Chronicles, 15 October 1816
Charlotte was a vision.
It was the worst possible luck.
Michael knew she would attend the Prestons’ ball, but the sight of her struck him more powerfully than any sight of her ever had.
She was going to marry someone else, he reminded himself. Anyone else, really. Any eligible man in this ballroom could become her husband one day.
He suddenly hated them all.
It was not fair, seeing her so elegantly arrayed, increasing the effort she put into her appearance and apparel right when he had decided to give her up. But this was never going to be easy nor comfortable, so it might as well be acutely painful from the start.
“Stop glowering, Sandford,” Tyrone muttered, shoving a drink in his hand. “That’s an obvious sign to anyone in the vicinity, and questions will be asked. If you wish to illustrate a natural distance between the pair of you without anyone questioning an actual rift, you need to master your expressions.”
Michael turned away from the entrance to the ballroom, facing Tyrone while trying to adjust his features appropriately. “Why does she look like a goddess, Tyrone? Why? I was prepared for her usual appearance, what I am much accustomed to, but this…?”
Tyrone cut him off, shaking his head and looking almost disgusted. “If I had any question about why you were doing this, I do not now. Love for Charlotte Wright is your downfall. Can we move past it now? I do not intend to discuss this for the rest of the Season.”
“Please,” Michael begged. “I would very much enjoy not discussing her. Sterling is still tied to her through his wife, so cannot be my true ally, though he may try.”
“I thought we were simply finding you a life to live,” Tyrone said with a suddenly halting hand. “I am not committing to wage war against Charlotte Wright. I would like to live to see Christmas, if you don’t mind.”
Of course Michael didn’t mean to wage war against Charlotte. Why would he do such a thing? He adored her, still wanted her with an intensity that made his teeth ache, and though she could not see him as any different from the eight-year-old boy who interrupted her tree branch swinging, he had no desire to punish her in any way, shape, or form. Hurting her would kill him.
No, war was not the plan, nor was it the aim.
Feeding his resentment, however…
An odd wave slowly rolled over him, starting from the crown of his head and unfurling down his body. A cool, crisp composure he had never known in his entire life but had seen in the face of every bored gentleman forced to stand in ballrooms and drawing rooms and music rooms for ages of time. A distance that neatly removed him from the present distress ravaging his chest. A perfect, pristine aloofness.
Oh, what blessed relief.
“Of course, not war,” he said simply, surprised that the tone of his voice had not changed as well, so different was his present feeling of existence. “Only separation. So find me a string of young ladies to dance with, and let my life begin.”
Tyrone snorted once. “Steady on, this isn’t some Shakespearean play, and you have no lines. More than that, I am not your nanny.”
Sensing his new friend was not at all inclined towards romantic sentiment, Michael nodded and thought it best to move on. “Very well. I will still require your assistance. I haven’t been particularly social at a ball in years.”
“You don’t say,” Tyrone replied without concern, the lack of surprise in his tone bordering on the impudent. “How astonishing.”
“You needn’t make me sound like a bore,” Michael muttered as he downed the remnants of his glass and handed the empty vessel to a nearby footman.
Tyrone smirked at him. “You’re only a poor git who never got past being a puppy, but never you fear. The Sterlings and I will correct your course.”
“How very reassuring.” Michael shook his head and looked around the ballroom with some curiosity.
He hadn’t really looked about a ballroom before. Likely not ever, unless he was looking for Charlotte. But now, he could freely look and act as he saw fit.
But why would a gentleman without any particular interest dance with any lady? Michael had no interests at present, would need several rounds of introductions before he could dance with anyone worth pursuing, and he wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to pursue anyone at all for now. So what did he do?
Why in the world had he