Page 30 of The Trouble with Tweed

Michael remembered—he had been the one to bring it to her.

“What of your sisters?” he asked. “Did they have a nice time as well?”

“Yes, though they all seemed a bit nervous this morning.” She smiled, and something in his chest squeezed in response. She leaned forward and murmured, “I wasn’t nervous at all, as I knew you would be here to see me through whatever happens next. I confess it feels a bit like cheating.”

Michael’s pride enjoyed her words, though he couldn’t help but hope that no other gentlemen would visit her today. Perhaps it was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Miss Claire Preston all to himself.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Soon, the large downstairs parlor looked like the site of a fashionable party, though the ratio of gentlemen to ladies was approximately five to one. Michael eventually gave up his seat next to Claire. On the surface, he was gracious. In his heart, he did so quite begrudgingly, though he was grateful to see that many of Claire’s callers were not of the sort she wanted.

Eventually, as the number of gentlemen in the room increased, Michael was shunted off to the side, somehow ending up sitting next to Beatrice on a settee across the room.

“It’s an absolute crush in here,” Michael said. “Apparently your brother’s concerns for a successful Season are quite put to rest. There are so many flowers in the room, a man could be overcome by hay fever.”

“I suppose I should be embarrassed,” Beatrice said with a smile. “None of these gentlemen have come to see me, and the only one sitting next to me keeps staring at my sister.”

It was odd that none of the gentlemen had singled Beatrice out—she was just as pretty as all the others. Plus, she had a lively wit and bright eyes. Then again, perhaps all the gentlemen needed to get a good look at Lily before they decided to cast their eyes at another. As it was, Lily had far more callers surrounding her than all of her sisters combined.

“Apologies, Miss Preston,” Michael said.

She grinned. “You must call me Beatrice, of course. Even if we hadn’t grown up together, my pin money would be firmly placed on the bet that I’ll soon call you brother.”

Michael arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Do you gamble often?”

She laughed and dove straight to the point of the matter. “I’m possibly the only one in my family who sees this for what it truly is.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re courting Claire again,” she said, nearly triumphantly. “Of course, she doesn’t know that yet.”

“You certainly sound confident in your opinion.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. “You needn’t lie to me about it; I support you wholeheartedly. Claire was never happier than when you were courting her the first time around.”

Michael dropped his pretense in an instant, leaning forward. “Do you know what happened, then? Why she suddenly changed her mind?”

She shook her head. “There was so much going on back then that by the time any of us noticed, we couldn’t even guess at the cause.”

He nodded his disappointment. If Claire would simply tell him, then perhaps he could apologize.

Beatrice peered up at him. “Do you mean to say that you have no idea, either? I would have thought you knew.”

Michael shook his head. “All I know is that when I left for Paris, things seemed fine. When I returned, she wouldn’t let me through the front door.”

One month—one disastrous month. Michael fervently wished he’d never agreed to accompany his family to France. Then again, they’d gone to attend his eldest sister’s wedding, and there was hardly an excuse for missing that.

That entire Season had been one he’d rather forget. First that terrible interlude with the Dowager Countess Berkshire, then the interminable trip to Paris where all he’d done was pine for Claire, then returning home after a month that had felt like an eternity to find that Claire wouldn’t so much as write him a note to tell him why she wouldn’t speak to him any longer.

At the beginning, Michael had been convinced that Claire had fallen in love with someone else. He lingered for weeks in the park across from the Preston house, slouching against an elm well within the tree line to avoid being seen. He’d noted every man who made it through the front door, but there was no pattern Michael could discern, no lover she was hiding from him.

Then he thought that perhaps Claire thought it was he who’d been unfaithful in some way. Though they’d only just begun courting, Michael had been very serious—he’d declared his eventual intentions. But other than that awful five minutes he’d rather forget, his lips had never so much as grazed another’s. And there was no possible way Claire knew about that—it had happened so quickly, and she’d already left that ball due to a headache.

Besides, Claire had let him visit her three days in a row after that. Then Michael had left for Paris and it had all deteriorated. Something had happened while he’d been gone—something that had ruined everything. He knew for certain it was not him who’d misstepped, so something must have happened to Claire that he didn’t know about—something that had changed everything between them.

“I’ll do my best to investigate,” Beatrice said. “Not that it will be much help. Claire is too private to offer the information, especially if she hasn’t done so already. And she’s far too smart to be tricked into divulging it, but if I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

“I would settle for finding out why she’s convinced I’m a rake.”

“You mean you aren’t?” Beatrice’s forehead wrinkled. “She’s never offered me a reason. She’s simply stated it as firm fact.”