TuesdayNights (31 page)

“But, I thought I already did,” she replied, her eyes wide in disbelief. “There was a vicar and ...”

“Exactly. You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain,” Michael countered happily. “I have not, however.” He took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, there is much I must do this evening,” he said with a hint of regret.

Olivia stared at him, wondering what he meant by those words. “Will doing bodily damage to Edward be included?” she asked in a small voice, a bit of alarm replacing the calm Michael had induced with his words. Part of her wanted the man to suffer for what he had said to her, but another wanted her husband to forgive the man’s indiscretion.

A deep chuckle rumbled in Michael’s throat. “No, not tonight,” he said with a shake of his head as he led her to the dining room door. He leaned down and kissed her quickly. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said with a cocked eyebrow, his grin making it apparent he was teasing. “Now, I do not know about you, but I find myself rather hungry, and I believe dinner was ready a few minutes ago?”

Olivia gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “Yes,” she replied with a nod. “Will you join me?” she wondered. Edward had gone upstairs after their earlier conversation, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Michael held out his arm and she took it. “Of course,” he said. He escorted her to the dining room where they shared a pleasant meal, their conversation about the business deal he and her father had worked out on his last trip to Shipley.

Despite how forthcoming Michael was about his intention to eventually wed her, Olivia was very aware that they did not talk about the earlier events of the evening nor about the issue of Tuesday nights.

When they finished, Michael led her to the door to her bedchamber. “There is much to do before I can retire this evening,” he said before he kissed her quickly. “Good night, my love.” With that, he turned and descended the stairs, leaving Olivia wondering even more about her odd marriage.

Having finished her simple supper of bread, cheese and an apple, Anna was scraping the crumbs from the small kitchen table when she heard the sound of knocking. She moved to the one window at the front of the apartment above Madame Suzanne’s modiste. From her vantage point, she couldn’t make out much about the figure below. Although the traffic was still heavy despite the nearly nine o’clock hour, Suzanne had closed the shop so that she could attend that evening’s performance at the Drury Lane Theatre.

Perhaps a client wished to pick up an order, Anna figured. Hurrying down the back steps to the shop below, Anna made her way in between the bolts of fabric and past a mannequin to the front of the shop. She was still several feet away from the door when she realized the person knocking wasn’t a woman but a man. In the darkness, fear gripped her.

And then, she heard her name called out from the other side of the glass in the front door window.

Anna knew that voice – had known that voice her entire life.

Edward!

She rushed to the door, fumbling with the bolt until she managed to get it undone, and then she fumbled with the door knob, finally managing to get the door open.

“Thank the gods,” Edward got out as Anna stared at him. After an awkward pause of only a moment, Anna flung herself into his arms.

“Edward!” she whispered into his neck. Did he know she had vowed to forget him? Had her thoughts conjured him into existence?
How did he ...?

She probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was just then. There was that moment earlier in the day when she’d been hemming Mrs. Cunningham’s ball gown, that moment when the woman might have overheard her comment about Edward. She couldn’t be sure, but there had been a brief look of ...
something
... in Mrs. Cunningham’s eyes when Anna managed to get her to a chair. When she looked as if she might faint – after the look of fear at hearing about the viscountess had passed.
She must have overheard me!

Between kisses on her temple and forehead, Edward whispered, “I’ve come for you, Anna.”

Realizing a fashionably dressed couple had paused in their stroll along the street to stare at them in horror, Anna pulled Edward into the shop, making sure to shut and bolt the door before returning to Edward’s arms.

“Have you been here the whole time?” he managed to get out, his hand waving to indicate the shop before he settled it on the side of her face.

Anna nodded. “Well, ever since Suzanne moved the store here,” she said, moving a thumb along the side of Edward’s jawline. “We were in Oxford Street before ...” Her explanation was cut short when Edward took her lips with his, kissing her with the fervor of a thirsty man gulping water after a trek through the desert.

Anna finally returned the kiss, purring with pleasure. “You found me,” she said when Edward paused to take a breath.

His lips had moved to her jaw and down the side of her neck before he finally said, “I believe I have visited every ...” He paused to kiss her throat. “Modiste in the West End ...” He kissed the hollow of her throat ... “Except those on
this
side of New Bond Street.” After giving her one more kiss beneath an ear, he stepped back a bit, but kept his hands at her waist. “I came earlier this evening, when the shop was still open, but the owner said you were busy in the back.”

The comment seemed to surprise Anna until she remembered she had been working on Lady Harvey’s ball gown. She regarded Edward with an embarrassed grin. “I have missed you, Edward,” she breathed, part of her scolding herself for allowing Edward to just walk in and hold her like this. She should have refused him entrance. Should have turned him away. They couldn’t be together. Not how they both wanted to be. Allowing him these intimacies would only prolong the inevitable.

“Likewise,” Edward said with a nod. “Which is why I’m taking you away from all this.”

Anna’s expression changed from surprise at his comment to one of disappointment. “I cannot, Edward,” she said with a shake of her head. “I finally have a secure position. Suzanne has been most adamant that I cannot have any men visit ...”

“I mean to make you my wife,” Edward interrupted her, pulling her back into his arms.

Anna sighed in exasperation. “You have always meant to make me your wife,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “But we both know that will never happen,” she added, fighting back tears.
Good grief!
She’d gone months without a cry and was suddenly spending the day as a watering pot!

“But it has to,” Edward countered, feeling a bit of panic at her comment. “I’ve just come from the bishop’s office. I have a special license, and we’ve an appointment to get married in the morning. And reservations at the Clarendon for the next few nights. The Harvey’s ball to attend Thursday night ...”

Shaking her head back and forth, Anna regarded Edward as if he was a candidate for Bedlam. “Perhaps you’ve had a bit too much to drink this evening,” she suggested quietly.

“Not a drop,” he claimed, his head shaking the same way hers was doing. “Well, just a sip of brandy, actually. And I haven’t gambled a pence in months.”

Anna raised her eyes to his. “I could have sworn you said something about getting married in the morning. Do I ... do I know the lucky lady?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, for tears were streaming down her face, making it hard for her to breathe and even harder to look at the man she’d loved her entire life. If he was getting married, was he here to arrange for her to be his mistress again? For, if that was the case, she would turn him away. And beg him to leave her alone forever.

Taking a step back, Edward regarded Anna for a long time, wondering at her question. “You know her better than anyone, my sweet.” Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a gold ring. “You know me better than anyone else. I hope.” He took her left hand in his own and slid the ring onto her fourth finger. “It’s time we be man and wife. For the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

Anna stared at the gold ring on her finger before turning her gaze back to Edward. Then, for the first time in her life, she fainted.

Chapter 28

Tuesday is His Bruiser

April 18, 1815

Olivia awoke Tuesday morning feeling anxious and tired. She’d been relieved when Michael returned the night before, but where had he been? And what had he been doing for the forty minutes or so he’d been gone? Had he walked to my sister’s townhouse? she wondered, her throat tightening at the thought. He barely gave notice to her news about the wedding gift from the Duchess of Somerset. He had said ‘I love you’, but he was angry at the time and perhaps not in command of his faculties. He had kissed her sweetly when she wondered about her part in the business deal between him and her father. Then he had explained most of his dealings with her father during dinner, their conversation much like the conversations they had shared at Waterford Hall.

And then he’d said, ‘Marry me’. As if they weren’t already married. What was that all about?

At least she’d told him about his mother’s plan to be at the Harvey’s ball. He didn’t seem to know his mother would be in attendance, she considered. And she’d told Edward about Anna and hoped that he would find her and ask for her hand.

Sarah, her dresser, opened the drapes and went about pulling various gowns out for her to review, but she had no desire to get out of bed. It was only when there was a knock at the door that she finally sat up in bed. Sarah hurried to answer the door, opening it only a crack before closing it again.

Curious, Olivia pulled the covers off of her and moved to get up. Sarah was almost to the bed, though, holding out a white folded paper. A wax seal with an ‘S’ stamped in it gave her no hint as to who it was from. She opened it slowly, recognizing the writing even before she read the missive.

Dear Olivia, I hope you are finding your first few days as a wife to be a wonderful experience. I know that when I last saw you, I did not seem happy for you, but I must assure you that I truly am; my unhappiness was due to my not having had the opportunity to speak with you about a most important topic. Please come for tea this morning. I have news I must share and can simply wait no longer to tell you. Yours, Eloisa.

Olivia stared at the note for a very long time. There was no indication as to the nature of the news, but Olivia could only imagine that Eloisa would admit to her affaire with Michael. What else could it be? It was Tuesday, after all. And why is there an ‘S’ in the seal? she wondered. “Sarah, I need a walking gown, please. The peacock blue ensemble will do,” she finally said.

If Eloisa was going to admit to being Michael’s mistress, then Olivia wanted to at least look the part of a well-to-do aristocrat’s wife. She promised herself she would not cry nor would she act the least bit surprised by the news. I know
, after all,
she thought. And even before Edward confirmed her suspicions, Olivia was sure in her own heart that her sister had captured her husband’s heart. She recalled the look on his face, though, when she had asked him the night before. Why couldn’t he just admit that he had taken her sister as his mistress? Why did he seem so torn by what needed to be said? Rich men took mistresses all the time; why did he seem so ... embarrassed? she wondered, her brows furrowing. Was it embarrassment? Or was it wounded pride? And then, when she was outside the library, she heard Michael deny he had a mistress – and he’d said it as if he’d had to repeat it to Edward several times.

Sarah made a ‘tsk’ sound and Olivia looked up to find her maid eyeing her. “It does your pretty face no good to be frowning like that, madam,” Sarah said with a shake of her head.

Olivia attempted a smile. “No, I suppose not,” she replied, getting out of bed and moving to the area behind the ornate dressing screen. Sarah followed her with the gown and under things. “Was it bad news, my lady?” the lilting voice asked as she helped Olivia with her chemise and corset.

“I ... do not know,” Olivia answered uncertainly. “But I shall find out soon enough. I am going to see my sister,” she announced, her chin held high.

“Oh,” Sarah replied, a bit surprised. “Does she live here in London?” she wondered, hoping her question wasn’t too personal. “Shall I have Jeffers arrange the carriage for you?”

Considering her options, Olivia shook her head. “It depends. How far is it to Green Street from here?”

Sarah shook her head, surprised that her mistress had such a close relative living nearby. “Not far at all. A ten minute walk, I would say,” the maid said as she tied Olivia’s stocking garters. “And then some depending on which block her home is on.”

So, he keeps her close, Olivia thought, her heart suddenly very heavy, the ache from the day before returning to make her feel as if she could not breathe. “Then, I shall walk,” Olivia announced as brightly as she could muster.

Sarah glanced up as she held out a pair of pantaloons. “And who shall I ring to accompany you?”

Olivia considered the need for a chaperone and decided for this trip, she would not require one. Although she had promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene, she did not want a servant witnessing cruel words, or worse, a cat fight between two sisters.

“I will go by myself,” Olivia replied smartly.

“And what about breakfast? Shall I have something brought up?”

“No, thank you,” Olivia said with a shake of her head, not wanting to admit it would probably make her sick to eat when she was so anxious. The very last thing she wanted was to cast up her accounts on her sister’s floor!

At half past nine, a parasol held in one hand and her reticule clutched in her other, Olivia set off toward Green Street.

She found the small brick townhouse easily; it was modest and not quite what she imagined given Michael’s apparent wealth. The door knocker, though, seemed intimidating as its lion’s face growled at her. She ignored the visage and pounded it twice, careful to put on a pleasant face. Smile, she thought to herself. And she did, when Eloisa answered the door with a huge grin and opened her arms to hug her right there on the stoop!

“Olivia, you’ve come!” Eloisa exclaimed as she finally let go of her sister. “Or, Mrs. Cunningham, I suppose I should call you now,” she said with an even more enthusiastic grin. “You look ... divine,” she added as she stepped back and cast a glance up and down Olivia’s smart gown and pelisse and the matching bonnet.

“Thank you, Eloisa. And thank you for the invitation,” Olivia said as she regarded her sister. “I hope I haven’t called too early.” Her sister wore a simple blue batiste gown and slippers, a very small sapphire pendant on a gold chain, and wire loops in her ear piercings. Not at all what Olivia thought a mistress would wear, she considered, wondering to herself if she expected scarlet satin, ostrich feathers and Egyptian style jewelry.

“Goodness, no. I’ve been up for hours,” Eloisa responded with a wave of her hand.

Olivia though it best to apologize for what happened when they’d last seen one another. “I am very sorry I was not able to spend time conversing with you when we were last in Shipley. You seemed ...”

“Preoccupied, I know,” Eloisa finished for her. “And I must apologize to you for not taking the time to tell you my news then,” she added as she led Olivia to the small parlor and indicated the yellow silk damask settee. “Please have a seat. I will be right back with tea and biscuits.”

Olivia watched her sister carefully, not seeing any animosity or anger in her eyes, nor did she hear it in her voice. “May I come with you? I would love to see your home,” she said, not wanting to be left alone in the parlor. Left to herself, she was quite certain she would turn into a watering pot.

“Of course!” Eloisa answered happily. “It will not be my home for long, though, but it has been a most comfortable place to live these past ten months. Far better than what I could have been living in, I assure you,” she added, her voice still light as she rolled her eyes.

Olivia frowned as she followed her sister to the kitchen and wondered what Eloisa meant by the comment. The townhouse was modest, but modern in design, with its own water pump and faucet and a cold storage box. “Whatever do you mean?” Olivia asked, her frown increasing as she tried to work out Eloisa’s odd comment. She watched as her sister busied herself with making tea and placing Dutch biscuits on a plate.

Her sister sighed. “I have much to tell and such good news, too!”

Olivia’s mouth opened in surprise. Good news? This was not at all what she was expecting. “I could use some. Please tell,” Olivia pleaded, following Eloisa back to the parlor. Although the decor in the house was pleasant and light, it was not Eloisa’s style, Olivia realized. The place had probably been let with its furnishings and decorations intact.

Eloisa’s brows furrowed as she turned to regard Olivia. “Whatever do you mean?” she wondered, a frown replacing her lighthearted smile as she placed the tea tray on the low table in front of the settee. She sat down in the chair opposite the settee and lifted the teapot. As she poured, she watched Olivia slowly lower herself onto the settee.

I cannot very well tell her that I know she is my husband’s mistress, Olivia realized. “Michael’s friend Edward told me some ... unfortunate news yesterday,” she said instead, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “But, please, share you good news.”

Eloisa cocked an eyebrow at the mention of Edward, wondering for a moment if he had heard bad news about the woman he had spoken of the day she met him. But when she was told to share her good news, she smiled and held out her left hand. A gold band with a round sapphire decorated her ring finger. “I am getting married,” Eloisa announced, barely able to contain her excitement. Her face split into a huge grin as she wriggled in delight.

Her jaw dropping, Olivia stared at her sister and then at the ring for several seconds. “Married?” she repeated, her heart pounding so hard she thought it was showing through the bodice of her gown.

Eloisa was nodding vigorously. “To a banker, yes,” she affirmed happily. “It is what I wanted to speak with you about when I came to Shipley. I know I should have spoken with father, but ... I wanted you to be the first to know before you left for Wiltshire. I wanted to find out when you could come to London for the wedding. And then ... with everything that happened and your wedding and your quick retreat back to town ...” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t want my good news to overshadow your wedding!”

Despite her promise not to cry, tears of happiness and relief began flowing down Olivia’s cheeks. “Oh, Eloisa, I am so happy for you,” she said as she reached out to take her sister’s hand, her bandaged wrist appearing from beneath her sleeve. “But, oh my, who is this man and how long ... how long have you been engaged?” she asked, suddenly wondering about the time line of the past few weeks. Would Eloisa be a mistress to Michael if she was betrothed to another man?

Eloisa’s attention was on Olivia’s wrist as she gave her a cup of tea and took one for herself. “Just two weeks. I know it is not long, but when Mr. Cunningham introduced us ...”

Olivia choked on her first sip of tea and put the cup down quickly. She cleared her throat as Eloisa handed her a linen napkin. “Mr. Cunningham? You mean
Michael?
” Olivia questioned. Two weeks?

“Your husband, yes,” Eloisa nodded, a beatific smile on her face as she lifted her teacup. “Olivia, what happened to your wrist?” she asked suddenly, her brows furrowing.

Olivia regarded her arm with a roll of her eyes. “I sprained it when Michael dropped me in the garden Sunday morning,” she said before a nervous giggle burbled up. “It’s fine, really. Please tell me about this man of yours!”

Eloisa stared at her sister for a long moment, wondering if there was an amusing anecdote to go with the ‘being dropped in the garden’, but she continued with her own story. “When I met Mr. Huntington, it was as if we both knew immediately we were right for one another. And I rather think Mr. Cunningham knew we would be a perfect match when he introduced us,” she claimed, a faraway look coming over her face. “With us both being widowed, and ...”

“Widowed?” Olivia repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “You have been married before? When did ... when did that happen?” Her head spinning just a bit, Olivia had to take a breath and hold it for a moment.

Eloisa sighed and cocked her head to one side. “You mean, Father didn’t tell you?” she wondered, her eyebrows furrowing. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Father would never approve of a military man for a husband,” she murmured.

Olivia shook her head. “He said nothing.”

Although Eloisa had originally thought to tell Olivia the entire truth of her stay in London, she realized just then she had to withhold the worst of her experiences – it would be unfair to tell her everything. Better to continue describing the scenario she and Michael had come up with to explain her situation in life. “I was briefly married to an infantryman, William Smith, but he died in France. I was just coming out of mourning when Mr. Cunningham introduced me to his banker. You see, Mr. Huntington was mourning the loss of his wife, and he was missing her terribly. And he asked Cunningham about me – because he wanted an introduction.”

Olivia followed the story, suddenly realizing where the ‘S’ came from in the wax seal on Eloisa’s letter. But why hadn’t Father mentioned news of her marriage? She was supposed to have been a governess for a banker. “Is this Mr. Huntington the banker for whom you were a governess?”

Eloisa’s breath caught and she stilled her features, not wanting to think about that day at Lucy Gibbons’ brothel in Covent Garden. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was never actually a governess,” she clarified, her fingers wringing the napkin in her lap. “I actually came to London to ... to get married,” she added, knowing she spoke the truth with the admission. She’d never had any intention of accepting an offer from any of the boys in Shipley; she wanted a life in town, and meeting and marrying a man in London seemed the best way to achieve her goal.

“Oh,” Olivia replied, feeling a bit lost. “So, your intended. Is he an ... an older gentleman then?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow, suddenly imagining a decrepit old man.