Page 41 of The Trouble with Tweed

The idea of it warmed Claire’s heart. It had been so long since she felt she had any true friends at all, and Michael was very special to her.

“Here,” he said, offering her the blooms. “These are for you, of course.”

“Thank you, Michael. They’re beautiful.” Claire buried her nose into the perfumed ruffles. “I hope you know I don’t expect you to bring me flowers as part of our pretense.”

“The flowers are separate from our scheme,” he said easily, selecting another biscuit and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “They’re on account of our friendship.”

Claire smiled. As she handed the roses off to Mara to be put in water, she couldn’t help but admire Michael from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t just that he was handsome—though he was. It was his innate confidence that she admired. He was as at ease here as he was at his home, as he would be in the park or in a ballroom.

Though he was still the Michael she knew from her youth, in many ways, that Michael had been a boy. This Michael was fully grown—comfortable with himself in a way that a man could only be when he’d come to a reckoning with himself and the world.

Claire saw an echo of the same maturity in herself. Though she’d still been nervous about this Season, it wasn’t for the silly reasons she’d been apprehensive about four years ago. She wasn’t worried about her hairstyle or her clothes, or that she’d end up marrying someone dull or ugly. Now she worried about rumors of her sisters—Lily, specifically—and whether any of them would secure good matches.

“What bothers you?” Michael asked.

“Nothing.”

“You were frowning just now.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Very well, it wasn’t a full frown. But there’s this little crease that appears at the side of your mouth that conveys the same emotion.”

Claire’s fingers pressed to the corner of her mouth before she could stop them. Michael laughed as she glared at him accusingly.

“No one else would have noticed,” he said consolingly. “It’s only because I know you so well.”

Michael said the words so easily, so flippantly, but they struck some deep chord within her. Had anyone known Claire as well as he did? And their comfortable familiarity would only last until she was wed. For surely no husband would encourage his wife to have a close male friend.

The thought brought a sudden cascade of melancholy in its wake. Claire’s fingertips were still pressed to the corner of her mouth, so she felt it when the little line reappeared.

“May I ask why you’ve chosen to inhabit this small rear parlor, rather than the grand front one?” Michael asked. He’d idly picked up a brass figurine—a duck—resting on the side table and turned it round in his hands.

“It’s bedlam up there. Their merriment has already frightened one of my beaux away.”

He grinned. “Did it really?”

She sipped her tea and nodded.

“Who?”

“Lord Kerring. We were sitting on the sofa nearest to Lily, which was admittedly shortsighted of me, given how many callers she has. One of them accidentally jostled the sofa, and Lord Kerring stood up and ran for the door without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“He didn’t.” Despite his words, Michael looked positively gleeful.

“He did. And what’s more, he was so frightened that he didn’t even put his teacup down before he fled. He took it with him!”

Michael tipped his head back and laughed uproariously. Despite her very real irritation and disgust at the whole thing, Claire’s lips quirked upward into a smile.

“Our housekeeper was quite put out, and William threatened to hunt him down. It was part of one of the silver services, you see. But the following morning, our butler found the teacup sitting on the front stoop, delivered without so much as a knock.”

“Ah,” Michael said, wiping his eyes, when he’d finally recovered from his second bout of laughter enough to speak. “You couldn’t make this up—no one would believe it.”

Claire shook her head. “Now whenever I call for tea, I always receive a china service—as if it’s I who cannot be trusted with the silver. I hardly know what I was supposed to do in that instance. Did the housekeeper expect me to tackle him round the knees? I was so shocked I couldn’t have uttered a word of protest.”

“I can only imagine.”

“If you need an accurate retelling, speak to Beatrice. She’s done nothing but mock me for it over breakfast ever since. She insists my eyes were so wide you could see a ring of white all the way around.”