TuesdayNights (14 page)

Chapter 19

An Important Introduction on a Saturday

April 1, 1815

Eloisa Waterford sat on the front edge of a yellow damask settee as she pushed a needle through fine muslin. Pulled taut in a wooden hoop, the muslin was still a bright white despite months of handling. The satin embroidery thread shimmered in the spaces where she had filled in the flowers and leaves, and the ribbons winding in and out of the foliage appeared to be made of silk. Another few days of handiwork and she’d be ready to insert the words of the wall hanging using delicate back stitches.

At one time, she thought the wedding sampler would feature her own marriage information, but now she wondered if it was likely she would ever wed. Perhaps she could finish it for Michael’s wedding, should his mother ever coerce her protector into a suitable marriage.

The knocker on her front door rapped three times. Startled, she pricked her thumb with the needle. Sucking the edge of her thumb to stave off the droplet of blood that was about to appear, she placed the embroidery on the settee and hurried to the door, wondering who would be calling on her at noon. She opened the door to find Michael Cunningham, hat in hand, standing on the stoop of her townhouse.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” Michael said as he bowed, smiling mischievously at the name he called her.

Eloisa blushed and gave him a quick curtsy. “And good afternoon to you, Mr. Cunningham. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” she wondered with a grin as she stepped aside to allow him to enter the small vestibule.

Michael gave her a peck on the back of her hand once he was safely out of sight from the street. “I was hoping you would agree to a walk this afternoon,” he stated as he glanced into the small parlor from whence she’d come. “That is, if you’re not otherwise engaged.”

Eloisa gave a very unladylike snort in response to the comment. “Embroidery is becoming very dull and boring. Of course, I will go for a walk with you. I should change into a mourning gown, though, don’t you suppose?” she asked as she indicated the pale blue batiste gown she wore.

Michael allowed his eyes to travel the length of her gown before replying, “If you mean mourning gown, as in bereaved widow, then ... no,” he said with a glint in his eye.

Although he’d never told Eloisa that he was the son of a viscount, there were those in London who did know. For the sake of discretion, and because he did not want his mother learning about Eloisa, it was imperative that no one know that he provided protection for Harold Waterford’s daughter. Having her pose as the widow of a soldier killed in the war gave her some respectability and him an excuse to call on her when he didn’t wish to busy himself with his business ventures. But today, it was more important that Eloisa be as presentable as possible.

Eloisa stared at him for a moment. “I have a blue walking gown and pelisse,” she suggested.

“Perfect,” Michael replied with a nod.

“It is my maid’s day off ...”

“I know,” Michael replied with another nod, implying that he wouldn’t even be calling on her if the maid was present.

“It’s just that ... I don’t think I can reach ...” she motioned to her back, indicating the buttons.

“I will help with the fastenings of your gown,” Michael offered, his manner quite serious.

Eloisa gasped, a shocked expression finally softening to one of acceptance at the idea of Michael buttoning her gown. But after another moment, her expression turned more serious. “It’s not even Tuesday,” she said as she headed to the stairs.

Michael colored a bit and followed her to her second-story bedchamber. “If today is not convenient for a walk, I can certainly ...”

“Today is fine, Mr. Cunningham,” Eloisa answered brightly as she pulled shut the drapes. “You must know I would never deny you,” she paused a moment, looking up suddenly as she considered why he might be there on a day other than Tuesday. “... Anything you wanted,” she finally whispered, wondering if he had changed his mind about taking her as his mistress. Or had he come to tell her he would no longer be providing protection? A place to live. It had been ... eleven months! Oh, dear.

As she moved toward the dressing screen, Michael reached out for her arm and pulled her to face him. “Eloisa, what is wrong?” he asked, knowing enough from his time with her to realize that she was upset about something. “Truly, have I come at an inconvenient time?” he wondered, his brows furrowing.

Trying to seem embarrassed, Eloise shook her head. “It is only that ...it’s my maid’s day off, and I have to dress my own hair,” she whispered.

Michael pulled her closer. “Which will be covered by a bonnet. We’re only going for a walk,” he reminded her, wondering what she was thinking. Did she think he’d come for a tumble? Good grief! He was going to marry her sister!

But she doesn’t know that.

Grinning at his persuasiveness, Eloisa reached up and smoothed his hair where the wind had tousled it. “Alright, then, but you must really help to dress me. I cannot reach the buttons.”

His eyebrow cocked in a most delightful arch, Michael reached around her shoulders and began undoing all the buttons down her back. He struggled for a moment. “If it’s your maid’s day off, however did you get these buttons fastened in the first place?” he whispered, his face betraying his concentration as he worked on the tiny fastenings.

“The neck opening is quite large enough that I can simply pull this gown over my head without undoing any of the buttons,” she replied with an arched eyebrow, amused by his concerted effort.

“You minx!” Michael said suddenly, his hands giving up on the buttons and instead grabbing some folds of her gown and lifting them up. The dress was over her head and tossed to the bed before Eloisa could protest.

Despite Michael’s assurances that she was a pretty woman and had a pleasant figure, Eloisa was modest, especially in the light of day. With Michael having removed all but her corset, chemise and stockings in a few quick moves, Eloisa blushed bright red. “Cunningham!” she scolded as she tried to cover herself with her arms.

She turned and lifted up the blue walking gown she’d retrieved from the dressing room. About to pull it on over her head, Michael took the gown from her and slipped his hands into the skirt, opening it with his arms. At her stunned expression, he rolled his eyes. “I said I would help!” he claimed, keeping his eyes on her face. He couldn’t help but know she wore only a chemise, corset and stockings, though. He thought of how much she looked liked Olivia and wondered if Olivia would look like this when she wore only a few undergarments. He wondered if her skin would be as smooth and fair, if she had the same feminine curves, if her breasts were larger or smaller than Eloisa’s.

Still bright red with embarrassment, Eloisa ducked into the gown and allowed Michael to turn her body so that he could fasten the jet buttons at the back. “I did not expect you would play lady’s maid,” she countered, accidentally bumping her elbow into his ribs. At the sound of a hiss, she turned to regard him. “I apologize. Did I ... hurt you?” she wondered, not thinking she’d hit him that hard.

Michael frowned. Turning around so his back was to Eloisa, he moved toward the cheval mirror in the corner and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He lifted his shirt to expose his well-muscled chest. Curious, Eloisa peered into the glass from behind and around him. She let out a gasp. At the sound of her shock, Michael looked into the mirror and followed her gaze to a large bruise on his chest.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Michael whispered with a slight grin. “Just took a hard punch is all.”

Eloisa relaxed a bit. She’d seen far worse bruising on Michael Cunningham’s body over the year since he’d become her protector. He’d taken up bare-knuckle boxing for exercise at some point in his past, and on the occasion when he required a plaster or bandage, he’d allowed Eloisa to see to his care. She seemed determined to provide some kind of service in return for his generosity. “I do hope you gave as good as you got,” she murmured as she crossed her arms.

Michael grinned in spite of the pain he felt when he gingerly touched the bruise. “I did, indeed, although I must admit, I hesitated a bit,” he said as he undid the fall of his breeches and tucked in his shirt. “He’s my banker, and I’d rather not hurt him too badly. He has grieved quite enough as it is.” There was a hint of a grin as he rebuttoned his waistcoat, but he paused as he noticed Eloisa. She was staring at his body, one hand held out but not touching him. “What is it, El?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he noticed her faraway expression.

“It’s so brutal, isn’t it?” she murmured, her gaze focused on something not there. “Men beating each other. And beating their women.”

Michael’s reaction was so quick, Eloisa was shocked when her face was buried in his shoulder as his arms pulled her body hard against the front of his. “I would never beat a woman, El, I promise you,” he vowed into her hair as he held her. Then he remembered the bruise she’d had on her cheek the night he rescued her from the brothel. She had been hit at least once, maybe more.

Still stunned by the sudden movement, by the sensation of being held up against the front of his body, Eloisa nodded into his shoulder. “I know
you
would not,” she whispered, her attention back on the present. “But ... But, what of your banker? Would he, do you suppose?”

Sighing heavily, Michael let go his hold on her and led her to the edge of the bed. He turned and sat down, pulling her down next to him. “I believe you have already met Mr. Huntington,” he stated in a hushed tone.” When Eloisa didn’t respond, he added, “He is a widower. He worshiped his wife, and he is desperate to have a love in his life again. I cannot believe the man would lift a hand against a woman. Even a woman who might steal from him,” he added, as if that might be enough impetus for a man to beat a woman.

Eloisa considered his argument, her gaze deliberately avoiding his. “So, why does he fight?” she wondered, a crinkle appearing between her brows. She already knew that Michael did it for the exercise, or, at least, that’s what he claimed when he first told her his reason for taking up the odd sport.

“I believe he does it so that he won’t go mad,” Michael whispered in reply, his eyes focused on the pattern in the Aubusson carpet at his feet. “I doubt the man would even consider taking a mistress. It would be like dishonoring his wife, I suppose. But when he finds a woman for whom he feels affection, I expect he will give up bare-knuckle fighting.” He lifted his gaze to Eloisa’s face, wondering if she believed every man capable of hurting a woman.

Eloisa regarded him for a moment before she nodded. “He needs the ... release, then,” she said with a hint of question in her voice.

Michael regarded her for several seconds, surprised by her insight. “Exactly!” Michael replied, his eyes widening as he realized her comment could be true for Arthur. She understands. When given the chance, Eloisa could astonish him with her insight.

She smiled then, realizing she’d pleased her protector. She stood up from the bed and stepped into a pair of black slippers before taking the small chair at her vanity. As she wound her hair into a tight bun and pinned it atop her head, Michael moved to stand behind her, fastening the rest of the jet buttons at the back of her gown.

Eloisa grinned at his reflection in the mirror. “Are we still going for a walk?” she wondered, thinking perhaps he had something else in mind for the afternoon. Maybe an ice at Gunther’s!

“Yes, we are,” he replied, wondering what she implied with her question. Did Eloisa think he was reconsidering her offer of becoming his mistress? He wondered if he should tell her about his intention to marry her sister later that month. What would her reaction be? he wondered. “In fact, I need to tell you something,” he said quietly.

Eloisa paused, about to attach an ear bob to one of her earlobes. “Oh?” she replied.

“This man ... Arthur Huntington ... we’re going to meet him today. While we’re on this walk,” he explained, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake by telling her what he had planned. “He asked for an introduction.”

Her eyes widening, Eloisa turned from the vanity to look at him directly. “Why?” she wondered, a bit of panic causing her stomach to clench. Was the man looking for a mistress? Had Michael suggested her?

“He’s ready to find a wife,” Michael stated.

Eloisa’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. A banker has asked for an introduction to me! “What ... What have you told him? About me, I mean?” she wondered. Did the man know ..?

“You’re a war widow, and you’re done with mourning. Nothing more,” he promised.

Letting out the breath she’d been holding, Eloisa slumped in her chair. “Oh.” She started nodding. “Then, I suppose we should be going,” she said as she turned and finished clipping on the ear bobs, her movements quick and efficient. She had her pelisse pulled on and buttoned before Michael had finished rebuttoning his topcoat.

Once he glanced out the windows and determined that the street in front of her townhouse was clear of pedestrians, Michael offered Eloisa his arm and they took off for the afternoon stroll.

Eloisa seemed lost in thought, and not wishing to interrupt the silence between them, Michael was soon lost in his own thoughts – so much so that he nearly missed Arthur Huntington as the man walked toward them.

“Good afternoon, Cunningham,” Huntington greeted him as he hurried up to Michael with his right hand outstretched.

Smiling, Michael grasped the hand and shook it vigorously. “And good afternoon to you, Huntington. I see our earlier sparring match has not affected you in the least,” Michael said jovially.

Arthur shook his head. “No, indeed. It was good exercise,” he replied, his attention turning to Eloisa. The man’s smile of greeting turned to one of appreciation as he nodded to Eloisa and removed his hat.

“Allow me to present Mrs. Eloisa Smith,” Michael stated as he lifted the arm she held. He couldn’t help but notice Arthur’s gaze on Eloisa. He wondered how long the banker had known about the widow and if he remembered having met her at Waterford Hall. “This is my banker and sometimes boxing opponent, Mr. Arthur Huntington,” he said by way of introduction. “The Third,” he added, thinking the full name might seem more impressive to Eloisa.