Page 40 of The Trouble with Tweed

“And furthermore, I should like it if my first child were a girl,” she said stoutly.

A sound halfway between a cough and a laugh sounded from the open archway. Claire glanced up and, with no small amount of relief, saw Michael standing in the doorway. He looked exceptionally handsome in a dark navy suit, holding a bouquet of ruffled white hothouse roses.

She waved him over a bit desperately. “Michael, come settle a debate between us. What would you prefer your first child to be, a boy or a girl?”

Michael smiled warmly and crossed the room. “I don’t think I’d care one way or the other,” he said, “as long as she had the right mother.”

Claire beamed at him. “What a wonderful sentiment. Such a forward-thinking idea.”

“Forward-thinking,” Lord Vickers repeated, his eyes even wider. “Yes, quite forward-thinking,” he mumbled to himself once more. “Miss Preston, I fear that business requires me to depart.”

“Oh, how disappointing.” Claire tilted her head. “I was just about to answer the multitude of questions you asked me throughout our conversation.”

“Oh.” Lord Vickers frowned. “Well, perhaps next time.”

“Indeed.”

He stood, sketched a bow in her direction, and fled the room.

“I see that went well,” Michael murmured.

Claire sagged against the back of the sofa and shook her head. “The man is convinced that his future wife can produce a male heir simply through force of will, all because his mother says so.”

“An interesting notion.”

“Oh, it’s not a notion, not to him. If his mother says it, it’s law.” Claire selected a biscuit from the tea service and bit into it savagely.

Michael chuckled. “That’s the wonderful thing about our courtship. You already know my mother and know that she’d be thrilled with any child of ours at all—not just the sons.”

Claire ignored the swoop she felt in her stomach when she thought of Michael as a father, when she thought of Lady Rutheridge as a grandmother. A shard of jealousy shot through her midsection when she imagined Michael’s wife—how lucky she would be someday.

“Does your mother continue to pester you to take a bride?” Claire asked.

Michael shrugged. “Of course. You heard her the other day. Though it’s hard to imagine, she’s actually much more direct when we’re alone.”

“And what’s your reply?” Claire asked, trying to keep the curiosity from her voice.

“I tell her the truth, that I grow closer to matrimonial bliss every day.”

Claire laughed.

Michael affected outrage even as he pored over the biscuits and selected one with jam pressed in the middle. “You don’t believe me?”

“I shall believe it when I see it, and not a moment prior.”

“Now you sound like my dear sister.”

“She’s incomparably wise, then,” she said tartly.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich and soothing. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I hope you know,” Claire said, upon a burst of sincerity, “that I’m very glad we have renewed our friendship.”

“I am, too.” He cleared his throat. “I missed you, Claire. I’m very glad we’re on speaking terms again.”

“Quite a bit more than speaking terms,” she chided. “We’re in each other’s confidence.”

His expression was earnest when he said, “Indeed. You are my closest friend.”