Or not, once she discovered his bride was not a daughter of the ton.
Leaning back in his chair, Michael suddenly remembered his bride’s sister. Damn! he realized suddenly. I haven’t spoken to her since the wedding ceremony. What must she think of all this? he wondered, hoping she would not be too cross that had hadn’t included her in his plans to marry her sister.
I am a married man now, he considered. I am married to Olivia, he thought as his heart seemed to skip a beat.
Although it seemed apparent to him during their ride to London that Olivia Waterford wanted nothing to do with him, he had certainly harbored feelings for her since that day he’d met her in the inn yard in Shipley. Hair like silk, he thought as he recalled Tuesday night in her bed when his hand had touched it. And he remembered the golds and red that appeared in the mahogany strands of that silken hair when she was in the garden cutting the still-tiny flowers for the front hall of her father’s house. He found himself wondering if she would ever do the same for this place.
Groaning, he sat back in the chair and wondered if he should write to Eloisa. She was in residence when he married her sister. She had already told him that he no longer needed to provide protection. But he realized that she still deserved an explanation, a closure of sorts for their relationship.
Opening the inkwell, he thought a bit about what to write in the short missive. An apology, certainly. Beg for forgiveness, of course. Provide assurances that she could continue to live in the townhouse he had let for her until she was married. And all would be well.
He folded the crisp, white sheet of stationery, sealing it with a few drippings from the nearby candle followed by a press of his ‘MTC’ seal into the round puddle. That missive complete, he took the next letter off the pile. When he read the return address, he was surprised to see it was from his banker. Odd, he thought as he broke the wax seal and opened the paper. Cunningham, I do hope your trip to Horsham went as planned. Do let me know if any additional financing is required for this next venture with Sir Richard and Mr. Waterford. I would like the opportunity to spar with you at GJ’s. Would Tuesday at 3 in the afternoon be convenient for you? Regards, A. Huntington.
Michael furrowed his brows. Arthur knew damn well that Harold Waterford would fund the entire project when given the opportunity. So the note wasn’t really about financing the business deal, he considered.
Which meant it was all about Huntington wanting to take him on in an informal mill.
But why? Michael wondered briefly. They usually just sparred when they happened to be at Gentleman Jackson’s at the same time. They had never actually scheduled a match. Sparring was informal ...
Eloisa! Michael realized, remembering again the short conversation they’d had in Shipley. There was nothing in the note about Arthur courting Eloisa!
This is about Eloisa.
Since Arthur had already asked to court Eloisa, then their afternoon tea must have gone well. Very well, indeed, Michael realized happily. And if that was the case, then perhaps Huntington was ready to ask for her hand! Michael considered the missive. He was certain the banker still thought he had some kind of claim to Eloisa. Michael had mentioned looking after the supposed widow the day they were on their walk together. Perhaps Huntington hadn’t believed him that night at White’s, when he’d assured the man he had no claim on Eloisa.
The man wants to fight me!
And what better bait to fight over than a beautiful woman?
He told Huntington he planned to wed before his twenty-eighth birthday, but he hadn’t made his marriage public knowledge just yet. There was no notice in The Times. That meant Huntington might think he had a claim on Eloisa – that he planned to wed her to meet the deadline, even though he had assured the man he had no intention of doing so.
Well, if the man wanted to fight over Eloisa, then so be it. Because Michael knew he had nothing to lose.
Except, perhaps, a bare knuckle mill.
Deliberately.
Michael took a sheet of crested parchment from his desk and dipped his quill, writing a quick note that accepted the invitation to spar and declined the offer of financing. Folding it with a satisfied grin on his face, Michael dripped some candle wax onto the edges of the paper and reached over to pick up his seal. He quirked his lips as he nearly picked up the stamp with an ornate ‘OWC’ carved into it.
He had ordered the seal for Olivia the week after his visit to Wiltshire, remembering his sister’s list of accessories he would need to arrange if he was truly going to marry Olivia Waterford. Exchanging the seal for his masculine ‘MTC’, Michael stamped the seal into the hardening wax.
The next letter he took from the salver had him sighing. The bright white parchment, folded just so and sealed with the Duke of Somerset crest, was from Elizabeth Statton. Sister, you have some explaining to do, he thought as he remembered the missive she had sent to Olivia, confirming that she had the governess position and to make arrangements for travel to Wiltshire. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. My dearest brother, In the event you did not do as we discussed during your last visit to Wiltshire, I have sent a letter of hire to Miss Olivia Waterford. It is my sincerest wish that by the time you read this, you did indeed do what we discussed and are married to her. And if you did not, and you are not married to her, then at least she will soon be my governess. I promise I shall say nothing to her of our agreement. Sincerely, Elizabeth.
The minx! Another rather uncharitable thought struck Michael as he read the letter, but he sat back and took a bit of satisfaction in the knowledge that he had done what he and his sister had discussed, and that Olivia was not going to be a governess. At least, not my sister’s, he amended when he remembered the conversation he’d had with George. My new brother, he thought proudly.
Michael was about to read the last note on the salver when he heard a staccato knock on the door. A glance at the clock showed it was nearly seven o’clock. “Come in,” he called out, opening an invitation to a ball at the Harvey’s. Next Thursday night, he read before he turned his attention to the door.
Edward Seward opened the door only wide enough to allow his head to pop through. “Ah, Jeffers said you were back.”
Michael smiled at the man who had made himself at home in his townhouse. “Indeed. I heard you have good news,” he answered jovially, remembering that Jeffers had said Edward wanted to speak with him. “About time for drinks in the library, wouldn’t you say?” Michael suggested as he stood up from the desk and stretched. “God, I ache,” he murmured as he made his way around the edge of the desk. The constant jostle of the coach had his body complaining, and if he was uncomfortable, he suddenly found himself wondering how Olivia was faring.
“Someone’s been missing his workouts at Gentleman Jack’s,” Edward teased as he opened the door completely so that Michael could join him in the hall. Taller and certainly more classically handsome than Michael, Edward wore only a shirt, breeches, and a pair of Hessian’s that were either new or newly polished. His dark blonde hair was cropped short but left tousled on top while long sideburns made his long oval face seem even longer. “Penelope gave birth to a boy yesterday,” he said suddenly. “Arthur has his heir.”
Michael regarded Edward with a nod. “Congratulations! You’re an uncle,” he said with a huge grin. “And, you’re no longer in line for the Eversham earldom. You must be so proud,” he teased, wondering if Edward really was as relieved as he seemed at his lowered status in the order of inheritance.
Edward bobbed his head in several directions. “A mixed blessing, I know. But it means if I ever find Anna, I can marry her without reprisals from my mother,” he said with a nod.
Michael gave Edward a worried look. “You still haven’t found her?” he wondered. Anna had been missing for nearly a year! What if she no longer lived in London? Perhaps she had gone back to Bath. Was Edward willing to broaden his search? Or
hire an investigator to search for her?
“Not yet, but I will,” Edward said with the kind of assurance that suggested he still had faith he would find the love of his life. “Did you just return from Sussex today?” Edward wondered then, his brow furrowing as Michael matched his step down the hall to the library.
“Indeed,” Michael nodded and hurried to where Jeffers had set out the decanters and glasses on a sideboard. “I would have been home day ’fore yesterday, but ...” He sighed as Edward stopped suddenly to regard his friend. “Listen, I find myself in a rather awkward position,” Michael started to explain as he poured the two of them rather large drinks.
One of Edward’s eyebrows arced up as he took his glass and noted how full it was. “Who’s the chit?” he asked with a serious expression replacing the light-hearted one he had displayed until they reached the library.
Sighing, Michael rolled his eyes. “Olivia Waterford,” he said before taking a huge swallow of scotch. From Edward’s quick take on the problem, Michael assumed the man had already met his wife.
Edward gave him a sideways glance. “I thought her name was Eloisa?” he countered, a bit of confusion showing on his face.
“Younger sister,” Michael replied, opting not to take another sip of his drink just then.
Now more confused, Edward leaned forward. “You’re involved with the younger sister, too?” he asked quietly, not wanting a servant to overhear their conversation. “Oh, now I remember. You told me about her. The night of my birthday,” he claimed, his eyes glazing over.
Surprised Edward would remember anything from that night given the amount of brandy he’d drunk, Michael took a long pull on his own drink. “I married her,” he finally stated with a nod.
“Eloisa?” Edward asked, stunned at the news of a marriage – especially of any marriage – involving Michael Cunningham.
“No, you dolt, the younger sister!”
Edward sat down hard on the edge of a chair and stared at Michael. “Married?” he repeated before draining his glass. “You?” he questioned, his eyebrows nearly into his hairline. “You married your mistress’s sister?” he asked in disbelief, just then figuring it out.
“You must have been very drunk the night I told you I would marry Olivia,” Michael accused, his head shaking from side to side. “And Eloisa is not my mistress!” he added, his ire suddenly apparent.
Edward regarded his friend, his mouth moving much like the mouths of the tropical fish that Lord Everly kept in his library, although no bubbles or sounds came out.
And it was just as well, for there was a quiet knock at the door.
“Come in!” Michael called out, expecting a servant to enter with walnuts and coffee. When he saw her enter, though, he absently set down his glass on the sideboard and took in the sight of his new wife. The periwinkle gown she wore did wonders for her complexion. Her mahogany hair was pinned up in an elegant chignon, and she carried herself as if she truly was the mistress of the house.
And a member of the ton.
Edward was on his feet in an instant, his agile fencer’s body bowing deeply to the lady’s perfect curtsy. Upon seeing his friend’s reaction, Michael bowed as well, suddenly not quite sure what to do when greeting a wife. My wife. Better to keep it formal until he knew where he stood with her.
“Oh, please forgive me. I did not know you were entertaining a guest,” Olivia said as she moved to leave, a sudden blush pinking her face. The taller man was definitely a titled gentleman, she thought suddenly. Despite the lack of a coat, he exuded class and charm and sported the nose of an aristocrat.
“Oh, he’s not a guest,” Michael replied quickly, still a bit in awe of his new bride’s appearance.
When Michael didn’t make the introduction, Edward did so. “Edward Seward, at your service, milady,” he offered, a click of his boot heels accompanying his bow.
Olivia moved forward with her right hand extended, intending to shake hands with the tall man she found to be rather handsome. He instead took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it as he surveyed the woman before him. “Olivia Wa ... Cunningham,” she corrected herself with a quick shake of her head, realizing it was the first time she’d spoken her new name aloud. She also realized that Edward had been holding her hand a bit too long and gently tugged it out of his grasp.
“It’s very good to meet my best friend’s wife,” Edward breathed, wondering how his friend was able to land such a pretty gel. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he said them. “How did Michael manage to convince such a pretty gel to marry him?”
Olivia regarded the man with a blank look, trying to decide if he was teasing. How indeed? she wondered to herself. “Thank you,” she finally replied. “His approach was so unique I found I could not refuse him,” she managed to get out with a wan smile, not sure what else to say. “Jeffers mentioned drinks in the library before dinner, but I must admit, I did not realize Mr. Cunningham had returned from his meeting,” she explained, wanting Michael to know why she had come to the library. “I understand you two will be having dinner at White’s,” she added, hoping she wasn’t prattling. “I am afraid the staff is not prepared to serve a proper dinner here this evening, but I promise you, they will tomorrow night,” she finished with a curt nod.
Michael smiled and poured her a glass of claret, secretly pleased with her response to Edward’s query. “White’s sounds as good as any. But what about you? We should have the cook make a dinner for you. You’ve not eaten all day,” he murmured, remembering her tea and biscuits at the inn.
Olivia regarded her husband, somewhat surprised that he remembered she hadn’t eaten when given the opportunity. “I am having dinner in the parlor,” she said with a smile.
“By yourself?” Edward wondered, immediately regretting his reaction when he realized Michael was suddenly frowning at him.
“But, of course,” Olivia countered, the forced smile still showing. “Once I have made some acquaintances here in town, I expect I’ll dine with others on occasion.” She reached out and took the glass of wine that Michael held for her. “Shall I expect you for dinner tomorrow evening, Mr. Seward?”
Edward gave Michael a nervous glance before he bobbed his head. “I will be sure to be present.”
“And you, Mr. Cunningham? Will you be here for dinner at eight tomorrow?”
Michael had to swallow hard before answering his wife. Despite the long day of travel, she looked luminescent in her simple gown and pearls and far more sophisticated than he had ever seen her. “It will be my pleasure, of course,” he said as he bowed his head.
Olivia smiled and sipped her wine. “Jeffers has assured me your coach will be ready shortly.”
“Coach?” Michael repeated, pausing before taking a drink.
Nodding, Olivia said, “For your trip to White’s.”
Michael regarded his wife for perhaps a moment too long. What did she know of White’s? Had her father spoken of the men’s club? And did she know what waited for him there? Michael didn’t have another minute to think on it as Jeffers appeared at the library door to announce that the coach was ready.
Olivia continued to stand near the sideboard, sipping her wine as Edward bowed and moved to the door. Michael still stood before her, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I doubt we’ll be gone long,” he said, setting his empty glass on the sideboard. “Jeffers can see to whatever you may need. And,” he paused, trying to decide what to say about later. “There’s no need for you to wait up for me.” He suddenly wanted to find her waiting for him. Waiting in his room, in his bed, devoid of a night rail and her hair out of its pins.
He had to erase the fantasy as quickly as he imagined it.
Olivia nodded and was about to curtsy when Michael reached over and surprised her with a kiss on her temple. “My beautiful,” he murmured before he stepped back.
&
nbsp; Trying hard to suppress her surprise at his endearment, Olivia could not help the rush of warmth that she felt cover her face. “Thank you,” she replied, not quite sure how to respond. She suddenly wondered what she should call him. Darling? No, it was far too soon for endearments. Michael? Probably too familiar. Mr. Cunningham? Probably too formal. She was about to ask when Michael suddenly bowed and took his leave, his gaze not leaving her until the door was shut behind him.
Sighing, Olivia refilled her wine glass and found her way to the parlor. Before the night was over, she managed to eat a rather excellent meal and read a book, the combination a wonderful antidote to her first full day as Mrs. Michael Cunningham. And, although she tried to stay awake as long as possible, thinking that Michael would be paying her a visit when he returned from White’s, she was soon sound asleep.
Chapter 25
Saturday His Wife Plays Hostess
April 15, 1815
At eight o’clock in the morning, Olivia woke suddenly to the sound of a tentative knock at her bedchamber door. “Come in,” she called out, careful to have the counterpane and bed linens pulled up over the front of her night rail.
A girl of sixteen or seventeen poked her head around the slightly opened door. “Excuse me, madam, but I do not wish to disturb you if you still wish to sleep,” the young woman said quietly, the hint of a lilt in her voice.
“It’s fine. I am quite awake,” Olivia answered, motioning for the girl to enter.
“My name is Sarah White,” the girl stated with a nod, obviously a bit nervous. “I have been hired to be your dresser and laundress,” she said proudly, curtsying as she said it. “And I’ll dress your hair, if you’ll allow it.” The lilt in her voice was clearly Scottish, and her fair complexion and strawberry blonde hair confirmed a northern origin.
Olivia regarded the girl for a moment. “I am Olivia Cunningham,” she responded, amazed at how easy the new name came to her. “It is very good to meet you. And so soon! I would not have expected Jeffers to make a hire so quickly,” Olivia stated, finding herself more and more impressed with Michael’s butler.
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