TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  As Olivia stood before the vicar, one arm resting on Michael’s sleeve, she was suddenly aware that George stood next to Michael, his posture so erect he seemed much taller than usual. Eloisa was at her left, tears streaming down her face and into the bouquet of flowers she held. The sounds of her mother’s sobs had her glancing in her direction, only to find her father watching her, his stance as tall and proud as the night they had attended the last district ball.

  She tried to concentrate on the vicar’s words. The rushing sound in her ears prevented her from hearing most of his litany. When it was time for her to say something, she heard herself say the words but barely realized she was saying them. And then as quickly as it had begun, her wedding ceremony was over.

  A silver ring was on her left hand, and Michael was kissing her.

  In a moment, she was being kissed on the cheek by her sister and her father, and even her brother, who had to tug on her sleeve so she that she might bend down a bit in order that he could reach her cheek. And then her mother shoo’d them all away and took her turn, her own cheeks stained by tears.

  ‘Your father was right all those years ago,” Louisa whispered in Olivia’s ear.

  When Olivia gave a shake of her head, not understanding the meaning of her mother’s words, Louisa gave her a grin. “He always knew Mr. Cunningham would marry you.”

  They were only words, but they were the words Olivia repeated to herself the rest of the day.

  Chapter 24

  A New Life Begins on Friday

  April 14, 1815

  Michael Cunningham studied his latest business plan as he held it in his gloved hand. Harold Waterford had given it his blessing, announcing his intention to fund the coal gas venture for another few years in exchange for a handsome percentage if the business made a profit. And if this one did pay off as Michael figured it would, he too, would profit handsomely.

  He hadn’t planned to make quite so much in fees. A few days ago, he had set his take at the usual five percent annual commission. And now it would be at least fifteen!

  Michael looked up suddenly and glanced out the window of the private coach, noting the roadside marker for Coulsdon. His driver would change horses there; the stable at an inn just beyond the town housed his matched black shires. The shires were the horses that pulled his coach from London to Coulsdon when he made the trip to Shipley.

  “Is something wrong?” a quiet voice asked from next to him.

  Michael nearly jumped as he remembered who he had with him. My wife, he thought, a mixture of dread and relief and anxiousness returning to his thoughts. “Not at all. I was just ... reviewing my business plans, is all,” he replied, trying not to stare at the pretty woman with whom he had exchanged marriage vows only the day before. It had all happened so fast!

  “Will my father be involved in this particular venture?” Olivia Waterford Cunningham asked, mostly to make conversation. They had traveled in silence for most of the trip from Shipley, and the quiet was beginning to unnerve her. She had nearly finished the book she brought along to read.

  Keeping his gaze in her direction, Michael nodded. He couldn’t ignore the fact that she was pretty. She was, in fact, the prettiest girl he’d ever known, the most beautiful woman he could imagine. Now that she was nearly one-and-twenty, her features had lost some of their softer edges and were more refined, more elegant. The high cheekbones, the full lips, the large green eyes and long, dark lashes topped by perfect arching eyebrows – all those features had always appealed to him. The way she looked into him instead of at him might have unnerved him at times, but at the moment, it seemed to him that he was the center of her universe, and he wanted for nothing more. “Indeed. He was quite ... insistent that he be involved,” Michael responded with a nod, not adding that part of her dowry was included in this deal.

  As much as he didn’t want to get married, or be married (at least, not yet), it was the best business deal he had ever brokered in his life. And given his wedding had taken place nearly a week before his twenty-eighth birthday meant that there was another payoff waiting for him at White’s whenever he was next at the men’s club.

  How many men could claim that getting married would make them rich? Only those who marry girls with large dowries, he considered, knowing at least two of his acquaintances had done so in order to pay off gambling debts. But they had married chits who were the daughters of aristocrats. Olivia’s father wasn’t even a peer of the realm!

  Olivia struggled to keep a pleasant expression on her face. It wasn’t as if she feared her new husband. The man had been a guest in her house several times a year for five years. A very pleasant man, she knew, always very polite, always impeccably dressed. He was obviously well educated. And very handsome, she’d thought from the very first day she’d met him. That day when he’d rescued her from Eli Blaylock.

  She smiled at the memory, thinking of how incensed Michael had been when he’d pulled Eli away from her, how intent he appeared when he’d punched Eli and let go his hold on the poor boy’s shirt. And then how quickly his countenance had changed when he turned to regard her, to ask after her health, to take her bleeding finger and examine it ... she shook herself out of the reverie.

  Olivia took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself, reminding herself that Michael was sitting only inches from her. He would make an excellent husband, she remembered thinking when she was much younger.

  And now he was her husband!

  He despises me, she thought suddenly.

  The thought brought her back to the present, realizing Michael had made a comment about her father’s involvement in his business. “On how many ventures have you partnered with my father?” Olivia wondered, her curiosity suddenly piqued. If they could just converse a bit more, she was sure they would become more comfortable with one another. Like they were when they were in conversation at Waterford Hall.

  Michael shrugged and seemed to give her query some thought. “We have five ventures in the works – all coal and iron-related, and then this one that’s about to start,” he indicated by waving the sheath of papers in his gloved hand, “And two that have been completed. It’s a good partnership, I think,” he added, seemingly pleased with the arrangement.

  She thinks I am a rake, Michael figured, doing everything he could to keep his face impassive. And she had every right, given the circumstances that led to our sudden marriage. All those years of behaving as a perfect gentleman, of easily conversing with her during family dinners, of listening to her play piano-forté after the dessert course, of complimenting her embroidery skills and her reading ability – all the goodwill he had banked over the years was gone in a few moments of apparent drunken stupidity.

  Olivia tilted her chin and gave him a nod. “I do hope you two continue to work together.” And thinking he no longer wished to converse, Olivia turned her attention to the window and the countryside beyond.

  Michael scrubbed his face with a gloved hand and stole a glance at the woman who sat next to him. Although they were legally married, for nearly an entire day now, he realized as he checked the chronometer that hung from his watch chain, he actually knew very little about her. He knew about her family, of course, having stayed in their large house in Shipley several times a year. For five years already, he thought as he remembered how nervous he was the first time he met her father, the venerable Harold A. Waterford.

  He reached out a hand to touch the arm of his new bride. “Are you ... comfortable?”

  Olivia quickly turned her attention from the coach window and regarded her new husband. “Yes, thank you,” she said with a nod, allowing a wan smile. It wasn’t really the truth, of course, but what kind of response could be made to such a question when you found yourself married and in a private coach on its way to London when you expected to be a spinster and in a mail coach on its way to Wiltshire?

  For at least the tenth t
ime that day, Olivia wondered just how she’d come to be on her way to London with a man she hardly knew – a man that was now her husband and who seemed not the least bit happy about it. Pressing her aching shoulders into the fine leather squabs, she swallowed hard to stave off the tears that threatened to spill from tired eyes.

  Turning her head to stare out the window, Olivia tried to determine if they were anywhere near London or perhaps already in it. Traffic on the road was considerably heavier than earlier in the day. Despite their late start, Michael promised they would arrive at his townhouse in the mid-afternoon.

  Olivia had been prepared to leave very early in the morning, her trunk packed with all her gowns and undergarments and a smaller chest filled with a few household items and a case of wine that made up what she considered her dowry. However, her mother had put on a show of grieving and weeping that delayed their departure despite the fact that she had had been so happy upon learning her daughter would be marrying Michael. And Olivia’s older sister, widowed and a rare visitor to their parents’ home, stood with a perplexed expression on her face that suggested she was either very relieved or most displeased that her younger sister had been to the altar with Michael Cunningham.

  Olivia shook herself out of her reverie, reminding herself that the man next to her was only in Shipley this past week because her father had invited him for fishing and because he wanted news of their common business ventures. He had just been there a few weeks before – Michael usually came every six weeks. His stay in their home was to have been only a few days. But because he’d opened the wrong door in the middle of the night ... Tuesday night ...

  Michael was quite content to sit in silence while the coach made its way along the fairly smooth road. Occasionally, he glanced out the window and tried to predict where they might be. If his driver could keep up the pace, they would arrive in time for him to make his late-afternoon appointment with Sir Richard. And, if he did not make it back in time, he could make another appointment without incurring any wrath on the part of the financier; Sir Richard was a friend first and business partner second.

  When Michael finished updating the man on the news from Sussex, he would then inform him that he was a married man. He could hardly wait to see Sir Richard’s reaction. And the hundred pounds he owes me for that damned marriage bet.

  “We’ll be stopping shortly to change horses,” Michael said suddenly. As if on cue, the coach slowed and turned off the road.

  A coaching inn, its shingle a bit worn, appeared beyond Olivia’s window. She studied the building and glimpsed the stables farther down the yard, recognizing the establishment as one at which her own family stopped when making the occasional trip to London. A flurry of activity commenced as several handlers hurried to unhitch the matched horses and bring out fresh shires.

  “Are you hungry?” Michael asked as he stood up and reached to unlatch the door. A footman was already putting down the steps, ready to assist the passengers.

  “Thirsty, I suppose,” Olivia replied, not completely sure of her husband’s economic means nor who owned the unmarked equipage in which they rode. Although she felt a bit hungry, she wasn’t sure she could keep from casting up her accounts should she try and eat anything.

  Nodding, Michael reached a hand in and assisted her from the coach. After a couple of hours of the constant sway and bounce of the coach, it was a moment before Olivia felt steady on her feet. She noted that her husband seemed to have no trouble gaining his land legs.

  Hurrying to keep up with him, her hand barely wrapped into the crook of his arm, Olivia tried to gauge his mood. He didn’t seem the least bit annoyed by her presence. Or even inconvenienced. In fact, his other hand had suddenly landed atop the one she held against his arm, patting it a few times as they made their way to the entrance.

  Inside the inn’s small eating area, several tables sat empty. Michael led them to one next to the front window. “What would you like?” he asked as he pulled out a chair for her.

  “Tea, please,” she replied quietly.

  Michael shrugged and turned to the innkeeper, who was just coming forward with a menu board. “Hello, Portmouth. Tea and biscuits for the lady and one of your meat pasties and an ale for me,” he said, the tone of his voice indicating he knew the place well and felt comfortable ordering the food.

  The innkeeper nodded as he took the menu board from Michael. He stole a quick glance at Olivia before hurrying off to the kitchen, obviously recognizing the Waterford girl from her past travels.

  Her gaze met Mr. Portmouth’s, and Olivia gave him a slight smile, relieved that she recognized someone in her new life as a married woman. Hopefully, he’ll realize we’re married and not assume I am traveling with a man and have no chaperone in sight!

  Olivia looked out to see a matched set of jet black shires being led to the coach. She gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of such perfection; the animals were beautiful.

  “They are my favorite team,” Michael commented proudly when he saw the subject of her surprise. “Bought them at Tattersall’s last year.” He felt a bit of a thrill as he watched his new wife admire the pair.

  Olivia turned her attention to him. “They are yours?” she asked, even more incredulous. If they are his favorite team, he must have others, she thought. Horses are expensive!

  Michael suddenly realized Olivia knew nothing of his economic situation, and probably didn’t know his lineage. Although he hadn’t shared the information with her family, her father knew. But Michael was discovering that Harold Waterford wasn’t one to share information. “Yes,” he replied with a smile, happy to know she was impressed. “I traded them out here when I was on the way down to Shipley last Saturday,” he added, wincing when he remembered that he originally intended to return to London Wednesday. Two days lost, he thought, a frown coming over his face. If he’d hadn’t put off what he intended to do the day after he arrived ... coward!

  He brightened a bit when the food and drinks were set down. Michael noted how carefully Olivia added milk to her tea. He watched as her small finger looped through the teacup handle, her thumb supporting the bowl as she sipped without making a sound. Michael stared at her hand, imagining what it would be like to have that hand rest on him, to have that hand held inside of his, to have it touch his cheek, to feel it trail across his chest and explore his body whilst they lay in the new bed he’d made sure was included in the remodel of the secret salon on the second floor.

  He hoped the purple and gold fabrics and the elegant furniture in her salon would be to her liking. The decorator had been necessarily quick and efficient in creating the space, claiming he had just completed a room like it for Her Majesty the Queen, although the Queen’s room had been much larger, of course.

  One day, Michael hoped Olivia would invite him to spend the night with her in that room. He imagined undressing her, imagined taking the pins out of her mahogany hair and kissing her full lips and holding her bare breasts in his hands while she used her own hands to stroke and pleasure him, her finger tips trailing down to his groin, caressing his hardened manhood until he was sure he could no longer control himself.

  His loins tightening at the thought, Michael caught sight of the ring on her fourth finger and grimaced. He would have to replace that just as soon as he could make the trip to Rundell and Bridge. How could his sister have neglected to mention his need to get a ring?

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said as he set down his pint and reached into his waistcoat pocket, trying to get his mind off his sudden erection. “I have a set of keys for you. For the townhouse. And the mansion.”

  Olivia watched as he pushed the keys across the table toward her, his broad but long forefinger guiding them in her direction. “For me?” she replied in surprise, an eyebrow cocking into a perfect mahogany arch.

  “Of course. As mistress of the house, you may need them on occasion,” he said, wondering wh
en there would ever be a time when his butler, Jeffers, or another servant wouldn’t be at home to open the doors. His sister had seemed quite insistent that he give her keys, though, so he’d seen to it that copies had been made especially for her.

  “Oh, thank you,” Olivia said with a nod, taking the keys and dropping them into her reticule. Did he just give me his only house keys? she wondered. He must have – he wouldn’t have expected to return to his home in London as a married man!

  Unaware he had finished his pasty and Olivia had drained her teacup, Michael was surprised when Portmouth claimed the empty glassware. “It appears your coach is ready, Mr. Cunningham,” the innkeeper said as he nodded toward the window and the sight beyond.

  Michael glanced up, startled. “Of course. What do I owe for the extra days?” he asked, glancing out the window to see that the team was hitched.

  Olivia excused herself and hurried to the door, wanting an opportunity to look at the horses more closely before she had to return to the interior of the coach. Standing in front of the left lead, she lifted her gloved hand to the space between his eyes and stroked softly, cooing as she did so. The right lead raised its head and regarded her. She moved to stand in front of him and repeated the stroking, smiling as the horse seemed to press his head against her hand. “You are a darling,” she whispered. The horse nickered softly.

  “Mrs. Cunningham,” she heard from somewhere. It was a moment before she realized it was she who was being addressed. “Coming!” she called out. She gave the horses another stroke before hurrying to the coach door where her husband waited. Sensing dissatisfaction from him, or is that just impatience? Or is he amused? she got in quickly and settled into one corner, her attention only on what she could see outside the window.

  Dozing when the carriage’s sway was slight, Olivia was aware of Michael’s soft snore from somewhere to her left. She finally looked in his direction, hoping to steal a glance while he slept. The planes of his face, defined by the square jawline at the bottom and the strong forehead above straight brows, were no longer quite so stern. His nose, obviously broken at some point in the past, was too broad to be considered aristocratic, but it suited his strong features, especially given the chin that extended a bit beyond the front of his face. And his mouth, with lips that hid straight white teeth and smiled easily – that mouth had her mesmerized until Michael’s eyes suddenly opened and she was forced to look away or be caught staring at him.