TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  Or did Waterford keep the terms of his business deals from his family?

  Like he did everything else? Michael realized just then.

  “You sound .. disappointed,” he said quietly, suddenly seeing her perspective but also wondering if she intended to offend him with her remarks. For, at that moment, he felt offended.

  Olivia gave a shake of her head and dabbed the edge of her lips with her napkin. “Not at all, Mr. Cunningham. I am at a bit of a loss. You see, I spent the past two years preparing to fill a certain role, and I am simply not ... I am not prepared for the role of w... wife ... just yet.”

  Edward eyed Michael, his manner a bit wary. He had witnessed the look of offense on Michael’s face and wondered why, when he was sure the man had been bedding this woman’s sister for over a year, he would think that he had done Olivia some kind of favor by marrying her. Especially when her ruined reputation had been entirely due to Michael’s apparent drunken behavior. “I rather think you’re doing a remarkable job given the circumstances,” Edward announced, sending a frown in Michael’s direction as he said so.

  Olivia seemed surprised by Edward’s support. “Why, thank you, Mr. Seward. I shall endeavor to learn everything I must know to ...”

  But Michael ignored his friend’s comment and his facial cues. “I do hope you realize you are in a far better situation?” Michael half-asked, not sure he wanted to learn her answer.

  Surprised at being interrupted, Olivia realized Michael’s mood had suddenly turned sullen. She nodded. “Of course, I do,” she assured him, realizing the tone of her comment had been misconstrued. Or had it? Do I really want to be here? she wondered for at least the tenth time that day. “I just ... I have so much to learn,” she claimed, her eyes downcast.

  “Such as?” Michael prompted, not entirely convinced she realized her good fortune. And what was left for her to learn? She had probably read every book in Waterford’s extensive library and been tutored in a variety of topics. She was an educated woman. But she’d been so quiet in the coach yesterday – not at all like her sister, who chattered on about everything and nothing to the point that he nearly ignored her. Why hadn’t Olivia brought up these concerns then?

  Feeling a bit defiant, Olivia angled one shoulder down and sat back. Why is he angry with me? I am not the one who got us in this situation! Thinking he was challenging her for a list, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Having not lived here in London, I do not know whom to contact regarding the details for the reception that your mother or perhaps Mr. Seward should be hosting in honor of our recent nuptials. Should it be in Richmond Park or would it be more appropriate to have a tent erected in the back yard? Is there a back yard?”

  “A small one, yes,” Edward answered absently.

  Olivia continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I do not know the available musicians, caterers, or florists, nor where to get chairs, tables, linens and invitations. And what of the names for the guest list? Should it be an afternoon affair or perhaps an evening dinner followed by entertainment for the ladies and a smoking room for the gentlemen? What would be an acceptable gown for me to wear to a soirée and where would I buy it? How do I get there? Is it acceptable for me to go there unchaperoned? Or will I require a paid companion? What is the household budget? With whom do I make menus? Who pays the household bills?...”

  “I see your point,” Michael interrupted, holding one hand up to stave off further examples. He swallowed hard. “And please ... accept my ... apology,” he stammered, surprised at her already long list of concerns. He’d had no idea what she thought she was up against. Had no idea how out of her element she felt with the sudden move to London, with her sudden marriage to him. “I ... We have a butler who sees to much of what we’ve required as a bachelor household. Forgive me for not remembering what a ... larger household requires.” What a marriage requires, he almost said.

  Even though she didn’t know who to contact for all the things she mentioned, Michael had no doubt she would learn, and quickly. And what about a companion? Perhaps she could take a maid. Did she really require one if there was a footman and a groom with her when she was in his barouche or coach? “There is a carriage you may use when you wish to go shopping, of course. Just let Jeffers know, and he will see to a tiger and footman.”

  Olivia nodded as she considered his apology and offer of the carriage. “Thank you.” After a pause, she added, “And how should I address you?”

  Michael took a drink of wine and pondered the question. Eloisa always called him ‘Cunningham’, which was well and good for their situation. But what should Olivia call me? he wondered. He finally smiled. “You should call me ‘Michael’, of course,” he answered, deciding he didn’t care for the more formal name when she spoke it.

  “And when we’re in public?” she prodded. “Should I refer to you as ‘The Honorable Michael Cunningham’? Or simply ‘Cunningham’?”

  Michael stared at her for only a moment, trying to keep the look of surprise from his face. Now, who the hell told her I was the son of a viscount? he wondered, surprised at her question. Did her father tell her? “How long ... How long have you known?” he countered quietly, a look of guilt crossing his face. It might have been the first time in his life he was ashamed to be the son of an aristocrat.

  Olivia drew her eyebrows together and wondered at his odd reaction. “Since yesterday afternoon. Jeffers mentioned it when I asked who else uses the bedchamber to which I have been assigned.”

  His eyes downcast, Michael shrugged. “My father’s viscountcy is merely that. He is not the son of an earl.” He thought of the rest of her comment just then. The bedchamber to which she’d been assigned? Damn! Which room did Jeffers take her to?

  Olivia nodded her understanding. At least she wouldn’t have to call him ‘my lord’. “And when your father dies? Are you the eldest?” She took a sip of wine, hoping the topic of conversation would turn to something a bit lighter.

  Michael scrubbed his face with one hand. “Second of only two. If he is not killed for owing so much money to so many people, my brother will end up in debtors’ prison before my father passes, however. As such, I will likely inherit his title and the modest land he currently oversees in the south. But my father is of sound mind and body, and I do not expect to have that burden for many years,” he explained, hoping to make it clear they wouldn’t be living the life of luxury afforded to most earls. “In the meantime, I do quite well in my business dealings. I have a small place in the country ...”

  Edward snorted and began to chuckle.

  “It is small,” Michael insisted, “Compared to Cunningham Park,” he added, his own sudden smile a result of what was apparently an inside joke between the two men, Olivia realized.

  “The estate or the home on it?” Olivia asked then, her own mood a bit lighter now that the tension was gone and the formalities were out of the way.

  “Iron Creek,” Edward interjected, “is a lovely little cottage of twenty rooms on twenty-hundred acres twenty miles from anywhere.”

  “With twenty tenants,” Michael added for good measure. “All eking out a living on the land and in the orchards.” He paused a moment. “And it’s only two miles from Crawley,” he added in a lowered voice.

  Having ignored her meal in favor of the evening’s conversation, Olivia took a bite of honeyed fruit and wondered if any of it had come from the orchards on Iron Creek. “It sounds lovely. How often do you visit?”

  His smile fading a bit, Michael shrugged. “Not often enough, I suppose,” he murmured. “I used to invite a group of friends to a four or five-day house party there. Haven’t done that in over a year, though.”

  “Two years,” Edward amended quietly, his mood suddenly pensive.

  Olivia noted the longing in their voices and wondered why they didn’t simply leave town for a visit to the country house. They could both afford such a
trip, she considered. “I can arrange a week-long trip, if you’d like,” she offered brightly. “When would work for you and whom should I invite?”

  Both men glanced at each other and then regarded Olivia.

  “It cannot be during the Season,” Edward said, a look of consternation on his face.

  Michael cocked his head and considered some possibilities. “Let me think on this a bit,” he replied carefully, wondering what she had in mind. She seemed eager to please. Or is she eager to have me gone? he wondered suddenly. There was a fleeting thought that she might take a lover, and he nearly choked. I will not be cuckolded, he thought just then, wondering from where the sudden feeling of ... jealousy had come. “We can speak of it again when the Season is about to end.”

  Dinner continued with snippets of polite conversation and anecdotes, leaving Olivia in a much better mood and the men ready for port and cigars. When Olivia excused herself, she did so with a plea of wanting the men to enjoy their after dinner drinks and a smoke. As she passed Michael, he reached for her hand and caught it gently, forcing Olivia to spin around and face him. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” he said as he lifted her hand and then kissed the back of it.

  Olivia felt her face flush, and she curtsied, not sure what else to do. “It was my pleasure,” she answered with a nod before leaving the dining room.

  Once she was safely out of earshot, Edward leaned over the table. “You climb into her bed, ruin her reputation, and her father still comes up with a dowry?” he asked sotto voce, hoping there were no servants within earshot.

  Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he hissed, realizing that Olivia must have told Edward the whole sordid tale. “And it was a very generous settlement, too,” he added, a frown on his face.

  Edward cocked an eyebrow. “But why would Waterford do that?” he wondered, his hands spreading out in the air.

  Shaking his head, Michael regarded his friend. “I ... I do not know. We spoke briefly of Olivia last year, but, although I never divulged that I am the son of a viscount nor that I have land very near his home, he’s apparently known my father since they were in leading strings.” And Harold Waterford knew of his affection for Olivia. The man had warned him to steer clear of the girl when she was younger and then offered her as a possible wife when it was necessary for him to marry.

  But even if the events of three nights ago had not happened, Michael realized at that very moment that Harold Waterford must have known long ago that Olivia would one day be his wife. The dowry he offered had to have been set well in advance. The bank draft and the details for the transfer of such a large part of the business were proof of that. “He knew I would one day marry Olivia, I suppose,” Michael said slowly, biting his lower lip. Before my twenty-eighth birthday. The man had admitted to knowing about the promise he had made to his mother.

  He probably knew about the bet, too.

  Edward’s eyes opened a bit wider. “Indeed? And would you do it if you hadn’t been forced to?”

  Michael stared open-mouthed at his friend. “I ... I do not know,” he lied, admitting to himself that he certainly wanted to. Always intended to. He had made a promise to his mother, after all, and he always knew he would keep it.

  Who else was he going to marry if not Olivia?

  “I wanted to bid you ... good night,” Michael stuttered as he took in the sight of his wife in her night rail, her mahogany hair loosed from its chignon and flowing over her shoulders just as he had imagined it so many times in his daydreams. Her bare feet peeked out below the ruffled hem of the gown as she stood before him.

  He had gone to the panel door of the purple room, directly across the hall, expecting to find her in the salon. After knocking several times with no response, he softly called out her name and was surprised when the door to another bedchamber opened. Did she decide she didn’t care for the purple room? he wondered, feeling more disappointed than offended. He’d had it decorated specifically for her, sure she was fond of purple. Perhaps it wasn’t large enough to suit her, he considered.

  Olivia blushed as her husband regarded her, suddenly wishing she’d had a dressing gown to put on over her night rail. “Do you wish to ... come in?” Please, not tonight, she pleaded silently. She’d spent the entire day learning about the household, meeting the staff, planning menus for the next week, and writing letters to her family. And then playing hostess for her first dinner as Mrs. Cunningham had been nerve wracking, although the service had gone off without a hitch and the food was more than acceptable. Now, though, weariness settled over her, and she did not know how she could bear the thought of him bedding her before she’d had a chance to bathe properly.

  Michael nodded uncertainly. “Only for a moment, if I could,” he replied, carefully stepping into the bedchamber. The blue bedchamber. Damn! he thought suddenly. She didn’t like the purple room, so Jeffers put her in mother’s room.

  Olivia felt a bit of relief as she heard his words. “Of course,” she whispered, stepping aside as he made his way into the room.

  “I take it you ... you didn’t care for the purple room?” he wondered as he glanced around again, deciding he did feel a bit offended that she wouldn’t like what he had arranged especially for her.

  Her eyebrow cocking into a perfect arch, Olivia shook her head. “This ... this is the room Jeffers brought me to,” she countered with wave of one hand, realizing that it must be Jeffers who was color blind and not his master. “I wondered about the color; I remember you said something about a purple room.”

  Michael sighed. He would have to have a word with Jeffers about the difference between blue and purple. “I’ll take up the matter with Jeffers,” he said with a nod. Glancing around the room, one he realized he’d never been in before, Michael spotted a settee in an alcove and motioned toward it. “Could we ... sit for a moment?” he asked quietly, watching Olivia’s face closely as she nodded and moved to take a seat on one side of the settee. He sat down next to her, angling his body so that he could better see her face as he spoke with her. God, she was lovely. Noticing her hands folded together in her lap, he reached over and took her left one in his. There was no hesitancy on her part; she allowed him to touch her and lift the small hand to his lips. Michael kissed the knuckles as he watched her eyes widen. Still, she did not pull her hand away. The thin iron band that surrounded the base of her fourth finger glimmered in the lamplight, and his thumb absently brushed over the metal. “We shall have to get you a more... a more appropriate ring than this,” he murmured quietly.

  Her breath catching at the comment, Olivia regarded him with a frown. “What ... Why is this one inappropriate?” she wondered, a bit of a crinkle appearing between her brows.

  Because I can afford far more. Because you deserve gold. Michael smiled at her protest. “It was the best I could do on short notice,” he stated, remembering the odd look Robert Comber, the village blacksmith in Shipley, had given him when he asked what he might have available in the way of wedding rings. “Your brother helped me pick it out,” he added. Of all the things he arranged prior to his latest visit to the Waterfords, the most important item had been, well, not forgotten as much as overlooked.

  His sister had not mentioned him needing a wedding ring!

  So he purchased the next best thing from the blacksmith, knowing he would pay a visit to his favorite jeweler once he was back in London. And he’d bestowed Olivia with the iron ring in the meantime.

  “George?” Olivia responded, her brows furrowing. She remembered seeing Michael and George as they were walking back to the house. From The Ship, she was sure.

  “Yes. He took me to the blacksmith’s shop Thursday morning so I could buy a ring. But it’s far too plain for a woman of your beauty,” Michael commented, not mentioning the ring wasn’t really silver and it would probably turn her finger green if she wore it much longer.

  Olivia cocked her head an
d a look of surprise passed over her face. “You think me beautiful?” she asked in disbelief as she watched his eyes focus on the ring on her finger. So, he didn’t go for a drink at the pub the morning of our wedding!

  His grin broadening as a wash of red colored his face, Michael returned his attention to Olivia’s face. His thumb, having abandoned her hand and the ring, moved up to slowly caress her jaw line and follow the curve down her neck and across her throat. “Of course,” he whispered, his gaze sending her into a hypnotic trance. “May I ... may I kiss you?” he stammered in a quiet voice, his thumb working its way back up her neck and behind her ear to allow his hand to pull her face toward him. He saw panic in her eyes, though, and stopped his hand.

  “I have never been ... kissed. Properly kissed, I mean,” Olivia murmured. “You saved me from Eli Babcock, remember?” she added, her mouth left slightly open by the admission. She wasn’t opposed to him kissing her, but if he expected her to know what to do, he would be sorely disappointed.

  “Oh,” Michael acknowledged, his eyebrow arching. This is a pleasant surprise! “Well, there’s really not much to it,” he replied. Leaning down, he allowed his lips to brush lightly over hers before he captured them in a light kiss. Quite pleased that she did not back away from him, Michael deepened the kiss, suddenly realizing that he rather enjoyed kissing her.

  Olivia allowed his lips to caress hers until they very nearly thrummed.

  The scent of roses filled Michael’s nostrils. Her skin beneath his fingers warmed until he thought he might be branded by her heat. And then he was aware of the subtle change as his lips moved again.

  Olivia’s lashes tickled the top of his cheekbones as she closed her eyes and returned the kiss, her lips eager to taste him.

  Although he was tempted to use his tongue to further part her lips, Michael resisted and simply used his mouth to guide hers. She willingly followed, a small moan emanating from her throat when Michael nipped her lower lip. When he finally let go and slowly backed away from her face, mostly to catch his breath, the scent of roses wafted past his nostrils. I could do this all night, he realized, his senses suddenly on fire.