Page 59 of The Trouble with Tweed

“He was fine. Perfectly appropriate, as you said.”

So Lord Sheldon had been as advertised, then. He was the most boring man on the face of the planet…which, of course, was what Claire had said she wanted. For a moment, Michael thought that he’d accidentally succeeded in providing her the perfect man to marry.

“I only wonder if…” She frowned morosely into her teacup, and Michael felt a jolt of happiness.

“If he’s not to your taste,” he said airily, waving his hand, “there are plenty others.”

“Are there really?” Claire brightened and straightened in her chair.

“Of course,” he said. “Tweeds are plentiful, and their mothers would all be more than happy to foist them on you. Actually,” he said, smiling without an ounce of rancor, “it’s more like their mothers would be thrilled to invite you into their households, for let’s be honest, none of those men are ever leaving home.”

Michael caught the small frown playing at her lips and swallowed back a smile. So she hadn’t thought of that part yet, had she? No matter; he’d planted the idea, and Claire’s mind was a fertile place for any thought to grow.

He continued, “For example, Lord Sheldon lives with his mother. She’s quite young, by the by. Sheldon was the product of his father’s second marriage. His mother is actually much closer to your age than you’d think. I bet that you and she would be friends of a sort after a while. Though it might be difficult to decide who has the run of the place.” He frowned as if considering it for the first time.

Claire studied him with narrowed eyes. Perhaps he’d been too on the nose with his comment about running the household.

“You will not frighten me away from him,” she said.

“I don’t mean to. You’re smart enough to decide what you want for your future.”

That’s what Michael was counting on. It was only a matter of time before Claire would come to realize that these men would do nothing but bore her, and that she ought to be with someone far more engaging and intelligent than any of these louts.

Claire should be with him and no one else. Michael could forgive her for not realizing it at first, as long as she came around to the right view of things eventually.

“To that end,” he said, “I think that there is a Mr. Gray that might be of interest to you.”

She blinked. “A mister? Have we run through the list of eligible nobility already?”

He chuckled. “Mr. Gray is exceedingly wealthy and the first cousin of the Duke of Heinrich.”

“Yet he does not have a title himself. If you aren’t capable of fulfilling my requirements, perhaps I should look for said gentleman on my own,” she said tartly.

“Have I failed you so thoroughly already? Isn’t Lord Sheldon still on your list?”

“He is.” She frowned.

“If you don’t think I’m necessary to the process anymore…” He shifted as if to stand, and her eyes widened.

Claire flapped her hand at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I apologize; I’m just in a foul mood.”

“There will be many more of those, I imagine, if you marry Lord Sheldon. The man is a walking foul mood. Do you know that the boys and I used to make a game of it at Eton?” He leaned forward, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “We used to see if we could force him to agree with a positive statement.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Claire topped her tea off with a warming pour.

“I mean that we would take turns saying good things, happy things, and seeing whether we could ever back Sheldon into a corner to say something nice about anything.”

“Is he truly that bad?” She cringed.

“I’ll not lie to you. The only things we ever got him to say positive things about were his mother, the consistency of the oatmeal, and, on one long, interminable journey, the quality of the carriage springs. And that was only because we got him to admit that they were at least better than the last carriage we’d been on.”

“Perhaps I should scratch Lord Sheldon from the list.” She frowned. Then her eyes lightened. “You did say there were others, did you not?”

“Indeed, Mr. Gray, as formerly mentioned, might be a good option. And then there is Lord Graves.”

She grimaced. “Goodness sakes, what dreadful names. Gray. Graves.”

“Indeed, though I think that the former Lady Graves thought that his massive fortune was consolation enough for the moniker.”