TuesdayNights (8 page)

Chapter 10

Rescuing a Damsel in Distress on a Thursday

May 5, 1814

Michael regarded the notes scattered around the silver salver, surprised to find them in such disarray. Jeffers was usually quite fastidious when he left correspondence for him in the library. As he scooped them into a pile, he noticed one half-open. Not bothering to read to whom it was addressed, he noted the feminine script, thinking at first it might be from his sister, Elizabeth. Michael held his breath after he completed the first line and then glanced away as realized its intended recipient. Since it was open, he realized Edward had read the missive from Anna.
Probably why I haven’t seen him today
, he thought as he set aside the note and hoped Edward hadn’t gone off half-cocked and done something stupid. He couldn’t help but feel bad for his friend, though. Edward loved Anna. Had nearly his entire life. That she would simply end their relationship with a written note seemed ... lacking, somehow.

Although Michael had never been in love, he thought of how happy Edward had been only a few nights ago, happy because his brother was about to marry. The stage was set for Edward and Anna to marry in the not-so-distant future.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he began opening the other folded notes, mostly reports from foremen or clerks working at his ventures in Sussex. One stood out, though, when he realized it was from his brother.
What the hell?
Opening it, he held it up to the fading light from the room’s only west window.

Michael, It’s been far too long since we shared a drink. Meet me at Lucy’s in Covent Garden tonight at nine. My treat. Marcus.

Stunned, Michael reread the note. Yes, it had been far too long since he’d seen his brother. They were last together when his mother hosted a family meal at the house in Cavendish Square. That had been at least a year ago.
Why now?
Michael wondered, helping himself to some walnuts from the sideboard. He pulled the bell to summon Jeffers.

“You rang, sir?” Jeffers said from the doorway.

Michael had to suppress a grin at how quickly his butler appeared, as if he had stationed himself just outside the library expecting to be called.

“Can you let Mr. White know I’ll need the coach at eight-thirty?” he asked before returning his attention to the note. “And have you heard of an establishment called ‘Lucy’s’?” he asked, one eyebrow arching up with the query.

Jeffers straightened, his hands disappearing behind his back. “Lucy Gibbons’ house features ladies of the evening,” he said, his eyes no longer making contact with Michael’s.

“A brothel?” Michael asked, a bit surprised.

“Aye,” Jeffers said with a nod. “One with beautiful women, I think. I don’t mean to gossip, but another butler says his employer swears by Lucy’s in Covent Garden. Says it’s discreet and comfortable and has the very best brandy.”

Michael had a fleeting thought that perhaps his brother was really looking for a card game, but the mention of brandy had him thinking otherwise. After a moment of consideration, he decided to join Marcus at the establishment rather than go to White’s. But, what if his brother’s real intention was to share a whore? What then?

A few years ago, he would have acquired a French letter and joined his brother at a brothel. He had no attachments. There were no expectations that he remain faithful to anyone (although Edward had mercilessly teased him about his sister, Faith).

But now? A fleeting thought of Olivia gave him pause. Michael hadn’t yet asked for her hand in marriage; he didn’t owe her fidelity. But, for some unexplainable reason, he found himself uncomfortable with the idea of bedding someone other than her. Besides, as the son of a viscount, he had no intention of fathering illegitimate children, and he certainly had no fondness for women who wore cosmetics.

Michael decided then he would simply imbibe the excellent brandy but not partake of the other pleasures that might exist at Lucy’s. Arriving a few minutes before nine o’clock, he made himself comfortable in a velvet couch in the upscale brothel’s parlor. A scantily clad harlot served him brandy and offered him her services, commenting on how he looked much like a man she had hosted just the night before.

“Oh?” Michael responded, not giving her a good deal of attention.

“Marcus, his name was,” she said with a shrug.

Michael gave her his undivided attention.

“Came to meet his brother, but when the fellow didn’t show, he met me instead.” She said this last with a teasing grin, one eyebrow arching up.

Michael stilled himself, realizing just then that he hadn’t read the date on the note from his brother.
I was supposed to meet Marcus last night
, he realized. Well, at least his brother hadn’t waited long.

When the girl again offered her bed, Michael politely declined, deciding he would simply finish his drink and take his leave of the place.

He glanced around the busy parlor, understanding why men looking for a tumble might favor Lucy Gibbons’ place. The lightskirts were attractive, the furnishings were luxurious, albeit a bit feminine, and the lighting was subdued enough to provide a romantic atmosphere. Although several happy harlots were wandering about, he couldn’t help but notice an unhappy young woman in the far corner. She was nursing a bruised cheek with an ice-filled glass. And when she finally noticed him staring at her and turned in his direction, she recognized him.

And Michael recognized her.

Before she could turn to leave the parlor, Michael was out of the couch and across the room, removing his topcoat before he reached her. He quickly wrapped her in it. “Miss Waterford?” he whispered as he turned her so that he could see her more clearly, hoping he had mistaken her identity.

“Mr. Cunningham,” Eloisa replied quietly, her shoulders suddenly sagging under his coat. Even in the dim light, Michael could see her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks.

What the hell is she doing here?

He had several questions for her, but at that moment, Michael’s immediate concern was how he was going to get her out of there before she was seen by anyone. “Lucy!” he called out, turning to look for the proprietor. Several girls gasped at the loud voice that carried over the din of the busy brothel. So much for discretion. He motioned to a brunette. “Get my coat, please,” he ordered, tossing a coin in the harlot’s direction.

In a moment, the overweight madam hurried to stand next to Michael, her bright gold satin gown swishing with her movements. “Is she giving you trouble, Mr. Cunningham?” Lucy asked, her prim frown reinforcing her obvious displeasure with Eloisa. “She hasn’t even been here a day, and she’s already proving to be quite troublesome,” she murmured with a shake of her gray-haired head, her arms crossing over her ample bosom as if to reinforce her opinion.

Michael’s eyebrows cocked in surprise at the brothel owner’s comment. “No, Madame Gibbons. But it looks like someone gave her some,” Michael replied, annoyance in his voice as he waved a finger toward the bruise on Eloisa Waterford’s face. “Where did you find her?” he hissed, a flash of anger on his face.

At first indignant, Lucy increased her frown. Realizing she shouldn’t displease a man of Michael Cunningham’s position, she took a deep breath. “Well, I cannot be sure, but I believe this one came to London with the impression that she had a position as a governess, and, ... well ...”

Impression, like hell.

“Damn you, Lucy!” Michael whispered hoarsely, not wanting to create a scene in front of her girls or their customers. Like so many other young women from the country, Eloisa had obviously been lured to the brothel by false correspondence implying she had a legitimate position in a respectable household. And when she was kidnapped by a madame like Lucy, she was trapped into servitude as a prostitute. “How much will it cost me to get her out of here?” Michael asked, his anger with Lucy apparent in his eyes as well as the deep growl in his voice.

The madame’s eyes, already wide from his having cursed her, widened even more at the insult. She quickly recovered when she realized he was offering blunt, though. “A guinea will cover what she’s cost me,” Lucy said in a huff, obviously displeased that she was being held in such contempt by a man who might have become a generous and frequent customer. “I could get more but for that bruise,” she added for good measure, her plump hand waving in the direction Eloisa’s cheek.

Michael fished a guinea from his coat pocket and thrust it at the madame. She palmed it quickly and tossed her head to one side. “Get her out of here,” she ordered and turned before Michael could insult her further.

With an arm around Eloisa’s shoulders, he grabbed his great coat from the brunette who had fetched it from the coat check. As he hurried Eloisa out the door and down to his private coach, she seemed to hesitate. “My things,” he heard her say between sobs. Even as he guided her out the back door, he could feel her body cringing under his arm.

“Forget them. I’ll get you new ones,” Michael replied brusquely.

Surprised at his master’s sudden appearance, the coach driver hurried to open the door. Mr. White was even more surprised when he realized the identity of the young woman he was assisting up the steps.

Michael could tell by his shocked look that the driver recognized Eloisa from their frequent trips to the Waterford’s home. “One of Lucy Gibbons’ victims,” Michael whispered to the driver. “Your complete and utter discretion is required, Mr. White,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice. Of all his servants, he knew he could at least trust his coachman. He didn’t know yet how he would explain Eloisa to the others in the household.

“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Where ... where should I take her?” he asked, his voice kept low despite there being no one else in the alley.

Yes, where? Michael wondered, not having thought this far ahead when he’d seen to Eloisa’s removal from the brothel. Sighing loudly, he got into the coach and said, “My townhouse, I suppose.”

Awkward couldn’t begin to describe the situation in which he suddenly found himself. Other than the family house in Mayfair, where his mother and father were probably in residence, he had no other living quarters in London, and he could think of no friend to whom he could take a young woman who, from all appearances, was a harlot.

Especially at this time of the night.

“And your brother, sir? Shall we wait for him?” Mr. White asked, keeping the door ajar just enough to hear his master’s reply.

Michael shook his head. “No need, Mr. White. Marcus did not grace us with his presence this evening,” Michael replied with a sigh.

Thank the gods my mother isn’t in residence at the townhouse!
If he could get Eloisa through the vestibule and up the stairs without Jeffers or another servant seeing them, he would put her in the blue bedchamber. There she could find a gown and slippers ... but he was getting ahead of himself. She needed a bath. She needed a good night’s rest. She needed a lady’s maid.

He’d have to pass her off as a visiting daughter of a friend.
Which is what she is,
he considered. But no woman in her right mind would travel to London without a chaperone – a maid, at least – and a valise. Eloisa had neither.

Sitting directly across from her, he tried to determine in the dim light if she was more hurt than she appeared. His coat remained clutched tightly around her with one hand while the other pressed against the side of her face. “Who hit you?” he whispered, hoping she would know so that he might practice his pugilistic moves on the man.

She shook her head. “Some baron, I believe. I do not know his name,” Eloisa sniffed. “I was trying to get away. I ... he ... he
ruined
me,” she sobbed, her tears flowing freely, smudging the black kohl beneath her eyes so that she looked as if she hadn’t had any sleep in several days.

Michael didn’t mention that she would have been ruined even if she hadn’t been touched by a man. Just being
in
the brothel had done that quite effectively. He held out his handkerchief. She finally reached over and took it. “How long have you been in London?” he asked then.

Wiping her unbruised cheek with the cloth, she sniffled. “I only arrived this morning. On the postal coach,” she whispered, a sob interrupting her statement.

This morning? Christ, she looks as if she had been here for days, Michael thought in dismay.

“There is no position ... is there?” she wondered sadly, her tears finally subsiding.
How could this have all gone so wrong?
She’d finally made it to London, sure she would have a respectable position and the opportunity to meet a man of means, and instead she was
ruined
.
Would life with Angus MacFadyen really have been that bad?
she found herself wondering. For the barkeep at the Ship had been the one man she knew felt affection for her. And the one man she had allowed to kiss her all those years ago.

“No,” Michael replied simply, his head shaking from side to side to reinforce his answer. “Tell me ... tell me
exactly
what brought you to London,” he insisted, his voice soft despite the simmering anger he felt deep in his gut.

This was his business partner’s daughter!

Eloisa gave a shrug and sniffled before she finally answered him. “Last week, I saw a printed notice for governesses and servants for London homes. It was in the window at the mercantile in Shipley,” she explained before taking a deep breath. “It was all very professional looking. It was a printed notice – not written by hand. I didn’t want anyone else to see it – I have been desperate to find a position in London– so I took it out of the window. When I got home, I immediately wrote to the woman in the notice ...”

“Lucy?” Michael interrupted, wondering if the madame actually used her name in the notice or if the notice was part of a larger scam to get young people into the city.

“Mrs. Gibbons, yes,” Eloisa said with a nod. “From the way the notice was written, I thought her to have an agency that placed governesses in the homes of the well-to-do,” she continued. “I received a note back a few days ago saying she might be interested. She wondered if I could come to London for an interview ... and to provide a character.” At this, Eloisa began crying softly. “So, I did.”