TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Good morning,” Olivia replied, her gaze sweeping the small shop. Unlike the modistes in Bond Street, this one had dozens of dresses already made up and displayed on the walls and in racks. “I am in need of a ball gown,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. Why am I so nervous? she wondered, chastising herself for being intimidated by the thought of having someone besides herself or her mother make her gowns.

  There was a good deal of pin money stuffed in her reticule that would more than cover the cost of the most extravagant gown the modiste had on display. “And I’ll need a dressing gown, as well,” she added, remembering she really should answer her bedchamber door wearing something more than a night rail.

  Madame Suzanne regarded her for a moment, thinking that at least this customer was planning ahead for one ball this Season. “Will you be coming out this year?” she wondered, her eyebrow cocking expectantly.

  Stunned, Olivia did not know whether to be flattered that the woman thought her young enough to just now be coming out or if the woman was teasing her. She did not have an escort or companion with her, after all. “I am far too old to be coming out,” Olivia answered evenly, trying to make her voice sound as neutral as possible. “And I am a married woman.”

  “Oh!” the proprietor replied, apparently surprised. “Then you have the good fortune of marrying young!” she exclaimed happily. “Come, let me show you some samples of my work,” she encouraged as she continued to regard her customer. “Now, what kind of ball will you be attending?”

  Olivia bit her lower lip. “I ... it’s at the Harvey’s,” she stammered, not realizing there might be different kinds of balls.

  “Oh, but, of course,” Madame Suzanne said as a hand went to her chest. “Lady Harvey is blossoming with child and wanted to host her annual ball before her confinement.”

  Glad to know the reason for the ball’s timing, Olivia nodded as if she already knew. “Then you’ll understand why I do not wish to outshine the hostess,” she hinted, hoping for a gown that would be elegant but not ostentatious.

  “But, of course. Allow me to show you Lady Harvey’s gown. It is not quite finished, though,” she warned, leading Olivia to a back room where a sewing mannequin displayed an empire waisted gown of pastel yellow satin with cap sleeves of tulle. The gown had an overskirt of tulle and white ribbons that trimmed the skirt and bodice. A flounce with a hint of a train graced the bottom. “She’ll not be able to eat a thing. One drop and the fabric will stain,” the modiste complained quietly. “Now, for you, I am thinking a light cream satin ...”

  Olivia followed Madame Suzanne back into the main shop and to a mannequin wearing the very dress she was describing. “Wear this with pearls or colored stones and cream kid dance slippers and you will be resplendent,” she stated emphatically. “Would you like to try it on?”

  Studying the gown, Olivia decided she liked what she saw. But would Michael? she wondered. A memory of earlier that morning passed through her mind. “I do not wish the neckline to be too low, but a bit of décolletage would be appreciated,” she said with a lifted eyebrow.

  Madame Suzanne regarded her for only a moment, a glint in her eye indicating she understood Olivia’s meaning. “We shall see to it.”

  Olivia spent the next hour wearing the gown while standing on a wooden box. Three seamstresses pinned and positioned her as they worked their needles and thread and talked quietly amongst themselves. She overheard a comment about how unfortunate it was that Lady Worthington would not be wearing this gown for her wedding, but how fortunate it was that she discovered her fiancé’s extreme gambling debts before marrying the man and losing her entire fortune to a gaming hell. And there was mention of Lady Harvey’s dress still needing a bit of work because it was no longer large enough to accommodate her growing belly. Olivia did her best not to let on that she overheard anything the seamstresses said, even biting her lip when the youngest asked, “And did you hear that the Honorable Michael Cunningham has finally married? I hear his wife is quite pretty, but no one seems to know who she is or where she is from.”

  “Viscountess Cunningham must be so relieved to see her son wed,” another one said. “Madame will have to ask her about her new daughter when she comes in for her fitting.”

  Olivia inhaled sharply. “Lady Cunningham?” she whispered hoarsely, not intending for someone to actually hear her. If these seamstresses knew of the marriage, Lady Cunningham could certainly have heard something by now. And if Madame Suzanne was to ask her about her new daughter-in-law’s identity, what would Lady Cunningham say? How embarrassing it could be for Michael’s mother not to even know who her son had married, no matter that she was a formidable woman!

  The seamstresses looked up from their work. ‘Why, yes. We’re very honored to have done her dress for this ball,” one said before she stuffed a cluster of pins between her lips.

  “Seeing as how she usually only wears gowns made in Paris or Italy,” another said with a roll of her eyes.

  “But I do not care how rich she is, I would not wish to be her daughter-in-law,” the third said as she continued to hem the ball gown, her thumb sporting a gold band with a garnet embedded in the gold. The others murmured their agreement. “But I still find myself wishing that I could be married to her son’s best friend. I miss Edward terribly.”

  “Anna!” another one hissed in surprise. “You don’t really expect us to believe an earl’s son feels any affection for you, do you?”

  Sighing, Olivia tried to concentrate on what the girls had said about her mother-in-law and only half-heard what the youngest said of Michael’s friend. She felt the grip of fear deep inside and tried to breathe normally. “Is Lady Cunningham really that...?” she started to ask and then clamped her mouth shut. What am I asking? she wondered suddenly. I do not wish to come off as a gossip with these girls.

  “Formidable?” the oldest replied with a grin, her head bobbing even as she said the word.

  “Oh,” Olivia replied, feeling faint. Suddenly, a bit of gray appeared at the edge of her vision.

  “Are you alright, Mrs...?” the one named Anna started to ask as she hurriedly stood up to provide support if Olivia fainted. “Mrs. ... I apologize, I need not hear your name,” she whispered.

  Olivia placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder for support as much as comfort. The girl was quite beautiful, her curly raven hair framing a face that could have been made of porcelain. Her brown eyes were large, almost exotic with their long black lashes and up swept corners. And she was tall, her perfect posture emphasizing her height even more. “Cunningham,” Olivia said quietly. “Olivia Cunningham.”

  Anna stared at her for several seconds, her gaze of concern changing to one of desperation and then fear. The other two seamstresses gasped in unison, the youngest pulling up a small chair for Olivia to collapse into.

  “As in ‘The Honorable Michael’?” the oldest one ventured, her eyebrows going up in a most worried manner. Her lower lip was caught by a tooth. She hadn’t said anything untoward about whoever had married the man, at least. Whatever had caused their client to react so?

  “Please, accept our apologies,” the youngest seamstress said, biting her lower lip in an expression that seemed to match the oldest girl’s. “We meant no offense...”

  But Madame Suzanne had returned to check on her customer, shocked to find the woman extremely pale and sitting when she should have been standing on the wooden box in the middle of the small room. “What has happened here?” Her eyes widened even more when she noticed Anna’s shocked expression.

  Olivia shook her head as if to clear it. “Would you know when Lady Cunningham is due for her fitting?” she asked, quickly standing up from the chair and returning to her perch on the wooden box. The girls resumed their work on the hem, acting as if nothing had happened.

  Madame Suzanne was taken aback at the question, but shrugged as if the impending appointm
ent was of no consequence. “The viscountess comes when she is of a mind to do so,” she answered, waving a hand in the air as if it did not matter.

  Glancing down at the three seamstresses, Olivia swallowed and then took a deep breath. “When she does, please let her know that Mrs. Michael Cunningham is looking forward to meeting the woman who bore the magnificent man that is my husband. She is certainly to be commended,” she stated with as much conviction as possible.

  Madame Suzanne stared at Olivia for a long moment, her expression sobering until she gave her customer a deep curtsy. “I shall convey your words exactly,” she promised, the heads of the seamstresses nodding in agreement. “And may I say, Mrs. Cunningham, it has been an honor for me to do the gown for your first ball as a married lady,” she added, her ostrich feather bobbing with her curt nod.

  “Thank you,” Olivia replied, her relief evident to anyone who looked her way. And as she stood very still for the hemming of her dress, she found herself regarding the beautiful seamstress who claimed to miss her husband’s friend. So this is Edward’s Anna, she thought with a bit of excitement. Such a beautiful, exotic woman! Why is it so unacceptable for the second son of an earl to marry a seamstress if that is what he wishes to do? she found herself wondering. After all, Michael had married her ... because he had to, she remembered with a suddenly heavy heart and a memory that made her think his attentions were meant for someone else.

  Less than a half-hour later, Olivia paid the modiste with some of the pin money Michael had given her. Very satisfied with the ball gown and a long dressing gown in deep gold satin, she left the shop with her parcels. A quick visit to a shoe seller and she had her matching cream dance slippers. By the time the private coach brought her back to Grosvenor Square, her worry over meeting Michael’s mother was replaced with concern when she realized she might be late for her appointment with Edward.

  From the back sewing room of Madame Suzanne’s, Anna watched Olivia Cunningham take her leave of the shop. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young woman. To have married a man with a mother who was considered difficult to please ... Anna shook her head. She could only hope Viscountess Cunningham wouldn’t make trouble for Mrs. Cunningham.

  Anna suddenly inhaled as she realized that if she were ever married to Edward, her situation would be the same. Except she knew already Lady Eversham personally – had known the woman since she was in leading strings. Although Lady Eversham had never treated her poorly, she also never treated her as she would a lady of the ton. The woman wanted her son wed to an aristocrat’s daughter, the higher the rank, the better.

  Perhaps it was better that Anna wouldn’t be spending her life with Edward. That didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned about him, though. Had she been the only seamstress in the room with Mrs. Cunningham, she would have asked the young bride more about her dear Edward. She wondered if the man ever spoke of her. Did he still pine for her as he claimed he did when they were younger and he was off at school? Or had he begun his search for a suitable wife? A debutante eager to marry and give him children?

  As she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks, Anna shook her head and vowed to put away thoughts of Edward. If he cannot be mine, than he shall no longer be on my mind. The thought, of course, only made her cry harder.

  Jeffers met her at the front door with a message from Michael, saying he was meeting with Sir Richard but would be home in time for drinks before dinner. Leaving the gown and matching slippers with Sarah, she took her embroidery and headed toward the library. On her way, though, there was a loud knock at the front door. Jeffers hurried to answer it, and Olivia stood in the hall so that she could catch a glimpse of their visitor – a liveried footman who now stood before the butler.

  The footman bowed and handed Jeffers a letter and a parcel. “I am to wait for a reply,” the rather tall man stated with a nod. Beyond the door, Olivia could see to the street where a black Thoroughbred was hobbled. The blue and white silks under the saddle matched the footman’s uniform.

  Jeffers read the address on the outside of the parcel and turned to Olivia, his eyebrows nearly in his wig. “A package and letter have arrived for you, Mrs. Cunningham,” he said, and then he motioned for the footman to take a seat in the vestibule. The footman moved to the chair but stood in front of it, bowing as Olivia hurried to take the package from Jeffers. “Who is this from?” she wondered, addressing the footman.

  “Her Grace, the Duchess of Somerset,” he replied with a nod. “I am to wait for a reply, milady,” he added as he stood at attention.

  “Of course,” Olivia replied as she stared dumbfounded at the white wrapped package. She turned to Jeffers. “Could you see to it that he has a meal and refreshment? And have the groom see to his horse, please. I’ll be a few minutes writing a suitable reply,” she explained as she took the letter and parcel and disappeared into the library.

  “I will see to it,” Jeffers replied, even though Olivia had left the vestibule.

  The Duchess of Somerset sent me a letter!

  Here! Olivia realized suddenly, wondering how in the world the duchess could know where in the world she could be found! She hastily unwrapped the stationer’s paper from around a pasteboard box. Inside another layer of tissue paper wrapping was a cut crystal bowl of exquisite detail. Olivia nearly dropped it, so surprised was she by the sight and weight of it. Placing it on the fireplace mantle, she studied the bowl and its decoration and wondered at how much it must have cost. She put the empty box on a nearby table and tore open the wax seal from the back of the folded letter. My dearest Olivia, the missive began, the familiar handwriting a perfect script in a feminine hand. Words cannot describe how happy and how sad I was all at once upon learning of your marriage to the Honorable Michael Cunningham. Happy for you, of course, for you have married a man who is highly regarded by this duchy (and we have long wondered whom he would choose for a wife since his deadline was nigh). And sad for me since you will not be educating my children. Yours was a most complete and qualified application for the position, but I have it on good authority that another governess of nearly your qualifications will begin in your place next month.

  I so look forward to the day we can meet, perhaps in London at a ball or at the theatre, or the house in Cavendish Square, so that I may wish you happy in person. In the meantime, please accept this wedding gift as a token of our best wishes on your fortuitous marriage (I thought it only appropriate that your first piece of crystal be from Waterford’s studio.) Yours, Elizabeth.

  Staring at the paper for several minutes, Olivia reread the letter and wondered – how had the Duchess of Somerset learned of her marriage to Michael Cunningham so quickly?

  Olivia remembered the short note of apology she wrote prior to her wedding Thursday morning; but there could not have been enough time for a mail coach to deliver it to Wiltshire and for a footman to be dispatched with a gift so soon!

  She sat down at the escritoire, finding a sheet of Michael’s stationery with his crest and a simple ‘C’ embossed at the top. Steadying her hand, she dipped the quill and wrote her reply as neatly as she could. Dear Duchess of Somerset, I am most humbled by your words and by the beautiful gift of Waterford crystal that arrived only a few moments ago. Please accept my heartfelt thanks for your best wishes and for your kind words about my husband. Although I made his acquaintance many years ago (he is involved in business ventures with my father, Harold Waterford), I found myself a bit surprised when I was told I would be marrying Mr. Cunningham. I was, of course, even more surprised to learn he is the son of a viscount! Instead of the honor of educating your young children, it is I who must be educated on how to be the wife of a viscount’s son, and sometime in the distant future, perhaps a viscountess. I shall endeavor to learn all that I must to be a suitable match for my husband. And, like you, I so look forward to the day when we can meet in person. Thank you again for your best wishes (the first we have received) and for the
exquisite crystal. Yours in service always, Olivia Cunningham.

  Reading her script one more time before sprinkling sand on the ink, Olivia considered her words and hoped she did not sound as if she was too familiar with the duchess. This was her fourth correspondence with Elizabeth Statton, but she hadn’t really believed the duchess herself had written the other missives she’d received regarding her impending employment as a governess. This note was written in the same handwriting, though.

  When she was sure the ink was dry, Olivia folded the note and dripped melted wax on the edges where the paper met in the middle. Her husband’s seal, an ‘MTC’ in a bold font, lay on the edge of the desk. Another seal, with an ‘OWC’ in a more elaborate font, rested in a small wooden box next to the inkwell. Olivia studied the seal, wondering why there would be a seal with her initials carved into it in Michael’s library. How can this be? Realizing the wax would be setting hard in a moment, she stamped the seal into the dark red wax and admired the flourish of her new initials.

  Olivia hurried to the kitchen where she found the footman eating. “Please, do not get up,” she ordered before the footman could rise from the trestle. She took a seat across from him and handed him the note. “Tell me, sir, exactly when were you dispatched with the letter and package from the duchess?” she asked in a pleasant voice, hoping the man might know something of when his duchess received word of her marriage to Michael.

  “Why, very early this morning, milady,” he answered, putting his fork on his plate and averting his eyes. “The duchess was quite ... impatient, seeing as how the crystal she commissioned took nearly a week to be completed. A servant from Waterford’s studio delivered it only last night,” he explained, almost apologetically.

  Olivia stared at the footman. A week? “Still, it’s quite timely ...” as I have only been wed since this past Thursday, she thought to herself. “I cannot imagine how the duchess could have learned of my marriage ...” Before I did! “So quickly,” she finished, her head suddenly spinning.