted some of the strings off their music sheets!”
Michael shrugged. “Very well. Not Miss Pennington. What about Miss Elizabeth Rullond?”
Claire frowned at him. “Is there something wrong with the status of your estate?”
“Why, Claire,” he said, a sly smile spreading across his face. “What a gauche question to ask a suitor.”
She ignored the blush that threatened when Michael referred to himself as a suitor. “I cannot think of another reason why the only two young ladies you’ve mentioned so far are both wealthy and intolerable.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked lightly. “Miss Rullond doesn’t hee-haw like a donkey.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Because she doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t smile. Or even speak.”
“How would you know? Have you ever tried talking to her?”
“Of course not. Her countenance forbids it.”
“I can think of far worse things than having a taciturn wife. That might be a strong selling point for some gentlemen, actually.”
“I know you well enough to know you’d be miserable living with a mute.”
He shrugged. “She could be quite pretty if she’d do herself up a bit.”
“But she doesn’t. She wears only grey or navy.”
“That’s a very odd criticism, coming from you. You seem to be partial to navy yourself.”
Thankfully, the tea arrived, and Claire was saved the necessity of responding immediately by pouring them each a cup.
“I am partial to navy,” she said, much more calm after her restorative first sip. “I also like purple, green, grey…”
“Very well.” Michael waved a hand at her. “You ladies—always bringing the topic back to fashion. It’s quite tiresome.”
Claire knew he was just poking at her to get a reaction, but she couldn’t help shaking her head all the same.
He grinned. “Apologies, Claire. Are you attending the Austens’ ball this week?”
“Yes. Why? Were you hoping to start courting a lady then?”
Michael lifted a shoulder in a shrug and perused the biscuits. “I’d thought about it. But if not Miss Pennington or Miss Rullond, what sort of lady should I court?”
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.