TuesdayNights (15 page)

Eloisa’s eyes widened when she realized this was the very man that Michael had spoken of earlier. She performed a curtsy in response to the banker’s deep bow. Even before their eyes met, she was aware of a frisson in her body, of her breath suddenly leaving and her face coloring a bit as the man seemed to openly admire her. “It’s so very good to meet you, Mr. Huntington,” she said with a genuine smile. So very good indeed. She was sure she had never seen the man before; she would remember him if she had ever been introduced to him. And he was even more handsome than she could imagine from Michael’s description of him! He is debonair, she thought happily. A true gentleman.

Michael noted Arthur’s interest and immediately realized it was genuine. The man had obviously seen Eloisa more often than just the occasion of them shopping on New Bond Street. “Mrs. Smith’s husband died last year,” Michael explained quickly. “His infantry was quite battered in the war, I’m afraid. I try to see to it that Mrs. Smith gets some fresh air now and again.”

Arthur’s attention went briefly to Michael as he listened to the explanation, but it was directed back onto Eloisa almost immediately. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Smith,” he said as he reached for her gloved hand and kissed the back of it. “I lost my wife last year, too, and have found life to be quite difficult without her. Are you ... out of mourning now?” he wondered, noting the color of the gown and the pelisse she wore.

Eloisa wondered at the man’s curiosity. “Yes, finally,” she replied with a nod of her head. “I suppose I overdid it just a bit,” she added, biting her lip when she realized her comment might seem flippant to the handsome banker. “Mr. Cunningham has been so very kind to look in on me. He and my father are business associates, you see,” she added quickly, hoping she wasn’t saying too much. “And please allow me to say that I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Huntington. Were you married long?” Eloisa wondered, trying to determine the handsome man’s age. The cut of his topcoat was exquisite, his Nanking breeches were tailored to fit over his knee in a most precise buttoned cuff, and his boots were polished to a near-glass shine. A neatly trimmed mustache gave his angular face a debonair quality, its jet black color contrasting quite nicely with the flecks of gray in his closely cropped hair. Her gaze drifted down to the ungloved hand that held his beaver and kid gloves. She noticed that his knuckles were scuffed much like Michael’s. He, too, had carefully manicured fingernails.

The man seemed lost in a reverie of his own as he regarded the pretty woman who stood before him. Her face was beautifully flushed, no doubt from their walk, he considered. The strands of brown hair that had escaped from around her bonnet shown with a hint of red, and although her deep blue walking gown and matching pelisse were not the best color for her fair complexion, their fit promised a pleasant figure beneath. “Thank you. It would have been fifteen years this September,” he answered with a nod, a flush coming over him as he realized he’d been staring too long. “And you?” he wondered, hoping her marriage was not long.

“Only a couple of months,” Eloisa spoke softly. “I was in mourning far longer than I was ever married,” she added with a slight shrug of one shoulder, not caring one whit that she suddenly couldn’t remember the details of the back story Michael had devised for her.

Michael cleared his throat, clearly aware of the attraction between the two. “Thank you again for sparring with me earlier today,” Michael said lightly. “I look forward to a rematch.”

Arthur tore his gaze from Eloisa and regarded Michael with a cocked eyebrow. “As do I. Next week, perhaps?” he offered, realizing he had kept them from their walk far too long. He was obviously satisfied with the introduction, though.

“I look forward to it,” Michael replied with a slight grin.

Eloisa turned and placed her hand on Michael’s arm. “Mr. Cunningham, do you suppose it would be acceptable for me to invite Mr. Huntington for tea tomorrow afternoon? My maid would be present, of course.”

Although he hadn’t expected Eloisa to want to host Arthur Huntington for tea – he thought Arthur would first offer a ride in Hyde Park – Michael found this arrangement more promising. “I think that would be acceptable,” he answered. He turned to Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

“I would be honored to have tea with you, Mrs. Smith. At what time may I call on you?” the banker wondered, his enthusiasm barely held in check.

“Four o’clock would be perfect, Mr. Huntington,” Eloisa answered with a heartfelt smile. “I live in the little brick house back there ... with the round bushes on either side of the front door,” she turned and pointed to it as Arthur followed her finger.

“Yes, I know the one,” he said with a nod, not bothering to give the place much of a glance. Michael nearly rolled his eyes as he realized Arthur had, indeed, been admiring Eloisa from afar for much longer than just a few days.

Eloisa nodded. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“And I you, Mrs. Smith,” Arthur replied, lifting her hand one more time to kiss the back of it. He gave them both a bow and hurried off.

As Michael and Eloisa resumed their walk, a wall of silence seemed to build between them. Michael’s attention was on his upcoming trip to Shipley while Eloisa considered the caller she would hosting the following day. After a quarter of an hour of no conversation, though, Eloisa could stand it no longer. “You are angry with me, aren’t you?” she half-asked, biting her lower lip as she turned to regard Michael. But he showed a carefree expression and gave no hint that he was feeling anything in particular.

“Not at all,” he replied lightly, his eyebrows furrowing at her comment. He wondered why she seemed upset. “I feel for Mr. Huntington, and you seemed to have cheered him up quite nicely with your invitation,” he praised her, patting the arm that held his. “Now, if he tries anything untoward, you can be sure I’ll beat his brains in,” he added, a quirk crossing his face as he said it.

“You brute!” Eloisa gasped, realizing too late that he was teasing. She resumed her walk with him, humming softly as she thought long and hard about what kind of biscuits to bake for Mr. Huntington’s visit. Perhaps several flavors so that there would be at least one he liked.

“Eloisa,” he said then, his voice lowering so he couldn’t be overheard by a passersby. “I must visit your father next week. We’re working on another business venture,” he murmured. “I’ve much to complete before the trip, so I think it best I forgo visiting you Tuesday. You won’t mind terribly, I hope?” he asked, not sure of her mood just then.

Eloisa turned her face up to his. “Not at all, Mr. Cunningham,” she replied with a brief shake of her head, a small smile touching her lips. Mr. Huntington is coming for tea! “You must give my family my regards.”

“Of course,” he answered with a nod. He had to keep from smiling at her change in mood since their meeting with Huntington. She seemed ... happy, he realized.

Although Eloisa might have at one time wanted a marriage proposal from Michael, she no longer seemed enamored with him. And he never said he would be her protector for the rest of her life. Had she decided at some point during this past eleven months to search for a marriage prospect? Michael wondered as they continued their walk. For if she had, he was hoping she was considering Arthur Huntington.

She wouldn’t do badly with Arthur Huntington III. Not bad at all.

Chapter 20

A Letter is Delivered on a Monday

April 10, 1815

Snowflakes fell in thick clumps and settled on the top of Olivia Waterford’s bonnet as she walked quickly towards home. She wondered if there would ever be a real spring that year. The weather had been so cold, her mother’s garden hadn’t yet begun to show its greenery. Only the plants on the south side of the house had shown any signs of life. Tired of staying indoors, though, she’d made the chilly trek to Shipley and spent the afternoon shopping for sundries.

Given the weather, she was surprised when the mail coach arrived from the north just as she was about to make her way home. The driver, recognizing she was a Waterford daughter, entrusted her with a small bundle of letters. Most of the missives were for her father, but one bright white envelope was addressed to her. The elegant handwriting on the outside of the parchment was written in a feminine hand, but the crest embossed in the wax seal was that of the Somerset duchy. Olivia considered opening the letter right then and there in the middle of the street next to the coach, but she dared not take the chance that the other letters would fall onto the wet and muddy cobbles. It did not matter what the letter contained in the way of news. She was simply excited about receiving further word from Wiltshire regarding the position of governess for the duke’s children.

Just seven weeks before, she’d sent a letter and a comprehensive list of her coursework and tutors along with a character to the duchy. Even if she wasn’t considered for an interview with the duchess, she hoped her information might be passed along to another family in need of a governess. But then she’d received a letter from the duchess herself, informing Olivia that she had been chosen for the position and asking if she was still available. Olivia quickly replied, telling the duchess she was available at Her Grace’s convenience and that she would await further word about when she should plan to travel to Wiltshire.

Certainly this letter contained that information.

And then she found herself wondering if she was making the right decision. If she left Shipley, she would probably only return to visit her parents on rare occasions. She would probably never see Mr. Cunningham again.

Marriage would be out of the question – had there ever been a governess who was married? But given she had no suitors, she was doing the right thing by accepting the position. She was sure of it.

Lost in thought about the move to Wiltshire and her lack of prospects for marriage, Olivia was unaware of a coach coming on the road behind her. The driver halted the matched Cleveland Bays and the coach ground to a halt directly to her left. Looking up, she waved when she recognized the driver, Mr. White, and then turned to curtsy when Michael Cunningham called to her from inside the coach. The door opened and Mr. Cunningham jumped from the equipage, calling out a greeting as he did so.

“May I offer you a ride, Miss Olivia? I believe our destination is the same,” he said lightly as he held out a hand for her. She’s even prettier than the last time I saw her!

Olivia colored up a bit, surprised by the sudden appearance of the very man she’d been thinking of, as if her memories had somehow conjured him into existence. “I suppose it would be acceptable,” she agreed as a footman set down the steps. There should really be a chaperone, she thought, but she’d known Mr. Cunningham for a long time. He was a friend of the family. Certainly there would be no harm in riding in his coach the rest of the way to the house.

“You have quite a burden there, Miss Olivia. Allow me,” Michael offered as he took the bundle of letters from her grasp, leaving her to manage a small parcel under her other arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Cunningham. You are too kind,” Olivia replied with a grin. She stepped up into the coach, a frisson passing through her as Michael grasped her gloved hand and helped her up the steep step.

Before he followed her into the coach, Michael’s eye was drawn to the top letter on the stack he had taken from her. The crest of the Duke of Somerset was quite evident in the dark red wax seal, and he surreptitiously turned over the letter as he climbed up into the coach. He noted the addressee was not Harold Waterford but Olivia. And the beautiful handwriting was familiar to him. Michael’s brows furrowed.

Elizabeth Cunningham, he realized immediately. Michael’s younger sister and the only daughter of Viscount Cunningham understood why Michael did not wish to marry right away, but she also knew of his immediate need to do so. And she was grateful enough for Michael’s introduction to the man who had become her husband, Jeremy Edward Statton, to bend to his wishes when the need arose. Like now, he thought to himself, hoping the letter was to tell Olivia the offer to hire her as governess had been rescinded. “You have quite a number of letters here,” Michael commented as he took a seat across from her and settled back into the leather squabs.

“Indeed. The mail coach arrived from London just as I was about to leave Shipley,” Olivia replied happily. “I am merely saving the driver from making the extra trip down our lane.”

Michael pretended to notice the top letter for the first time. “And it seems you are the recipient of a rather pretty missive right here,” he countered as he lifted the envelope from the pile and handed it to her. Depending on when it was sent, he was certain he knew its contents.

Olivia reached for the letter and bit her lip as she considered whether or not to open it. “Yes, and I have been most anxious to learn its message,” she said with a sigh. “But we’ll be to the house shortly. I can wait until then.”

“Open it,” Michael insisted. “Please. I will not see it as an offense if you open it and read it this very moment.” He didn’t want to admit that he was as anxious to learn its contents as she was. Perhaps, if it was the news he was expecting it to be, he would ask for her hand right then. Although he didn’t know if a marriage proposal would be welcome upon her reading she was no longer in contention for the position.

“If you are certain?” Olivia queried, turning the letter over and breaking the seal. The bits of red wax scattered into her lap, and she gathered them into her other hand so they wouldn’t litter Mr. Cunningham’s coach. She unfolded the bright white paper and began silently reading the impeccable script.

My dearest Miss Olivia, I wish to thank you for your recent letter of reply and again for your previous letter of introduction and character in regard to the position of governess. My husband and I have been searching for a suitable woman for some time, and we find your qualifications to be quite acceptable. If you are still interested in this position, please make your travel arrangements to Wiltshire at your earliest convenience so that we might determine a mutually agreeable date for you to start. I trust you will be able to make the trip by coach with an escort, but if not, perhaps we can arrange a coach for your transport. I look forward to your earliest reply. Yours, Elizabeth Statton.

Olivia’s eyes widened as she realized she had been truly accepted for the position. She would be the governess for the Somerset duchy! She took a deep breath and let it out, smiling broadly.

“’Tis good news, I expect?” Michael wondered as he watched her reaction. Damnation! What did my sister write?

“Indeed!” Olivia answered excitedly. “The Duchess of Somerset has accepted me for the position of governess for her children!” she claimed happily. “This news is most welcome. I have been waiting to hear word for several weeks.”

Michael, tamping down the sudden anger he felt toward his sister, smiled on Olivia’s behalf.
So much for a marriage proposal!
“Congratulations are in order then. Your family will be most happy for you, I expect,” he said with a nod, his expression not revealing his knowledge of the offer. He silently cursed his sister again, wondering why she would go ahead with hiring Olivia when he’d made his wishes quite clear, when his sister had agreed to rescind the offer given she’d be gaining a sister of her own.

Unlike the position of governess for which Eloisa had applied and apparently landed in London, Michael knew this position to be legitimate. Until his discussion with his sister the ten days ago, he had no idea Olivia would be resourceful enough to pursue the position and have the qualifications necessary to suit Elizabeth’s requirements. “And when does she expect you in Wiltshire?” he wondered, hoping his voice did not betray his disappointment at hearing her words. Perhaps this letter from Elizabeth was sent a couple of weeks ago and was simply delayed in delivery, he considered.

“I must make travel arrangements and let her know when I can start,” Olivia replied, noticing the coach had come to a halt and the footman was opening the door. “It will be a few days before I can leave, I expect,” she said as she stood up and allowed the driver to assist her. “Thank you, Mr. White,” she said with a grin to the driver as she turned to wait for Michael to make his way out of the coach.

A few days, he thought, a bit of panic rising in him. Well, that only gives me a few days, he considered. He was prepared to present his proposal to Harold Waterford on this trip as well as carry out his sister’s recommendation.

He would have to ruin Olivia before she made her way to Wiltshire. Ruin her and marry her and take her back with him to London.

She’ll never forgive me
.