TuesdayNights (21 page)

Edward bobbed his head in several directions. “A mixed blessing, I know. But it means if I ever find Anna, I can marry her without reprisals from my mother,” he said with a nod.

Michael gave Edward a worried look. “You still haven’t found her?” he wondered. Anna had been missing for nearly a year! What if she no longer lived in London? Perhaps she had gone back to Bath. Was Edward willing to broaden his search? Or hire an investigator to search for her?

“Not yet, but I will,” Edward said with the kind of assurance that suggested he still had faith he would find the love of his life. “Did you just return from Sussex today?” Edward wondered then, his brow furrowing as Michael matched his step down the hall to the library.

“Indeed,” Michael nodded and hurried to where Jeffers had set out the decanters and glasses on a sideboard. “I would have been home day ’fore yesterday, but ...” He sighed as Edward stopped suddenly to regard his friend. “Listen, I find myself in a rather awkward position,” Michael started to explain as he poured the two of them rather large drinks.

One of Edward’s eyebrows arced up as he took his glass and noted how full it was. “Who’s the chit?” he asked with a serious expression replacing the light-hearted one he had displayed until they reached the library.

Sighing, Michael rolled his eyes. “Olivia Waterford,” he said before taking a huge swallow of scotch. From Edward’s quick take on the problem, Michael assumed the man had already met his wife.

Edward gave him a sideways glance. “I thought her name was Eloisa?” he countered, a bit of confusion showing on his face.

“Younger sister,” Michael replied, opting not to take another sip of his drink just then.

Now more confused, Edward leaned forward. “You’re involved with the younger sister, too?” he asked quietly, not wanting a servant to overhear their conversation. “Oh, now I remember. You told me about her. The night of my birthday,” he claimed, his eyes glazing over.

Surprised Edward would remember anything from that night given the amount of brandy he’d drunk, Michael took a long pull on his own drink. “I married her,” he finally stated with a nod.

“Eloisa?” Edward asked, stunned at the news of a marriage – especially of any marriage – involving Michael Cunningham.

“No, you dolt, the younger sister!”

Edward sat down hard on the edge of a chair and stared at Michael. “
Married?
” he repeated before draining his glass. “
You?
” he questioned, his eyebrows nearly into his hairline. “You married your mistress’s
sister?
” he asked in disbelief, just then figuring it out.

“You must have been very drunk the night I told you I would marry Olivia,” Michael accused, his head shaking from side to side. “And Eloisa is not my mistress!” he added, his ire suddenly apparent.

Edward regarded his friend, his mouth moving much like the mouths of the tropical fish that Lord Everly kept in his library, although no bubbles or sounds came out.

And it was just as well, for there was a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in!” Michael called out, expecting a servant to enter with walnuts and coffee. When he saw her enter, though, he absently set down his glass on the sideboard and took in the sight of his new wife. The periwinkle gown she wore did wonders for her complexion. Her mahogany hair was pinned up in an elegant chignon, and she carried herself as if she truly was the mistress of the house.

And a member of the
ton
.

Edward was on his feet in an instant, his agile fencer’s body bowing deeply to the lady’s perfect curtsy. Upon seeing his friend’s reaction, Michael bowed as well, suddenly not quite sure what to do when greeting a wife. My wife. Better to keep it formal until he knew where he stood with her.

“Oh, please forgive me. I did not know you were entertaining a guest,” Olivia said as she moved to leave, a sudden blush pinking her face. The taller man was definitely a titled gentleman, she thought suddenly. Despite the lack of a coat, he exuded class and charm and sported the nose of an aristocrat.

“Oh, he’s not a guest,” Michael replied quickly, still a bit in awe of his new bride’s appearance.

When Michael didn’t make the introduction, Edward did so. “Edward Seward, at your service, milady,” he offered, a click of his boot heels accompanying his bow.

Olivia moved forward with her right hand extended, intending to shake hands with the tall man she found to be rather handsome. He instead took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it as he surveyed the woman before him. “Olivia Wa ... Cunningham,” she corrected herself with a quick shake of her head, realizing it was the first time she’d spoken her new name aloud. She also realized that Edward had been holding her hand a bit too long and gently tugged it out of his grasp.

“It’s very good to meet my best friend’s wife,” Edward breathed, wondering how his friend was able to land such a pretty gel. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he said them. “How did Michael manage to convince such a pretty gel to marry him?”

Olivia regarded the man with a blank look, trying to decide if he was teasing. How indeed? she wondered to herself. “Thank you,” she finally replied. “His approach was so unique I found I could not refuse him,” she managed to get out with a wan smile, not sure what else to say. “Jeffers mentioned drinks in the library before dinner, but I must admit, I did not realize Mr. Cunningham had returned from his meeting,” she explained, wanting Michael to know why she had come to the library. “I understand you two will be having dinner at White’s,” she added, hoping she wasn’t prattling. “I am afraid the staff is not prepared to serve a proper dinner here this evening, but I promise you, they will tomorrow night,” she finished with a curt nod.

Michael smiled and poured her a glass of claret, secretly pleased with her response to Edward’s query. “White’s sounds as good as any. But what about you? We should have the cook make a dinner for you. You’ve not eaten all day,” he murmured, remembering her tea and biscuits at the inn.

Olivia regarded her husband, somewhat surprised that he remembered she hadn’t eaten when given the opportunity. “I am having dinner in the parlor,” she said with a smile.

“By yourself?” Edward wondered, immediately regretting his reaction when he realized Michael was suddenly frowning at him.

“But, of course,” Olivia countered, the forced smile still showing. “Once I have made some acquaintances here in town, I expect I’ll dine with others on occasion.” She reached out and took the glass of wine that Michael held for her. “Shall I expect you for dinner tomorrow evening, Mr. Seward?”

Edward gave Michael a nervous glance before he bobbed his head. “I will be sure to be present.”

“And you, Mr. Cunningham? Will you be here for dinner at eight tomorrow?”

Michael had to swallow hard before answering his wife. Despite the long day of travel, she looked luminescent in her simple gown and pearls and far more sophisticated than he had ever seen her. “It will be my pleasure, of course,” he said as he bowed his head.

Olivia smiled and sipped her wine. “Jeffers has assured me your coach will be ready shortly.”

“Coach?” Michael repeated, pausing before taking a drink.

Nodding, Olivia said, “For your trip to White’s.”

Michael regarded his wife for perhaps a moment too long. What did she know of White’s? Had her father spoken of the men’s club? And did she know what waited for him there? Michael didn’t have another minute to think on it as Jeffers appeared at the library door to announce that the coach was ready.

Olivia continued to stand near the sideboard, sipping her wine as Edward bowed and moved to the door. Michael still stood before her, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I doubt we’ll be gone long,” he said, setting his empty glass on the sideboard. “Jeffers can see to whatever you may need. And,” he paused, trying to decide what to say about later. “There’s no need for you to wait up for me.” He suddenly wanted to find her waiting for him. Waiting in his room, in his bed, devoid of a night rail and her hair out of its pins.

He had to erase the fantasy as quickly as he imagined it.

Olivia nodded and was about to curtsy when Michael reached over and surprised her with a kiss on her temple. “My beautiful,” he murmured before he stepped back.

Trying hard to suppress her surprise at his endearment, Olivia could not help the rush of warmth that she felt cover her face. “Thank you,” she replied, not quite sure how to respond. She suddenly wondered what she should call him. Darling? No, it was far too soon for endearments. Michael? Probably too familiar. Mr. Cunningham? Probably too formal. She was about to ask when Michael suddenly bowed and took his leave, his gaze not leaving her until the door was shut behind him.

Sighing, Olivia refilled her wine glass and found her way to the parlor. Before the night was over, she managed to eat a rather excellent meal and read a book, the combination a wonderful antidote to her first full day as Mrs. Michael Cunningham. And, although she tried to stay awake as long as possible, thinking that Michael would be paying her a visit when he returned from White’s, she was soon sound asleep.

Chapter 25

Saturday His Wife Plays Hostess

April 15, 1815

At eight o’clock in the morning, Olivia woke suddenly to the sound of a tentative knock at her bedchamber door. “Come in,” she called out, careful to have the counterpane and bed linens pulled up over the front of her night rail.

A girl of sixteen or seventeen poked her head around the slightly opened door. “Excuse me, madam, but I do not wish to disturb you if you still wish to sleep,” the young woman said quietly, the hint of a lilt in her voice.

“It’s fine. I am quite awake,” Olivia answered, motioning for the girl to enter.

“My name is Sarah White,” the girl stated with a nod, obviously a bit nervous. “I have been hired to be your dresser and laundress,” she said proudly, curtsying as she said it. “And I’ll dress your hair, if you’ll allow it.” The lilt in her voice was clearly Scottish, and her fair complexion and strawberry blonde hair confirmed a northern origin.

Olivia regarded the girl for a moment. “I am Olivia Cunningham,” she responded, amazed at how easy the new name came to her. “It is very good to meet you. And so soon! I would not have expected Jeffers to make a hire so quickly,” Olivia stated, finding herself more and more impressed with Michael’s butler.

The girl’s gaze wandered off for a moment. “My employment may be only temporary. Although my father drives Mr. Cunningham’s coach, Jeffers says I must prove myself before he’s willing to add me to the household staff on a permanent basis,” Sarah explained with a sad face.

Mr. White is her father!
Olivia realized then, deciding she rather liked the daughter. “Then we shall just have to be sure you prove yourself,” Olivia replied lightly. “Today, I must meet the staff, come up with menus for all the meals this week, and familiarize myself with the workings of the household.”

Sarah quirked her face. “A simple muslin gown, then,” she stated with a nod, hurrying to the clothes press to search for one. “And I’ll put up your hair in a top knot and iron some ringlets for around your face,” she added, pulling out a peach pastel gown and eying it favorably.

“Yes, what you said,” Olivia agreed, stepping out of the bed and to the area behind the dressing screen.

“How can you have so little regard for marriage?” Edward asked of his best friend. He looked miserable as he sat in the corner of the library’s settee, the festive floral pattern of its upholstery at odds with his mood.

Michael eyed Edward with a grimace. “I have a great deal of respect for the institution of marriage,” he answered carefully. I do, really, he tried to convince himself. His parents had seemed quite happy in the early years of their union. His mother, Violet, had given birth to two boys and a girl in just five years. She was doted on by their father for many years, although these days she seemed to spend less time in Horsham, more time at the house in Cavendish Square, and was a frequent traveler to the Continent. Meanwhile, his father sequestered himself at Cunningham Park in Horsham when he wasn’t in London for Parliament. “The timing, though... I thought I had more
time
,” Michael added quietly, remembering why he’d initially ignored his mother’s pleas to marry. By now, his brother had surely spent every pence of his allowance in gaming hells and at brothels and was probably working through the current earnings of the Cunningham viscountcy. At some point, unless his father cut off his brother or figured out a way to make their lands in Horsham earn more, the viscountcy would go bankrupt. And it didn’t help that his mother was spending who knew how much to keep herself happy and fashionably dressed.

An undignified snort answered him. Michael gave Edward a raised eyebrow. “’Tis true,” Michael responded. “I needed time to build up these investments so there will be some money in the Cunningham treasury,” he said defensively. “And I’m of the opinion it’s still too soon to be ... married.” And last night was a perfect example.

Instead of dining at the men’s club as they originally planned, he and Edward had treated themselves to a dinner at the Clarendon Hotel, Michael picking up the tab in honor of his business deal with Harold Waterford. He thought of the awkward moments when he wondered if he should have invited Olivia. He felt a bit of sadness at the thought of her dining alone at the townhouse. And yet, she had seemed quite satisfied to stay home, practically pushing them out the library door when Jeffers announced that the coach was waiting.

When Edward’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into this hairline, Michael gave him a look of puzzlement. “What is it?” he wondered.

“I know exactly why you married her!” Edward exclaimed, indignation thick in his voice.

He was sure it was about money.

Michael furrowed his brows and stared at his best friend. “I had a perfectly good reason to marry her,” he finally answered, remembering the deadline he had set for himself to placate his mother. But when Edward’s look of disgust didn’t change, Michael’s brows furrowed. “Wait. Why do you think I married her?”

Edward was up and out of the settee in an instant, his finger coming within inches of Michael’s nose. “The money you’d make, of course,” he accused, shaking the finger for effect.

Michael leaned back in an effort to avoid the fingertip that was about to make contact with his nose. “Money?” Michael repeated, a look of confusion on his face. “Her dowry was acceptable, of course, but by no means ... by no means was it a reason to give up my freedom,” he countered angrily. Although he had to admit the dowry was far more generous than he would have expected from marrying a genteel woman from the country, especially one who apparently didn’t have direct ties to the
ton
. Had it not been for him, she would have become a governess, for goodness sake!

Crossing his arms, Edward regarded Michael with the look of disgust still firmly in place. “Not her
dowry
, you dolt!” When Michael’s look of confusion stayed in place, Edward added, “The money from the
bet!
”

Michael stared at his friend for several seconds, an uneasiness creeping over him. Damn! He remembered! He already regretted the day he had entered into that damn bet at White’s. He wondered why he had mentioned the agreement he had made with this mother to Sir Richard, but he did. Incredulous, and more than a bit amused at the claim, Sir Richard shook his head and said, “Any other son of a viscount would hold out until he was thirty,” he stated with a smirk. Then he placed his name and a one-hundred pound wager in the betting book at White’s – a bet that stated that Michael would miss the deadline and owe him one pound. If Michael did marry by the deadline, he would win the hundred pounds. Over time, several more members added their wagers to that bet, driving up the pot to what must be – what had Arthur Huntington said? – several thousand pounds. Perhaps more, Michael realized, if word of his marriage didn’t spread very fast. This should be the night he would show his marriage certificate and begin to collect the winnings from the bet he had accepted so many years ago.

He wondered how he could keep news of the bet from reaching Olivia, though. The spirit in which the bet was made was quite innocent, he remembered, but she might be left believing that he had married her only to collect what could be a small fortune. He had forgotten about the bet for several years, but he was sure more bets had been added to those already in the book – he hadn’t attended most of last Season’s balls, nor had he publicly courted a woman. Ever.

He hadn’t needed to, though.

Waterford had practically promised him his daughter, a candidate kept in reserve all these years and quite happily in the back of his mind until he conjured her for an occasional fantasy. None of his friends in London knew of her existence, of course. No wonder the men at White’s have been showing more interest in me than usual these past few months. It wasn’t because of the occasional bruises he sported on his jaw or around his eyes after a spirited round of bare knuckle fighting. They were deciding whether or not to add their names and wagers to the bet!

“I forgot about the bet,” Michael lied, a slight smile coming on. Huntington had reminded him of it just a couple of weeks ago. “But, thank you for reminding me. I shall have to pay a visit to White’s to show my marriage certificate and collect my winnings,” he stated as his grin grew larger. And somehow keep Olivia from finding out, he thought suddenly.

Incensed, Edward took a step back and sank into the settee, his expression showing disappointment. “You are so lucky,” he murmured, his elbows planted on his knees as he hung his head.

Rolling his eyes, Michael sighed. “There is nothing lucky about having to marry to win money,” he stated as he moved to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He tossed the contents of the glass into his mouth and savored the smoky flavor for a moment before swallowing.

“You could marry whomever you wanted,” Edward whispered, his sadness bringing a pall to the library. A sigh escaped him. “I could not. At least, not until this week.” He said it so quietly, Michael did not hear him. Raising his head to look at his friend, Edward asked, “So, if it wasn’t for the money, then, pray tell, why did you marry Olivia?”

Michael took a breath before he started to answer and then stopped. He had made a promise. He’d accepted a bet. She was still available. He loved her.

But would he have married Olivia if there had been no deadline?

Eventually, if she were still available, he supposed. And when would that be? Perhaps he would be more accepting of a marriage when he was past thirty, when all his investments were paying acceptable dividends, and he was sure his brother was no longer costing his father’s estate.

But even as he considered the practical aspects of marriage, he remembered the most important reason. “She is the only one I have ever considered as a wife,” he blurted suddenly, the words surprising him when he realized he’d spoken them aloud.

Edward sat up straight in the settee, equally surprised by the admission. “Indeed?” he questioned, not the least bit convinced. “You have a fine way of showing it,” he murmured unhappily.

Grimacing at his friend’s words, Michael sighed. “I will make it up to her at some point,” he said quietly. “I am sure she despises me,” he added with a bit more volume to his voice, his shoulders sagging a bit.

Edward frowned at the comment. “She hides it well, then,” he stated, moving to the sideboard and pouring himself a brandy. He glowered at Michael just before he took a sip. “Wait,” he said as he regarded his friend with a raised eyebrow. “What makes you think she despises you?” Even as he asked the question, he considered the most logical explanation and his eyes widened. “Oh, God, no!” he shouted.

Michael took a step back, stunned by his friend’s outburst. “No ...
what?
” he whispered, afraid of what Edward might know.

Or what incorrect conclusion he had jumped to at that moment.

“She knows you bed her sister!”

Michael visibly flinched and violently shook his head from side to side. “She does not, because I do not!” he argued with an annoyed glance at his friend. “How many times do I have to tell you that I was merely Eloisa’s
protector?
And she has been quite accomplished at keeping our arrangement a secret from her family,” he stated confidently, not bothering to add that Eloisa was no longer in need of his protection. Arthur Huntington had that honor now. “Olivia despises me because I ...” he allowed the admission to trail off as he moved to refill his brandy snifter. Because I am a rake, he thought, not ever having thought of himself in those terms before. He’d never done anything to earn the moniker. Not until last Tuesday night.

Edward’s eyebrow arched again. “Do tell. You know how I love a good story.” He returned to the settee, obviously eager to hear whatever news Michael was about to divulge.

Rolling his eyes, Michael sunk into the nearest chair. “I didn’t have time to court her. I didn’t have time to properly propose. And I certainly didn’t have time for a wedding to be arranged,” he explained quickly. “So I took my sister’s advice.”

There. He could blame it all on Elizabeth.

The look on Edward’s face was so comical that Michael had to suppress a grin. “Pray tell!” the taller man demanded, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Michael sighed, thinking perhaps he shouldn’t give Edward all the details. He would never hear the end of it. “I went to Olivia’s bedchamber, climbed into her bed, and waited for her to make my presence known to the rest of the household. Worked like a charm. We were married two days later.”

When no sound came from Edward’s direction, Michael looked up to find the man staring down at him. Was that a look of wonderment? Adoration? Or astonishment, perhaps? And how the hell had Edward managed to get up from the settee so quickly and make his way to stand before Michael in what could have only been
one second?
When he was quite thoroughly foxed?

“You rake!” Edward accused, his mouth opening and closing just like Lord Everly’s tropical fish. “What a brilliant scheme! Perhaps I could do that to marry Anna,” he suggested, his face taking on a decidedly happier expression.

Michael shook his head. “I doubt it would work in her situation. Anna isn’t the daughter of a very wealthy businessman,” he countered, a bit impatient with his friend’s repeated confessions of love for a girl he had no hope of marrying given his station in life – and her lack of one.

And given the fact that she was missing.

“I love her.”

“I know. Half of London knows. And now that you’re no longer the ‘spare’ in the line of succession, you could marry her if you really wanted to,” Michael offered, thinking that a second son of an earl should have a bit of latitude when it came to his choice of a spouse. Edward’s status as the spare in the ‘heir and a spare’ scenario had changed with the birth of his nephew the week before.

His mother was rather fond of using the phrase when she described her handsome sons. The fact that there were three daughters in between the heir and spare was never brought up. At least none of them had been presented to Michael as contenders for the position of his wife, although the youngest had held a candle for him for several years before finally agreeing to marry another. The Sewards were quite choosy in who could be their sons-in-law, marrying off the girls to the heirs of two earls and a duke.