To Charm an Earl by Christmas (Preview)

Prologue
Westchester Hall, Essex, Christmas Eve, 1806

The air was filled with the sound of guests laughing and chatting as they swirled around the large ballroom below. Lady Claire Walters, who had turned thirteen only a month earlier, sat in the window seat upstairs, gazing out the window, watching the soft fall of snow against the cerulean blue of the dusky sky. She was feeling unbearably restless.

I wish I could still be at the ball. She stuck out her chin in a mutinous way. How fun it would be to dance the night away on the night before Christmas.

But it was not to be. Claire had been sent upstairs after only two hours of running among the partygoers, playing tag with the other children, and eating one enormous slice of Christmas cake.

Her father, the Earl of Leicester, had found her eventually, even though she had tried her best to dodge him, he sent for her nursemaid to take her upstairs. Claire wasn’t old enough to stay up late for the annual Christmas Eve ball yet. She wouldn’t be old enough until she had made her debut, which was years away. That was just the way it was.

She sighed, kicking her foot against the seat. She wanted to go downstairs and join the fun. Nancy, her nursemaid, had been called downstairs to help with something before she had gotten her charge to bed, and Claire had snuck out of her chambers, sitting in the window alcove, but not daring to go any further, for fear of a scolding.

Suddenly, she stilled. There was a figure creeping down the long hallway. Claire pressed herself back into the alcove, where she couldn’t be seen. She kept watching.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. It was Julian Rutherford, the eldest son of the Earl of Munster, who was the best friend of her father. The Countess of Munster, his mother, and her own mother were the very best of friends, as well. The two families were so close they were like family to each other. And part of their shared friendship involved various Christmas celebrations, including the annual Christmas Eve ball. They took turns hosting it—this year it was her family’s turn.

Julian was the same age as her and the bane of her life. He had been irritating her and playing pranks on her ever since she could remember. What was he doing now? Why was he upstairs?

She pressed herself back further into the alcove, her heart thumping hard, watching him. He hesitated outside her chambers for a moment, looking around, grinning in an almost maniacal way, then opened the door and stole inside.

Claire frowned. Knowing Julian, he was probably putting a frog in her bed, or was tipping a tin of treacle into a drawer, or some other such thing. He had been pulling pranks on her for as long as she could remember. She repaid him in kind—he never bested her. She still chuckled remembering the day she had placed a lizard in the sleeve of his jacket and how he had yelped and danced around like a lunatic when he had slid his arm into it.

She and Julian were sworn enemies. They had taken a vow, sealed with spit. Even if they always sought each other out, ignoring the rest of the children, who they disdainfully called milksops.

What is he doing? I cannot bear it!

Claire got up, tiptoeing to the room. She was going to catch him in the act. She might even startle him so much that the prank would backfire. She grinned. This was going to be fun.

She counted to three, then pushed open the door, with a loud bang. Julian was standing next to her armoire. He jumped, swiveling around, a guilty expression on his face.

“Aha!” cried Claire, glaring at him. “You are caught in the act!” She took a step forward. “What are you doing in my chambers?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, still with a sheepish look on his face. “Nothing at all…”

“You lie,” cried Claire, rushing forward, her eyes darting around the room. She couldn’t see anything out of place, but that didn’t mean anything. Julian was stealthy. “You know you are going to get into trouble for being up here. Your governess is going to spank you soundly!”

Julian shrugged. “I do not care. I am too old for a governess now anyway and her blows are ineffective. I am going to Eton next month, you know. I am going to boarding school…”

“Yes, yes, so you keep saying.” Claire rolled her eyes. “I shall be glad of it! It means I no longer have to endure you and your foolishness.”

He didn’t look offended at all. He laughed, a loud, braying laugh. Claire glared at him.

“Stop,” she said quickly. “You will have everyone upstairs in a heartbeat.” She picked up the corner of the blanket on her bed, looking beneath gingerly. She couldn’t see a thing. “You should go.”

“You do not want me to go,” said Julian, with a lopsided grin. “I am the only one who truly amuses you, Claire. You know it is true.”

She frowned. “I do not know any such thing,” she declared in a lofty tone, raising her chin. “We are sworn enemies, remember?”

“Of course we are,” said Julian, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “But the very best of sworn enemies.”

Claire ignored him, peering underneath the bed. Nothing there. She started roaming the room, opening drawers, peeking into the laundry hamper, opening the wardrobe door with a cry, half expecting a fake skeleton to fall on top of her. But there was nothing.

She glanced back at him, her hackles raised. He looked as innocent as a lamb. It was all an act, of course. She had seen Julian lie straight to his parents’ faces. He was in here for a reason… and it seemed that reason was going to spring at her when she least expected it. He had concealed it well.

“You are good,” she conceded, her eyes narrowing. “Very good.”

“Good at what?” he asked, his grin widening. “I have no idea what you mean, Claire.” He stared at her. “I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. That is all.”

Claire gazed at him suspiciously. She wasn’t falling for it.

Then she heard footsteps thudding down the hall toward her chambers. She jumped. He was distracting her. At any moment, Nancy was going to burst into the room, and then they would both be in trouble. And she really didn’t fancy an encounter with Nancy’s switch tonight. It was Christmas Eve!

“You must leave,” she whispered fiercely. “But you cannot leave by the door… Nancy is here…” Her eyes darted around the room, fixing upon a panel on the wall in the corner. “I know! You must take the secret passageway.”

She grabbed his hand, dragging him to the panel. She pushed against it with all her might. There was a shuddering creak and then it opened. It was inky black inside.

“What?” Julian gaped into the hole, then turned to her. “You never told me you had a secret passageway!”

“I do not tell you everything, Julian Rutherford,” she sniffed. “I discovered it a year ago, and then I found a book in the library about the history of the house. It was built during the reign of King Henry when he was persecuting the Catholics…” She jumped. The footsteps were getting closer. “Oh, there is no time for a history lesson now! You must get into it, quickly! It leads to a small room in the kitchen. You can find your own way back to the ballroom from there.”

Julian looked horrified. “But… there may be rats or spiders or anything in there…!”

Claire put her hands on her hips, glaring at him, with a scornful look. “Do not be so cowardly. You will live.”

Julian hesitated. “You are braver than a boy, Claire,” he declared, shaking his head. “I sometimes doubt you have a drop of girl blood in your veins.”

“Most girls are saps,” agreed Claire, shaking her head disdainfully. “They jump and squeal and laugh like twits. I should have been a boy!”

“You climb trees better than any boy as well,” he said, looking at her with a glimmer of admiration. “And you give the fiercest ear tweaks.”

“I have practiced a lot,” grinned Claire, feeling pleased at the praise. “There is an art to it, you know…”

Julian opened his mouth to reply, but Claire heard a rustle at the door and the twisting of the doorknob. Nancy was here. And that door was going to open at any moment.

Quickly, she placed her hands on his back, pushing him into the hole. He gave a yelp and then he was gone. She had just managed to close the panel again when the door opened.

Nancy scowled at her, hands on hips, her eyes narrowed.

“Are you up to mischief again?”

“Of course not,” replied Claire, feeling her cheeks flaring with color. “I was just waiting for you, Nancy.” She smiled, trying to look innocent, but felt like her face was about to crack.

Nancy sniffed, not looking convinced. “I will order some hot water for you to wash.” She rolled her eyes. “It is bedlam down there! The servants are all running around like headless chickens! I had to help carry a crate of champagne into the great hall.” She huffed, before turning and leaving the room again.

Claire sighed, walking to the bed, and her armoire. It was where Julian had been standing when she had first entered the room. She opened it… then gasped.

There was a small box there, wrapped in bright paper.

Hesitantly, still fearing that it might be a trick, she ripped off the paper, opening the lid of the box. She gasped again. There was a necklace nestled inside.

She put down the box, taking out the necklace, holding it in her hands. It was a tiny golden star on a chain. In the middle of the star was a small blue stone, which glimmered and twinkled in the flickering candlelight.

He gave me a Christmas gift. She stared at it in wonder. He came into my room to give me this gift. He wasn’t intending to play a prank on me at all.

Claire’s flush deepened. An odd feeling nestled in the canter of her chest as she gazed at the necklace. She knew that it wasn’t precious—he had probably spent some of his allowance to purchase it, which wasn’t much—but it was such a thoughtful gift that it took her breath away.

Her face felt like it was on fire. She had hidden a gift in his room at his house two days ago, when her family had been visiting. But it had only been a quill she had taken from her father’s study. It wasn’t anything like this necklace.

Had he found the quill and then decided to buy her a necklace? Or had he done it entirely ignorant of her gift?

She turned the necklace over in her hands. No, it wasn’t precious—she had far more precious jewelry in the box on her armoire. But somehow, she knew that this little necklace, with its small piece of glass in the center, would be more precious to her than all the jewels in that box which contained real diamonds, sapphires and rubies.

Quickly, she unclasped the chain, putting it around her neck. The star hung just below her collarbone. Claire reached a hand up, touching it.

They were sworn enemies and always would be. But as Julian said—they were the very best of enemies…and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter One

Twelve years later

“Good morning, Mrs. Appleby!” cried Claire, as she strolled down the main street of the village, swinging her reticule. “It is such a lovely day, is it not?”

The old flower seller grunted at her, clearly not sharing Claire’s enthusiasm for the day. Claire grinned at her before moving on. It was a beautiful day—the sky was a clear, light blue, with only a whisper of clouds. Even though it was cold, there wasn’t a hint of snow yet. The sun was shining so brightly she almost felt warm.

It does not feel like Christmas is approaching. Claire gazed around at the shops and the street stalls. The aromas of roasting chestnuts and pork pies filled the air, causing her stomach to rumble loudly. But then again, it is still a month away. Very soon Carringrove will be awash with the decorations of the season.

She had reached her destination. The shop bell tinkled merrily as she entered the store, peeled off her gloves and gazed around. Mrs. Mitchell’s Dressmakers was her very favorite modiste in the village—far superior, in her opinion, to Mrs. Parker’s store, which was at the other end of the village. Mrs. Mitchell had studied her craft in Paris, and it showed in her designs.

Besides that, she liked Mrs. Mitchell enormously, along with her quiet, lovely daughter, Miss Emmeline Mitchell, who was the same age as Claire. Even though the dressmaker’s daughter was of lower status than Claire, it didn’t seem to matter. Emmeline was a firm friend… and another reason she frequented this store, as well.

And today was Thursday. Every Thursday, she had tea with Mrs. Mitchell and Emmeline. It was tradition. Mrs. Mitchell ordered the most divine orange cakes from the bakery across the road. And considering the way Claire’s stomach was rumbling now, she couldn’t wait to take a bite of the creamy delicacies.

“Good morning!” she called, advancing into the shop.

There wasn’t an answering call. Claire frowned. In fact, there wasn’t a sign of anyone in the store. It was as quiet as a church, which was very unusual. Usually, the dressmaker and her daughter were bustling around, serving customers, or if there weren’t any, they were polishing cabinets or straightening displays.

“Good morning,” she called again.

There was movement from the back of the store. The next minute, Mrs. Mitchell emerged. Her eyes looked red-rimmed.

“Oh, My lady, my lady,” said the dressmaker, trying to smile. “There you are! Please, come into the back of the store. The tea is waiting.”

Claire nodded, walking behind the shop counter and through to the back of the store. Emmeline was there, sitting near the window. She turned around. Claire gasped. It was obvious that she had been crying—her cheeks were still stained with tears.

Claire kept staring at Emmeline, then back at her mother. “What is wrong? Has something happened?”

Emmeline gazed at her mother, who sighed heavily. “We have had some bad news, Claire,” she said, in a quiet voice. “But it is none of your concern. Please, sit down, and I shall pour the tea…”

“I shall certainly sit down and have tea,” said Claire, settling across from Emmeline. “But I also insist that you tell me your bad news.” She gazed pointedly at Emmeline, then back at her mother. “Perhaps I may help.”

Mrs. Mitchell sighed again, picking up the teapot, pouring a cup and passing it to Claire. She accepted it gratefully and took a sip. There was silence.

“Oh, please, do tell me,” said Claire, her heart twisting, as she looked at the women. They were clearly devastated. “We are friends. I have been taking tea with you both for two years now. And I am your most regular, loyal customer.”

Mrs. Mitchell looked pained. “We are having… some financial difficulties, Lady Claire,” she replied, biting her lip. “We are having trouble repaying a loan…”

“My Uncle Mitchell is insisting we pay the remainder of it,” interjected Emmeline, looking angry now. “My late father’s brother loaned us a significant amount, to tide us over when times were bad, you see. The repayments were small monthly amounts, which have been manageable up until now.”

“Yes,” said her mother, in a faltering voice. “But now, my brother-in-law insists that we pay the full amount we owe… and if we cannot, we must pay in a different way.” Her face flushed. “He says that if we cannot give him the rest of the sum at once, then in lieu of payment, Emmeline will have to marry an old friend of his…”

“An old friend, indeed,” interjected Emmeline in a bitter voice. “His name is Mr. Owen, and he is a widower—with four children!” Her face twisted and she burst into noisy tears. “He is old enough to be my own father!”

Claire gaped at her, horrified. “Who is this Mr. Owen? I have never heard of him!”

“He lives in the next county,” replied Mrs. Mitchell, patting her daughter on the back. “He is a successful solicitor, just like my brother-in-law. That is how they are acquainted with each other.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “We are not acquainted with him either. He is a stranger to us… and my brother-in-law wants to marry his only niece, the daughter of his late brother, to this stranger in lieu of payment of the loan.”

“It is mercenary,” gasped Claire, shaking her head. “There must be something that can be done!”

“There is nothing to be done, my lady,” sighed Mrs. Mitchell. “We simply cannot afford to repay the loan in full immediately. It would ruin the business.” She glanced at her daughter. “It seems that Emmeline must marry this Mr. Owen. There is simply no choice.”

Emmeline burst into noisy tears again. Mrs. Mitchell sighed, patting her daughter’s back. Claire gritted her teeth, gazing at them both. They were devastated, and she didn’t blame them at all.

Emmeline was only two and twenty—a year younger than Claire. She was a beautiful girl, with full lips, wide, expressive brown eyes, and glossy light brown curls. A girl with her whole life ahead of her. A girl who Claire knew was romantic and longed for a love match. It would be a travesty for such a girl to be married off to a man old enough to be her father and take on the responsibility of four children.

It must not happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

“How much do you owe on the loan?” asked Claire, in a businesslike tone.

They both looked shocked. Emmeline stopped crying, staring at her. There was a tense silence.

“There are seventy-eight pounds still to pay on the loan, my lady,” replied Mrs. Mitchell, in a pained voice. “We can pay twenty-five of that immediately, but not the rest. It is far too much to take out of the business, as I say…”

“I will loan you the rest of it,” interjected Claire, leaning forward, gazing at them earnestly. “That is fifty-three pounds. I have saved more than that from my pin money and the gifts I have been given over the years.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You can repay me when you are able to do so.”

“Oh, no, my lady,” protested Mrs. Mitchell, looking alarmed. “It is far too large a sum! We would feel terrible to take it from you! But bless you for offering to help us.”

“I insist,” said Claire, her voice hardening. “It truly is no trouble for me, Mrs. Mitchell. I have the money. And I would rather loan it to you than spend it on fripperies, if it means that Emmeline does not have to marry a stranger old enough to be her father.”

Emmeline gasped, looking so grateful that Claire’s heart contracted. Emmeline turned to her mother with a pleading look on her face.

“Oh, please, Mama,” she whispered. “Do not make me marry Mr. Owen! It would be the end of my life.”

Mrs. Mitchell bit her lip, looking torn.

“Please, Mrs. Mitchell,” said Claire, in a low voice. “I am happy to loan you the money. I will do it willingly. We are friends… and this is what friends do when there is trouble. We help each other.”

Mrs. Mitchell sighed heavily, staring at her daughter. Then she nodded, turning to Claire.

“I will gratefully accept your help, Lady Claire,” she said, in a voice just above a whisper. “Not for my sake, but for the sake of my Emmeline. I promised her that I would never force her into a marriage she did not want. It would break my heart to renege on that promise.”

“Then it is settled,” declared Claire, smiling brightly. “I will loan you what you need, you will pay it to your brother-in-law, and all will be well again. I promise you.” She paused. “Emmeline will not marry this Mr. Owen!” She picked up her teacup. “Shall we drink to toast the deal?”

They all laughed. The tension was broken. The two women picked up their teacups, raising them in the air. They all clinked cups before taking a long sip.

“I quite forgot to get the orange cakes,” said Mrs. Mitchell, biting her lip. “In all the chaos of the morning, I did not order them.” She stood up. “I shall go to the bakery now, This celebration deserves a full dozen orange cakes, I think.”

Claire laughed. “I agree! I am so ravenous I could eat the whole dozen!”

Mrs. Mitchell laughed, walking out. Claire looked at Emmeline.

“Are you feeling a bit better now, my dear?” she asked in a gentle voice. “You had quite a fright this morning.”

Emmeline nodded. The color had returned to her face and her brown eyes were bright again. She was looking more like her normal self. The relief in her face was palpable.

“I am so grateful,” she stammered. “You are so kind, Claire. I do not deserve such kindness…”

“Nonsense” declared Claire, smiling at her. “You deserve all the kindness in the world, Emmeline. We are friends, remember? I do not care that I am a lady, and you are the daughter of a modiste. I have never cared.” She took a deep breath. “You are a better friend to me than all of the ladies in my circle. They are such vain, superficial creatures. And friends help each other, remember?”

“Yes, they do,” whispered Emmeline, shaking her head in wonder. “I never thought I would have such a friend as you, Claire You have saved my life. I will be forever in your debt.”

“Not that long, surely,” laughed Claire, reaching over the table to take her hand. “Only until the fifty-three pounds is paid. That will not take forever. Your mother is such a talented modiste that her business will grow with every passing year.”

They smiled at each other. Claire sighed.

“There is another reason I am helping you, Emmeline,” she continued. “It has always been a secret fear of mine to be married to a man I do not love.” She hesitated. “It is more common in my circle than yours. My parents have always vowed to never do that to me, just as your mother vowed to you. But it could still happen.”

“Oh, no, my lady,” whispered Emmeline. “That will never happen to you. You will find your love match. You will see.”

Claire bit her lip. She wished she could be as confident as Emmeline was. But the fact remained she was three and twenty now, and with every passing year, the pressure to marry increased. But she hadn’t met anyone she felt even a half-penny of desire to marry. The gentlemen in her acquaintance were all scared of her. She was no shrinking violet. It would take a strong-willed gentleman to match her.

Such a man doesn’t exist. It is impossible. I shall end up a spinster. I am certain of it.

Suddenly, Claire heard voices from the front of the shop. She strained her ears. There was Mrs. Mitchell’s melodious voice—the modiste must have just returned from the bakery. And there was another voice, deeper, masculine, terribly familiar…

She jumped, sitting upright in her chair, her heart racing. It couldn’t be… what was he doing in this modiste shop? Why was he even awake at this hour? He usually didn’t rise before ten. He could not be so indolent…

The next minute, Mrs. Mitchell entered, followed by a tall, grinning man with a flop of chestnut brown hair and shining hazel eyes.

“Julian,” she cried, glaring at her sworn enemy. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Two

Julian Rutherford, who had assumed the title of the sixth Earl of Munster after his own father had abdicated the title due to bad gout, swept into the back room of the modiste shop, gazing around with interest, pulling his sister Charlotte by the hand.

It was the first time he had ever been in the back of this shop… actually, it was the first time he had ever been in the back of a shop, modiste or otherwise.

A young woman with light brown eyes and hair was sitting at a table along with Claire, who was glaring at him, as always. It was her habitual expression when she saw him, so he wasn’t surprised at all.

He grinned. He had set the cat among the pigeons. He always liked keeping Claire on her toes. She wouldn’t have expected him to burst into the back of this shop and that was why he had done it.

He had heard her voice when he had entered the shop with his little sister Charlotte, for whom he had promised to buy new gowns and an ice confection at the tearooms further down the street. Charlotte adored her sweet treats. She also adored her older brother. His seventeen-year-old sister was gazing up at him now with an expression of complete and utter adoration on her face.

His eyes swung back to Claire. There wasn’t adoration in her face. Far from it.

“Any chance of a cup of tea?” he drawled, his grin widening. He turned to the modiste. “I promise I will not drink the whole pot!”

Mrs. Mitchell, the modiste, looked confused, as well she might. The woman didn’t know him at all—it was the first time he had stepped into her shop. Charlotte and Julian’s mother frequented Mrs. Parker’s modiste at the other end of the town. And he didn’t make a habit of frequenting that shop, either.

“Oh, why are you here?” said Claire, in a loud voice, still glaring at him. “Did you follow me? Are you doing this just to rile me?”

Julian stared at her. “Why do you think the earth revolves around you, Lady Claire?” He turned to his sister. “As it happens, Charlotte needs a new gown, and I thought it would be fun to take her somewhere different. Is that not right, poppet?”

Charlotte beamed at him. Claire rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.

Mrs. Mitchell cleared her throat. “Please, have a seat, Lord Munster,” she said. “And Lady Charlotte…”

“Pardon me, Mrs. Mitchell, but would you be so kind as to take Charlotte to look at some designs?” asked Julian. “I promised our mother I would get her home before noon. We must make haste” He gave her a wide smile. “I promise I shall make it worth your while!”

Mrs. Mitchell looked surprised, then gratified. “Of course, my lord,” she said, before taking Charlotte to the front of the shop.

Julian sat down, picking up the teapot, gazing at the two women. “Shall I be mother?”

“Oh, do not be such a church bell Julian,” snapped Claire, grabbing the teapot from his hands. “I shall pour, if you insist on joining us.”

Julian turned to Emmeline. “Lord Munster, at your service, miss.”

“This is Lord Munster, my sworn enemy,” said Claire, her eyes snapping. “This is Miss Emmeline Mitchell.”

“My lord,” stammered Emmeline, looking embarrassed. Julian thought it was probably the first time she had ever sat with an earl in the back of her mother’s dress shop.

He noticed that Claire poured the tea into the cup slowly, filling it halfway, before adding just a dash of milk, followed by two lumps of sugar. He smiled slowly. She always remembered just the way he liked his tea.

He gazed at her as she stirred the sugar in the cup. Claire was a very beautiful woman, and she seemed to become more beautiful with every passing day. The gap-toothed, freckle faced girl he had known had grown into a great beauty.

He noted her flashing blue eyes, her fiery red hair beneath her bonnet, the way her cheekbones slanted, and the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, which didn’t happen often when she beheld him, as it happened. But when she did smile at him, it was a sight to behold. Claire’s smile could light up a dark room.

Yes, she has grown into a true beauty. He contemplated her as she passed him his cup of tea. And yet, she has never courted anyone seriously, and has never had an offer of marriage, despite her beauty.

He sighed, taking a sip of his tea. He knew the reason why—Claire was intimidating. She scared most gentlemen witless. She was as far from a gentle, meek lady as could be imagined. She had always been a tomboy at heart, and she didn’t kowtow to anyone. She would never flatter a gentleman just for the sake of it. She was more likely to enrage a gentleman by talking far too bluntly.

But that was the reason he liked her. Not that he would ever tell her that, of course. They were sworn enemies, after all. The very best of sworn enemies… and it had always been that way, ever since he could remember.

His mother had told him once that he had a relationship with Claire that was equal parts love and equal parts hate, which seemed about right to him. When they weren’t angry with each other, or playing pranks on each other, they sought each other’s company more than any other person. She had always been a part of his life, and he couldn’t imagine it any different.

He sipped his tea, still gazing at her in a contemplative way. Claire’s cheeks turned pink. Her blue eyes were snapping with impatience.

“So,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “Are you going to enlighten me as to the reason for this intrusion?” She took a deep breath. “Charlotte and your mother never shop here. They frequent the modiste on the other side of town.”

Julian shrugged. “I heard you say that Mrs. Mitchell is the best modiste in the village, and I suggested to Charlotte that she should give the lady a try. That is all.”

Claire laughed mirthlessly. “Knowing you, there is always more to it than that, Julian. Have you put a trip wire on the door so that I fall when I leave the shop, by any chance?”

Julian burst out laughing. Miss Mitchell’s jaw dropped, gazing from Claire to him, with a look of astonishment on her face.

“No, there is no wire,” he laughed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “If you trip, it will be entirely your fault, Claire. You cannot blame me for it.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Drink your tea, please. It will go cold.”

His mouth twitched, but he did as she bade. It was just so satisfying aggravating her like this. He watched the small furrow in her brow appear, just like it always did when she was aggravated with him.

“Are you here to order your gown for Lord Nottingham’s ball?” he asked, putting down his cup, his eyes on the furrow in her brow. “Time is ticking, you know.”

“Perhaps,” she said, tossing back her head. “That is my business, not yours, Julian.”

“My parents are quite thrilled that the Christmastide season approaches,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “My mother is determined it will be the best Christmas season ever.” He gazed at her speculatively. “I promise that I shall dance with you at the ball, Claire, and I will get some of my friends to stand up with you, as well. You will need it, considering you never have many dance partners at balls.”

Claire’s color deepened. She looked affronted.

“I would rather accept the bite of a snake than your help,” she snapped, her eyes glittering with irritation. “I can find my own dance partners if that is what I desire, Julian. Again, it is none of your business at all.”

“Oh, come now, Claire,” he said, switching to a softer tone. “You know I am only looking out for you, as I always have.” He winked at her. “It bothers me that you do not seem to enjoy balls or social events in the slightest. How are you ever going to find a husband?”

Claire’s face turned puce. He knew he had pushed her too far. She was very sensitive to the fact that she had never had any offers of marriage, or any serious courtships, even though she always stoutly claimed she didn’t care. She claimed that the gentlemen in the district were as tiresome as a winter’s day, and she would rather marry a sea ruffian than any single one of them.

“And what about you, Julian Rutherford?” she barked, glaring at him. “You drift from lady to lady like a butterfly resting on flowers, never stopping for very long. When are you going to fulfill your social expectations and take a bride?”

“I will, one day,” he blustered. “But there is no rush. It is different for gentlemen…”

“Oh, yes, how I know it,” she interjected, her eyes narrowing. “A gentleman may court as many ladies as he likes, with no pressure to marry, until he is good and ready. But a lady must live for a proposal from any gentleman for fear of ending up on the shelf. It is not fair!”

“No one said life was fair, Claire,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “It is just the way of it. Better get on with it before it is too late!”

“I would rather swallow poison than marry a gentleman for whom I have no affection,” she said, tossing back her head again. “And if that means that I shall remain a spinster, then I am resigned to it. You cannot rile me on the subject.”

“And yet you are clearly riled,” he grinned, sitting back in the chair. “The furrow in your brow is threatening to turn into a proper frown.”

“Oh, you are impossible,” she declared, standing up. She turned to Miss Mitchell. “I do apologize, Emmeline, but I feel I must cut short our morning tea, due to present company…”

Miss Mitchell still looked bewildered, gaping at both of them. Julian felt a little sorry for her. It was difficult for anyone who was around when he and Claire started to spar. They inevitably felt left out.
At that moment, Charlotte bounded into the room, followed by Mrs. Mitchell. His younger sister looked full of joy. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks flushed pink.

“Claire,” she cried, running over to her, and grabbing her hand. “Will you please come and look at the design I have chosen? I value your opinion so much. You have such good taste!”

“I would be honored, Charlotte,” smiled Claire. “Lead the way.”

Julian stood up, nodding to Miss Mitchell. Claire ignored him entirely, focusing on his sister, who was chattering like a starling as she dragged her out of the room. Julian followed, making sure he didn’t intrude. Charlotte adored Claire and he knew how much it would please his sister to spend time with her like this, looking at gown designs. Claire was like the sister Charlotte wished she had.

He hung back as they pored over the design, finding himself examining Claire closely again. His eyes seemed to be drawn to her today. But she didn’t turn and look at him once.