TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  The carriage came to a sudden halt and Olivia glanced out to see a fashionable square surrounded by beautiful townhouses and small, cropped lawns dotted with trimmed bushes and pots of colorful flowers. She turned to Michael to ask if they were indeed at Grosvenor Square when he suddenly stood up and opened the door before a footman could do so. He stepped out of the coach, and in his haste, nearly forgot to turn around and offer his assistance to her.

  Holding up her skirt in one hand and placing her other in his gloved hand, she stepped down from the coach and took a quick look around. The terraces were neat and clean. Judging by the fashionably dressed ladies who carried parasols and walked the square with well-dressed men on their arms, she reasoned that this part of London was quite well-to-do.

  “This way,” he said curtly as he held out his arm for her. Olivia took it and hurried to keep up with him as he climbed the steps to the set of dark green double doors of a brick townhouse. Rapping the knocker, it was only a second before an older gentleman opened the door and gave his master a slight smile and bow.

  “Mr. Cunningham. We expected you Wednesday ...” the butler started to say before he noticed the woman standing next to Michael. Quickly hiding a hint of recognition he felt upon seeing her, Jeffers said, “Forgive me,” as he bowed in her direction and quickly stepped aside to allow the couple to enter.

  A footman immediately appeared and offered to take Michael’s topcoat and hat. When the master deferred, he paused to determine if Olivia would be giving up her mantle. She reluctantly shrugged it off her shoulders and handed it to the young man, nodding in his direction as she did so. Quite aware of the butler’s gaze, she looked to Michael for an introduction and wondered why he didn’t give up his coat and hat.

  “Pardon me,” Michael said in an off-hand manner. “Miss Waterford.” He paused a moment before correcting himself. “Mrs. Cunningham. This is Jeffers, the butler. My wife, Olivia,” he said as he turned his attention to the startled butler.

  Michael knew that as the head of the household staff, Jeffers would see to it that all the servants learned of his marriage before the end of the day. He rather doubted it would take more than an hour for the news to spread to all those that worked for him.

  Within another day, every servant on the square would know.

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Olivia said as she held out her right hand.

  Despite his effort to hide his reaction, Jeffers stared at her in surprise before gently shaking her hand. “At your service, madam,” he murmured as he bowed deeply. He suddenly realized why he thought he had recognized the woman when he remembered the young widow who had called on Michael all those months ago. But this isn’t the same woman.

  “Messages?” Michael questioned with a raised eyebrow.

  “On the desk in your study, sir,” Jeffers replied quickly. “And Mr. Seward is in the library. He said he has good news to share with you before you retire this evening.”

  Michael gave a quick shrug. Good news? Either Edward had found Anna or his brother’s heir had been born. “I have an appointment with Sir Richard. If I leave now, I can just make it,” Michael stated evenly after a quick glance at his chronometer.

  Jeffers looked surprised and did not try to hide it. “Don’t you wish to change from your traveling clothes first?” he wondered.

  Michael shook his head and opened the front door, intending to leave. Not sure what to do, Olivia stood in the large vestibule, wishing she, too, could turn and walk out the door. Or perhaps the back door, she considered as she sighed heavily and watched her husband descend the steps.

  Jeffers, aware of her discomfort, called out to Michael before the man had made it to the coach. “And to which room should I have Mrs. Cunningham’s trunks delivered?” he wondered.

  Michael stopped short and turned, a quizzical expression on his face. “Well, the purple room, of course,” he called out, a bit of triumph in his voice. “The purple room,” he said again before ducking into the coach.

  The butler nodded quickly but soon frowned, his face displaying a look of consternation. Purple room? “Of course, Mr. Cunningham. I’ll see to it right away.” He turned to Olivia and gave her an apologetic glance. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your room. The housekeeper will see to it that the bed is made up to your satisfaction.”

  Gripping her reticule handle in one hand, Olivia gave the butler a small smile. “I’m sure it will be fine, Jeffers,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster.

  “Did you bring your own maid, madam?” he asked as he glanced back into the vestibule before he started up the stairs.

  Embarrassed at the lack of an abigail, Olivia pinched her lips together. “I fear I was not able to convince her to make the move to London,” she heard herself saying. The maid that served her and her mother – and her sister, when she deigned to visit them – would have gladly joined her. But her mother wasn’t about to give up Caroline.

  “Will you want me to hire one, or do you wish to vet your own?” the butler asked as he started down a short but wide hallway. Several closed doors surrounded the wide hall, and he paused in front of the one nearest the stairs, a bit of uncertainty apparent in his choice.

  “I do not know anyone here in London, so if you could spare the time to find one for me, I shall be very grateful,” Olivia replied as the butler finally opened a door to the first room on the right.

  “I shall have a lady’s maid for you by morning,” he promised as he allowed her to enter the room.

  The bedchamber was much larger than she expected and quite nicely appointed with light blue damask and silk covered furnishings, an elaborate canopied bed that was dressed and draped in sapphire blue, and large rosewood dressers. “Oh, my, this is quite ... beautiful,” she murmured as she moved slowly into the room. Certainly not purple, she thought when she remembered Michael’s direction to his butler. Maybe he is color blind, she considered. “Much larger than I would have had in Wiltshire, to be sure,” she whispered, almost to herself. If a room could be called by its color, this one would be blue, she figured.

  So why did Michael refer to it as purple? she wondered.

  “Wiltshire?” the butler queried. Although it wasn’t his place to converse with the various owners of the townhouse he had served for over twenty years, Jeffers was quite adept at ferreting out information that would assist him in his duties to the household.

  Olivia turned and nodded. “I was to be the governess for the two oldest children of the duke and duchess,” she said with a sigh. She tried desperately to smile but found the effort too much.

  His eyebrows raised into the hairline of the white powdered wig he wore, Jeffers’ expression showed his surprise before he could wrestle it back into an air of indifference. “Oh, my,” he replied shortly, now certain that the lady was a bit more than just a chit from the country but definitely not a member of the ton. But why would the woman who was to be Miss Cunningham’s governess now be Mr. Cunningham’s wife?

  “Does anyone else use this room?” Olivia wondered as she put her reticule on a nearby dresser, removed her gloves, and gave the blue velvet counterpane a quick sweep with her hand. There was no evidence of dust or disuse in the room; the servants were to be commended for keeping it up if it was merely a guest bedchamber.

  Jeffers nodded. “Lady Cunningham stays here on occasion. She’s quite particular, of course,” he said, his voice not giving any indication of his true feelings for Michael’s mother.

  Lady Cunningham, Olivia repeated to herself. Lady? As in ... an aristocrat? “Formidable?” Olivia wondered with a raised eyebrow.

  Taken aback, Jeffers regarded her for only a moment before deciding on how to reply. “Very. I take it she was not at the ... wedding?”

  Olivia shook her head, wondering if there was a Lord Cunningham somewhere. “No. Though my parents were in attendance, of course,”
she said quietly, feeling as if she needed to assure the servant that she and his master hadn’t gone off to Gretna Green to elope. She resisted telling the butler anything more, however. As an unmarried man in London, Michael Cunningham had apparently met more than his share of debutantes and their conniving mothers, once making a comment over after-dinner drinks about his distaste for young women’s tendencies to prattle on about nothing. Present company excluded, of course, since you two do not seem to practice such conversation, she suddenly remembered Michael saying as he made it a point of motioning to her and her sister Eloisa.

  And yet, she also remembered that before Eloisa had moved to London, she did prattle on a bit too much, always wanting to know more about London than Mr. Cunningham was willing – or able – to provide. On this latest visit, though, her sister didn’t flirt with Michael as she usually did. But Eloisa seemed most eager to speak with him in private.

  Swallowing hard as she felt a rush of emotion coming on, Olivia blinked back tears. Noticing the look of expectancy on the butler’s face, she turned and asked, “Does Lady Cunningham live here in town?”

  The butler grimaced. “Not usually. When she is not in Sussex, she ... travels ... a great deal,” he said with a bob of his head.

  “The Continent?” Olivia half-asked with a knowing smile.

  Jeffers lowered his eyes and nodded. “For some of the year, yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “She requires the latest in fashion to maintain her status as a viscountess.”

  Had Olivia not been so very tired, a look of total surprise would have replaced her sad visage. Viscountess! She’d married the son of a viscount? Viscount Cunningham, no less, she realized, wondering if it was truly the same viscount that had lands in Sussex. Then she chided herself. Could there be more than one?

  At no time during Michael’s visits to her family’s home in Shipley had Michael Cunningham ever said anything about being a member of the ton!

  And what did that make her?

  A pair of footmen appeared with one of her trunks dangling between them, and she pointed to a clear space along one wall. Relieved of their burden, they bowed and left the room as a pair of maids hurried in with ewers of steaming water.

  “I take it that Lady Cunningham runs the household when she is in residence?” Olivia asked as she opened the trunk and pulled out several gowns.

  “She has in the past, yes,” the butler replied with a bit of hesitancy.

  “And who runs the household when she is not in residence?”

  Jeffers bit is lower lip and sighed. “I have been doing so, for the most part, Mrs. Cunningham, but I expect you will wish to from now on,” he replied hopefully, avoiding her surprised look.

  Sighing, Olivia considered his comment and knew he was correct. Menus, staff, household bills, visitors, and receptions were the responsibility of a wife, she considered. Nothing she hadn’t at one time prepared for before her position as a governess was secured. “Alright then, I suppose we should begin with dinner then?” she offered, giving him a raised eyebrow.

  Jeffers face took on a look of relief, perhaps even amusement. “Thank you, madam,” he stated a bit too enthusiastically.

  Olivia wondered if Jeffers really was happy to turn over authority to someone else, or if he resented her for taking over his domain. Servants would always defer to the butler and follow his orders, but having a lady in the house meant a level of authority that commanded just a bit more respect.

  “How many servants in the house?” she asked as she sat down in a nearby chair and removed a small pad and thin charcoal pencil from her reticule.

  “Ten. I ... I apologize for not having introduced you to them when you arrived.”

  Olivia cocked an eyebrow. “No apology required. How could you know, Jeffers? Name them, please,” she ordered as she prepared to write.

  “Cook, housekeeper, two maids, two grooms, an occasional gardener, two footmen, a scullery maid, and myself,” he stated confidently.

  Writing as fast as she could, Olivia considered the list and asked, “Do you serve as Mr. Cunningham’s valet?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Who serves dinner?” she wondered.

  When Jeffers didn’t answer right away, Olivia looked up to find him perplexed. “Does Mr. Cunningham even eat dinner here?” she clarified, realizing that breakfast and luncheon were probably served from a sideboard in the dining room. If there is a dining room.

  The butler sighed as he tried to control a bit of embarrassment. “My lady, this household is inhabited by two men who frequently dine at White’s and who are rarely in residence otherwise ...”

  Two men? Perhaps Michael’s father lived here when he wasn’t in Sussex. Olivia tried to remember where she had heard of White’s and decided she would ask about it later. “Will there be a dinner ... or a supper served this evening?” she interrupted as she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Although the carriage had stopped at the coaching inn earlier that afternoon, she politely refused Michael’s offer of a luncheon and took just tea and biscuits.

  I could have had a feast, she suddenly realized.

  Jeffers gave a curt nod and turned to leave. “I will have Cook prepare something.”

  Shaking her head, Olivia put a hand out to stop his exit. “Please do not have him make something for only me. I merely wondered if ... when dinner might be.”

  Having hinted that she should command him to see to it there was a dinner served that evening, Jeffers tried a different approach. “The cook makes an evening meal for the staff every night. Shall I have him make one for you? I rather doubt Mr. Cunningham will be back from Sir Richard’s by dinner time.”

  Olivia sighed. “Yes, thank you. I’ll take it in the ... parlor?” she guessed, not wanting to eat in a dining room all by herself.

  “Very good. And what about tomorrow? Shall I have Cook make you and Mr. Cunningham a dinner?” he asked, his eyebrow cocked as if hinting she should say ‘yes’.

  “Yes, that would be good. And who will serve dinner?” Olivia wondered.

  “The footmen and one of the maids have serving experience. I shall see to it they are available for duty at dinner.”

  “Eight o’clock?” Olivia queried, remembering that people in the city tended to eat later than those in the country.

  “I shall see to it,” Jeffers repeated curtly. “And brandy and wine are served in the library at seven,” he added, wanting to be sure she knew about the gentlemen’s ritual of enjoying evening drinks before dinner, even if they didn’t eat at the house. “Should I send up a maid to help you dress?” he offered, his face coloring up a bit as he made the suggestion.

  Olivia considered the offer but shook her head. “I won’t require one this evening, but thank you.”

  After a short pause, Jeffers bit his lip. What has my master done to necessitate a marriage to this poor girl? he wondered. The man’s mother has been trying to get him to the Marriage Mart for years, and he suddenly shows up with a pretty bride. And an unhappy one, he considered.

  Marriage of convenience, perhaps? Or marriage of necessity?

  “Thank you, Jeffers,” she said by way of dismissal, not quite sure what she was supposed to say.

  The butler bowed and hurried out of the room. Olivia finished unpacking and chose a gown for her private dinner. She glanced at a clock on the nearby dresser and decided she had much to do before she’d be ready for dinner, let alone drinks. Having only three appropriate gowns for an evening meal, it would not be difficult to get dressed, she considered. A quick look at her mahogany hair in the oval cheval glass caused her to grimace, and the slight bruising under her eyes made her look as tired as she felt.

  Her hair still smelled of roses when she undid the tight bun and brushed it out. With no abigail to assist her, she rolled it into a simple chignon and pinned it in place. The servants had filled the copp
er tub in the adjoining bath with enough hot water and lemon soap to rinse away the odor of travel. Before long, she stepped into a simple periwinkle batiste gown. The cap-sleeved dress displayed the tops of her shoulders, but with buttons down one side under her arm, she was able to fasten them without the help of a maid. The color of the gown suited her pale skin and hair, and the bruising under her eyes was nearly gone by the time she pulled on long white gloves. Owning little in the way of jewelry, she had only a single strand of yellowed pearls to wear around her neck and small gold wires to thread through the piercings in her ears.

  By the time she regarded her image in the cheval mirror at precisely seven o’clock, she felt revived and ready to face life in a London townhouse.

  When Michael Cunningham returned from his brief meeting with Sir Richard, he slumped into the chair behind his desk and stared at the collection of pasteboard calling cards, letters and invitations that had piled up since he’d left for Sussex. Has it only been seven days? he wondered as he realized the date. A week ago, he was a confirmed bachelor.

  And, now, he was a married man!

  Am I really almost twenty-eight years old? he wondered for the tenth time that day as he pulled a letter out of the pile on the silver salver. The scent and handwriting on the outside were definitely his mother’s, he noticed with a bit of indifference. Opening it slowly, he read of her latest travels in Italy and of her promise to be back in London for the start of the Season. The final line made him smile. If you have kept your promise, and if it is the last thing I do before I die, I shall see you a married man, she had written as a postscript. Well, she could die happy now, he supposed.