TuesdayNights (22 page)

Edward took on an expression of misery. “I’ve no idea where she is,” he said quietly, referring to the love of his life. “I have searched every modiste in Oxford Street, every modiste in Bond Street, and half the modistes in New Bond Street,” he murmured quietly. “This week, I’m going to search the other half.”

Michael sighed, thinking he and Edward had had this same discussion on more than a few occasions in the recent past. Edward’s birthday. “You could hire a Bow Street Runner to find her,” he suggested, despite figuring Edward would never go against his parents’ decree regarding who he would marry. “Or you might try an advertisement in The Times.”

Edward shook his head and seemed to fall deeper into his depression. He had always put responsibility to family and the earldom first. “Perhaps she will find me,” he said hopefully.

It was Michael’s turn to snort.

Will he bed me tonight? Olivia wondered as she finished primping in front of the cheval mirror. She had dismissed Sarah earlier, wanting to spend some time by herself after a busy day of learning about the household, meeting the staff, and touring the house and grounds. There had been menus to plan and, given the condition of some of the common rooms in the house, a list of repairs and painting projects to compile.

Now she was feeling a bit anxious. After their quick marriage ceremony before the vicar, Michael had gone off with her father to continue their business meetings and then spent that Thursday night in his guest bedchamber, never asking her to join him. Nor did he visit her in her bedchamber to consummate the marriage. Probably didn’t want to revisit the scene of the crime, she considered with a quirk on her face.

She thought of his hands again, how one had cupped her breast while the other drew back the curtain of hair from over her face. Her entire body shivered at the memory. He will have to touch me again sometime! Glancing again in the mirror, she smiled and decided she would try to make the best of it.

How bad could it be? Her husband could one day be a viscount!

At precisely seven-thirty, she made her way down the steps and to the library for a drink she was looking forward to very much. Upon entering the room, she found her husband and his friend settled into chairs and looking as if they if they were both deep in their cups. Neither seemed to notice her entrance, so she moved to the sideboard and was about to help herself to a glass of claret when Michael’s hand closed over hers as it gripped the bottle.

“My apologies, Mrs. Cunningham,” he murmured quietly. “I did not hear you come in,” he said, leaning over to place a kiss on her temple. His head remained very close to her for another moment, as if he was sniffing the scent of her hair.

Olivia could feel a flush rise when she remembered they were not alone. “I did not wish to disturb your reverie,” she answered with a slight smile, admiring his profile in the dim light. “I trust you are well?” she added in almost a whisper, not wanting to be overheard by Edward.

Michael’s breath caught just a bit as he considered the meaning of her words. “I am quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Very well, indeed,” Olivia remarked, smiling as Michael poured her a generous glass of wine. She took the small goblet and moved to the center of the room. “Are you still planning to join us for dinner, Mr. Seward?” she asked, deciding it was acceptable to take on the role of hostess. And she hoped the cook remembered to make enough for three. She’d mentioned the possibility in her discussion with the woman earlier that day.

Edward exchanged a nervous glance with Michael. “I will, indeed. Thank you for asking,” he replied, rather liking the sound of the invitation to dinner in his adopted home. Turning to Michael, he said, “You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”

Rolling his eyes, Michael shook his head and moved to join his wife. He offered her his arm and led her to the settee where he indicated she should sit. “May I get you a plate of walnuts?” he asked, ignoring Edward’s comment.

Olivia looked over at Edward, a bit of nervousness returning. “Yes, thank you. And what did you not tell me about Mr. Seward?” she wondered as she nodded her head in Edward’s direction. It was awkward talking about a man who was in the room.

Sighing, Michael moved to the sideboard to pour another brandy for himself and to get the walnuts. “I own the townhouse, but Edward moved in a couple of years ago,” he explained shortly, not realizing how the words might sound to a woman born and raised in the country.

Visibly reddening as she considered the possible implication of his statement, Olivia tried hard to keep her face impassive. She might have been a chit from the country, but she’d read enough books to know that some men preferred the company of other men as opposed to women. That would certainly explain why my husband hasn’t visited me in my bedchamber, she thought, an odd sadness suddenly settling over her. I did not even think of the possibility that he might be a molly.

Her breath caught as she considered what her life would be like as the wife of such a man. She would be a wife simply for show, candy on his arm at various social events and an occasional dance partner at balls; appearances were everything in the
ton
. Would he even try to get a child on her? A bit of panic took hold and a tooth caught her lower lip in an effort to stave off the trembling she was sure would start any moment.

Aware of Olivia’s sudden discomfort and the reason why, Edward gave Michael a glance filled with annoyance. “As friends,” Edward added as quickly as he could. “We’ve known one another since our days at Eton.” Where we drank to excess and sowed our wild oats with fast women, he almost added in an effort to make himself crystal clear. He gave Michael a sideways glance that displayed a bit of derision.

Olivia silently inhaled, not aware she’d been holding her breath. She smiled then, a wave of relief washing over her.
Wasn’t it odd
, she thought then,
how I felt sad when I thought that my husband might be a molly?
And Edward! Such a tall, handsome man. She originally thought him to be a dandy, given his extravagantly embroidered waistcoat and perfect hair.

There was more than relief in the discovery that these two men were simply friends who shared a terrace. “And did you attend university together, too?” she asked, wanting to keep up her end of the conversation – and to avoid the awkward silence that might have descended just then. She hadn’t realized how her earlier conclusion had made her feel until she was able to get her breathing back under control.

Michael gave her the plate of walnuts as Edward responded with a snort. Olivia noted Michael’s look of exasperation and gave him a smile. “We were roommates at Oxford, but otherwise, we hardly saw each other,” Michael explained as he took a seat next to her on the settee. Although he wasn’t sure how close to her he should sit, he was relieved when his thigh nearly touched hers and she didn’t readjust her position. And he was suddenly quite aware of the close fit of her bodice; the sight of the gentle swell of her breasts above the sweep of her neckline was more intoxicating than the brandy he’d already consumed. Rising moons, he remembered someone calling them. And he was suddenly remembering having held one in his right hand. His loins remembered, too, he realized as he felt them tighten.

The mischievous grin on Edward’s face made Olivia glance at Michael. Rolling his eyes, more to hide the fact that he’d been staring at her bosom than to show his annoyance at Edward, Michael said, “Edward spent more time playing cards than he did attending classes. It was a wonder they saw fit to bestow a degree upon him.”

Edward took umbrage at the comment and sat up straighter in the couch. “I believe you were the card player back then, old boy. I merely took more interest in off-campus pursuits.” As if he had just realized that what he’d said could be misconstrued by the lady, Edward leaned forward and added, “Like riding and fencing and ...”

Edward was saved from having to continue the explanation when Jeffers entered the room and announced that dinner was served. The butler seemed pleasantly surprised at the sight of the Cunninghams sitting together on the settee as he nodded and left the room.

Michael stood, and when he didn’t offer assistance to his wife, Edward stepped over and held out his hand. Not sure if she should take it, Olivia glanced in Michael’s direction. But his attention was on the sideboard where he deposited his empty glass, so she gave Edward a nod and smiled as she allowed him to help her to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Seward,” she murmured.

Realizing his mistake, Michael quickly joined her and offered his arm. “Are you going to dinner dressed like that?” he asked of his friend, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Edward looked down at his attire. His near-white pantaloons were topped with a snowy white linen shirt and crisp cravat. The silver waistcoat, embroidered with metallic thread, was expensive but not ostentatious. And his tasseled Hessians were polished to a glossy shine. “I think I need a topcoat, if you must know,” be replied with a sigh. “At least you could have dressed for dinner. You smell like dust from your ride.”

His face reddening in embarrassment, Michael pinched his lips together so that he would not say what first sprang to his mind. “You are right, of course.” Pausing at the library door, he allowed Olivia to precede him and then shrugged off his topcoat and unbuttoned his waistcoat in the hall as Edward led Olivia to the dining room. Jeffers was immediately by his side, taking the coats while a footman was dispatched to his rooms on the second floor to get a fresh topcoat and waistcoat. Jeffers had his full shirt sleeves brushed out and his boots shined just as the footman returned with the coats. “I cannot recall having redressed in the hall before,” Michael murmured as his butler buttoned the waistcoat.

“I don’t recall there ever being a need to do so before today, sir,” Jeffers replied, giving his master a thorough look over before nodding that his appearance was acceptable. “I’ll draw a bath for you later, if you’d like.”

“I’d like,” Michael agreed with a nod before heading for the dining room.

When he entered the dining room, Edward thought he had somehow wandered into the wrong house. The room was certainly different than it had been at breakfast. The table was dressed, and complete place settings of chargers, silverware, and crystal were laid out in front of three chairs. The flames from a large candelabra lit the center of the table, their flickering light reflecting off the shiny surfaces and adding a dramatic flair to the table. Edward couldn’t remember a time during his tenure at the townhouse when dinner looked so
formal
.

Despite the presence of a nearby footman, he pulled out a chair for Olivia. She thanked him as she sat down.

“So, tell me, Mrs. Cunningham, however did you get a confirmed bachelor to the altar?” Edward whispered loudly before allowing a footman to assist him into a navy blue topcoat that seemed to have appeared from thin air. He took his seat, buttoning the coat as he did so.

Olivia’s back stiffened. Confirmed bachelor? If that was really the case, then why did Michael have a special license? She regarded Edward for a moment before deciding how to reply. Truth, it seemed, would be best with the man. But adding a light touch to the explanation would be better than a bitter sounding tirade. “After an evening in Shipley, Mr. Cunningham returned to our family’s house Tuesday night ... three sheets to the wind, I believe the saying goes, ... and, in trying to find his way to his room,” Or, perhaps someone else’s, she thought, but didn’t say aloud, “He found mine instead.”

Stunned at the unexpected frankness in her explanation, Edward lowered his head and allowed the anger at his friend to wash over him. He frowned, though, wondering how simply entering a woman’s room might be grounds for ruining her reputation. “I take it he did not just enter your room,” he half-asked, wondering if she would describe the scene the same way Michael had earlier that evening.

Sighing, Olivia avoided the desire to rest her head in her hands, still trying to keep her response light-hearted. “Had I been awake and seen him enter, I assure you, I would have simply put on a dressing gown and escorted him to his room at the other end of the hall. However, he... undressed ... and proceeded to get into my bed. Which, of course, woke me.”

Edward feigned surprise and gasped. “You ... screamed, I take it?”

Olivia shrugged. “Not at first. But when he lay on my bed, called me ‘El’, and said ‘Please be mine’, I became a bit ... vocal,” she whispered, barely containing her sad and angry emotions at what had happened. She almost immediately regretted telling the story.

Rolling his eyes, Edward could only imagine the poor woman’s plight. Does she already know of her sister’s relationship with Michael? he wondered. And if not, did she suspect that Michael might want her sister more than her? “Who found him with you?” he whispered hoarsely, not considering that the question was entirely inappropriate.

Her face turning a bright pink, Olivia lowered her eyes. “My father. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose. We could have explained the situation, and I’m sure he would have understood. But ... several servants ...” She sighed audibly. “I was quite ruined without having done anything untoward,” she said quietly, not quite sure what else to say.

Edward sat back hard against the chair and considered her tale. Not as salacious as how her older sister was ruined, Olivia’s ruination was still just as potentially scandalous. And Michael had apparently ruined Olivia at his sister’s suggestion.

Intending to say something to assuage her, Edward found he couldn’t when Michael strode into the room, his waistcoat and topcoat replaced with formal dinner attire.

“Please excuse the delay,” he said, not expecting anyone to reply.

“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Shall I call for the first course to be served?” Olivia wondered as she began her duties as hostess of the dinner.

Michael and Edward exchanged a quick glance, surprised a girl from the country would know what to do in a formal dining room. “Please, do,” Michael answered with a nod, trying to keep the uncertainty from his voice as well as his reaction to just then noticing the formality of the dining room. He glanced about to take in the details, the differences in the room since he had taken luncheon there earlier. With all the candles lit and the table set, it looked like a completely different room.