TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  Dear Olivia, I hope you are finding your first few days as a wife to be a wonderful experience. I know that when I last saw you, I did not seem happy for you, but I must assure you that I truly am; my unhappiness was due to my not having had the opportunity to speak with you about a most important topic. Please come for tea this morning. I have news I must share and can simply wait no longer to tell you. Yours, Eloisa.

  Olivia stared at the note for a very long time. There was no indication as to the nature of the news, but Olivia could only imagine that Eloisa would admit to her affaire with Michael. What else could it be? It was Tuesday, after all. And why is there an ‘S’ in the seal? she wondered. “Sarah, I need a walking gown, please. The peacock blue ensemble will do,” she finally said.

  If Eloisa was going to admit to being Michael’s mistress, then Olivia wanted to at least look the part of a well-to-do aristocrat’s wife. She promised herself she would not cry nor would she act the least bit surprised by the news. I know, after all, she thought. And even before Edward confirmed her suspicions, Olivia was sure in her own heart that her sister had captured her husband’s heart. She recalled the look on his face, though, when she had asked him the night before. Why couldn’t he just admit that he had taken her sister as his mistress? Why did he seem so torn by what needed to be said? Rich men took mistresses all the time; why did he seem so ... embarrassed? she wondered, her brows furrowing. Was it embarrassment? Or was it wounded pride? And then, when she was outside the library, she heard Michael deny he had a mistress – and he’d said it as if he’d had to repeat it to Edward several times.

  Sarah made a ‘tsk’ sound and Olivia looked up to find her maid eyeing her. “It does your pretty face no good to be frowning like that, madam,” Sarah said with a shake of her head.

  Olivia attempted a smile. “No, I suppose not,” she replied, getting out of bed and moving to the area behind the ornate dressing screen. Sarah followed her with the gown and under things. “Was it bad news, my lady?” the lilting voice asked as she helped Olivia with her chemise and corset.

  “I ... do not know,” Olivia answered uncertainly. “But I shall find out soon enough. I am going to see my sister,” she announced, her chin held high.

  “Oh,” Sarah replied, a bit surprised. “Does she live here in London?” she wondered, hoping her question wasn’t too personal. “Shall I have Jeffers arrange the carriage for you?”

  Considering her options, Olivia shook her head. “It depends. How far is it to Green Street from here?”

  Sarah shook her head, surprised that her mistress had such a close relative living nearby. “Not far at all. A ten minute walk, I would say,” the maid said as she tied Olivia’s stocking garters. “And then some depending on which block her home is on.”

  So, he keeps her close, Olivia thought, her heart suddenly very heavy, the ache from the day before returning to make her feel as if she could not breathe. “Then, I shall walk,” Olivia announced as brightly as she could muster.

  Sarah glanced up as she held out a pair of pantaloons. “And who shall I ring to accompany you?”

  Olivia considered the need for a chaperone and decided for this trip, she would not require one. Although she had promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene, she did not want a servant witnessing cruel words, or worse, a cat fight between two sisters.

  “I will go by myself,” Olivia replied smartly.

  “And what about breakfast? Shall I have something brought up?”

  “No, thank you,” Olivia said with a shake of her head, not wanting to admit it would probably make her sick to eat when she was so anxious. The very last thing she wanted was to cast up her accounts on her sister’s floor!

  At half past nine, a parasol held in one hand and her reticule clutched in her other, Olivia set off toward Green Street.

  She found the small brick townhouse easily; it was modest and not quite what she imagined given Michael’s apparent wealth. The door knocker, though, seemed intimidating as its lion’s face growled at her. She ignored the visage and pounded it twice, careful to put on a pleasant face. Smile, she thought to herself. And she did, when Eloisa answered the door with a huge grin and opened her arms to hug her right there on the stoop!

  “Olivia, you’ve come!” Eloisa exclaimed as she finally let go of her sister. “Or, Mrs. Cunningham, I suppose I should call you now,” she said with an even more enthusiastic grin. “You look ... divine,” she added as she stepped back and cast a glance up and down Olivia’s smart gown and pelisse and the matching bonnet.

  “Thank you, Eloisa. And thank you for the invitation,” Olivia said as she regarded her sister. “I hope I haven’t called too early.” Her sister wore a simple blue batiste gown and slippers, a very small sapphire pendant on a gold chain, and wire loops in her ear piercings. Not at all what Olivia thought a mistress would wear, she considered, wondering to herself if she expected scarlet satin, ostrich feathers and Egyptian style jewelry.

  “Goodness, no. I’ve been up for hours,” Eloisa responded with a wave of her hand.

  Olivia though it best to apologize for what happened when they’d last seen one another. “I am very sorry I was not able to spend time conversing with you when we were last in Shipley. You seemed ...”

  “Preoccupied, I know,” Eloisa finished for her. “And I must apologize to you for not taking the time to tell you my news then,” she added as she led Olivia to the small parlor and indicated the yellow silk damask settee. “Please have a seat. I will be right back with tea and biscuits.”

  Olivia watched her sister carefully, not seeing any animosity or anger in her eyes, nor did she hear it in her voice. “May I come with you? I would love to see your home,” she said, not wanting to be left alone in the parlor. Left to herself, she was quite certain she would turn into a watering pot.

  “Of course!” Eloisa answered happily. “It will not be my home for long, though, but it has been a most comfortable place to live these past ten months. Far better than what I could have been living in, I assure you,” she added, her voice still light as she rolled her eyes.

  Olivia frowned as she followed her sister to the kitchen and wondered what Eloisa meant by the comment. The townhouse was modest, but modern in design, with its own water pump and faucet and a cold storage box. “Whatever do you mean?” Olivia asked, her frown increasing as she tried to work out Eloisa’s odd comment. She watched as her sister busied herself with making tea and placing Dutch biscuits on a plate.

  Her sister sighed. “I have much to tell and such good news, too!”

  Olivia’s mouth opened in surprise. Good news? This was not at all what she was expecting. “I could use some. Please tell,” Olivia pleaded, following Eloisa back to the parlor. Although the decor in the house was pleasant and light, it was not Eloisa’s style, Olivia realized. The place had probably been let with its furnishings and decorations intact.

  Eloisa’s brows furrowed as she turned to regard Olivia. “Whatever do you mean?” she wondered, a frown replacing her lighthearted smile as she placed the tea tray on the low table in front of the settee. She sat down in the chair opposite the settee and lifted the teapot. As she poured, she watched Olivia slowly lower herself onto the settee.

  I cannot very well tell her that I know she is my husband’s mistress, Olivia realized. “Michael’s friend Edward told me some ... unfortunate news yesterday,” she said instead, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “But, please, share you good news.”

  Eloisa cocked an eyebrow at the mention of Edward, wondering for a moment if he had heard bad news about the woman he had spoken of the day she met him. But when she was told to share her good news, she smiled and held out her left hand. A gold band with a round sapphire decorated her ring finger. “I am getting married,” Eloisa announced, barely able to contain her excitement. Her face split into a huge grin as she wriggled in delight.

 
Her jaw dropping, Olivia stared at her sister and then at the ring for several seconds. “Married?” she repeated, her heart pounding so hard she thought it was showing through the bodice of her gown.

  Eloisa was nodding vigorously. “To a banker, yes,” she affirmed happily. “It is what I wanted to speak with you about when I came to Shipley. I know I should have spoken with father, but ... I wanted you to be the first to know before you left for Wiltshire. I wanted to find out when you could come to London for the wedding. And then ... with everything that happened and your wedding and your quick retreat back to town ...” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t want my good news to overshadow your wedding!”

  Despite her promise not to cry, tears of happiness and relief began flowing down Olivia’s cheeks. “Oh, Eloisa, I am so happy for you,” she said as she reached out to take her sister’s hand, her bandaged wrist appearing from beneath her sleeve. “But, oh my, who is this man and how long ... how long have you been engaged?” she asked, suddenly wondering about the time line of the past few weeks. Would Eloisa be a mistress to Michael if she was betrothed to another man?

  Eloisa’s attention was on Olivia’s wrist as she gave her a cup of tea and took one for herself. “Just two weeks. I know it is not long, but when Mr. Cunningham introduced us ...”

  Olivia choked on her first sip of tea and put the cup down quickly. She cleared her throat as Eloisa handed her a linen napkin. “Mr. Cunningham? You mean Michael?” Olivia questioned. Two weeks?

  “Your husband, yes,” Eloisa nodded, a beatific smile on her face as she lifted her teacup. “Olivia, what happened to your wrist?” she asked suddenly, her brows furrowing.

  Olivia regarded her arm with a roll of her eyes. “I sprained it when Michael dropped me in the garden Sunday morning,” she said before a nervous giggle burbled up. “It’s fine, really. Please tell me about this man of yours!”

  Eloisa stared at her sister for a long moment, wondering if there was an amusing anecdote to go with the ‘being dropped in the garden’, but she continued with her own story. “When I met Mr. Huntington, it was as if we both knew immediately we were right for one another. And I rather think Mr. Cunningham knew we would be a perfect match when he introduced us,” she claimed, a faraway look coming over her face. “With us both being widowed, and ...”

  “Widowed?” Olivia repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “You have been married before? When did ... when did that happen?” Her head spinning just a bit, Olivia had to take a breath and hold it for a moment.

  Eloisa sighed and cocked her head to one side. “You mean, Father didn’t tell you?” she wondered, her eyebrows furrowing. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Father would never approve of a military man for a husband,” she murmured.

  Olivia shook her head. “He said nothing.”

  Although Eloisa had originally thought to tell Olivia the entire truth of her stay in London, she realized just then she had to withhold the worst of her experiences – it would be unfair to tell her everything. Better to continue describing the scenario she and Michael had come up with to explain her situation in life. “I was briefly married to an infantryman, William Smith, but he died in France. I was just coming out of mourning when Mr. Cunningham introduced me to his banker. You see, Mr. Huntington was mourning the loss of his wife, and he was missing her terribly. And he asked Cunningham about me – because he wanted an introduction.”

  Olivia followed the story, suddenly realizing where the ‘S’ came from in the wax seal on Eloisa’s letter. But why hadn’t Father mentioned news of her marriage? She was supposed to have been a governess for a banker. “Is this Mr. Huntington the banker for whom you were a governess?”

  Eloisa’s breath caught and she stilled her features, not wanting to think about that day at Lucy Gibbons’ brothel in Covent Garden. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was never actually a governess,” she clarified, her fingers wringing the napkin in her lap. “I actually came to London to ... to get married,” she added, knowing she spoke the truth with the admission. She’d never had any intention of accepting an offer from any of the boys in Shipley; she wanted a life in town, and meeting and marrying a man in London seemed the best way to achieve her goal.

  “Oh,” Olivia replied, feeling a bit lost. “So, your intended. Is he an ... an older gentleman then?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow, suddenly imagining a decrepit old man.

  Blushing, Eloisa rolled her eyes. “Yes, but only thirty-eight, and quite handsome,” she gushed. “Debonaire, I think you would say.”

  Olivia let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Thirty-eight,” she repeated with a nod. That’s not so very old, I suppose, she thought.

  “And he has the most beautiful home in Cavendish Square, and a house in the country near Bath!”

  Olivia leaned back a bit. Cavendish Square. One of the best addresses in all of London! Her sister’s fiancé sounded like an excellent match. “And do you ... feel affection for this man?” Olivia ventured, wondering if the arrangement would be a marriage of convenience or one of love.

  Taking a deep breath so as to contain her enthusiasm, Eloisa nodded. “Olivia, I love him,” she said quietly. She leaned forward and took another breath. “And I told him so last night when he gave me this ring and confessed his love for me.”

  Olivia shook her head in stunned disbelief. “Two weeks?” she repeated again, realizing what that meant for her. “Oh, my,” she murmured, suddenly feeling faint. By finding someone to marry Eloisa, it seemed as if Michael had divested himself of his mistress before his trip to Shipley.

  So why did he come to my bedroom thinking she was Eloisa?

  Or did he?

  “Olivia, are you alright?” she finally heard Eloisa ask, apparently for a second or third time.

  Shaking her head a bit, Olivia sat up straight and nodded. “I am,” she said, continuing to nod her head. “I am very well, in fact,” she said, her face showing a grin that was growing into a very large smile. “I am so very happy for you, Eloisa. You will be marrying for love!” She clasped her hands around Eloisa’s and squeezed gently.

  Eloisa smiled at her sister’s response, but the smile faded as she continued to stare at Olivia. “You say that as if you ... as if you did not,” she murmured, her brow furrowing a bit. “I thought ... I thought you had always ... I thought you felt affection for Mr. Cunningham ...”

  “I did,” Olivia admitted quickly, nodding and taking a deep breath of relief. “I ... I do. Feel affection for him, I mean,” she added, her head still spinning a bit. “But our wedding was a bit ...”

  “Rushed, I know,” Eloisa finished for her, a worried expression on her face. “Pray tell, what really happened?” she whispered as she leaned in closer. “I do not believe Mr. Cunningham ... I do not think him capable ...” She stopped and wondered how much to admit. She could not believe Michael would have ruined her sister, as the servants in the Waterford household seemed to believe. And their father seemed to have known Olivia and Michael would be wed, and soon. But she could not tell her sister what she knew of Michael without exposing herself as having been close to the man for the past year.

  “He truly did not ruin me,” Olivia whispered with a shake of her head. “Although, it seems it was meant to appear that way.”

  Eloisa cocked her head to one side, wondering what her sister meant. “Are you saying his intention was to be discovered by father? In your room?” she queried, her shocked expression conveying her surprise. But after thinking about the events of the past two weeks, Eloisa considered that her sister was probably correct. What had Michael Cunningham been up to?

  “I truly do not know,” Olivia muttered with a shrug. “But, enough about me. I want to know all about the man who will be my brother-in-law,” she claimed as she leaned forward and helped herself to a biscuit. For, with the relief of knowing her sist
er was getting married came the realization that she was hungry, both for food and for time with her sister. It was hours before she made her way back to the Cunningham townhouse.

  Michael appeared at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing parlor in Bond Street at exactly three o’clock, the time requested in the note he’d received from his banker.

  Arthur Huntington III was already in the ring. Wearing only breeches, the banker displayed a physique that belied his thirty-eight years as he bounced about, occasionally throwing punches into the air.

  Moving quickly to the changing room, Michael stripped his coats and shirt from his body and removed his boots. Remembering his banker’s lack of stockings, he removed his own and walked calmly out to the area which held the fighting ring. He waved in the direction of Jackson himself, nodding when the proprietor acknowledged him with a slight bow.

  “Cunningham!” Arthur called out from inside the ring. “So glad you could join me,” the older man commented as he watched Michael approach the ring. His face held no humor, though.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Michael replied as he climbed into the ring and began to loosen up. “I am at a loss as to the reason for this match, though,” he claimed, jabbing his right hook into thin air several times. “We usually don’t schedule when we spar.”

  Arthur dropped his arms and strode to Michael, wanting their conversation to go unheard by the few bystanders that hung around the ring. “I believe you to have a claim on Mrs. Eloisa Smith,” he replied evenly, holding his chin up so that he might convince Michael he would not back down nor back out of their sparring session.

  Frowning, Michael shook his head. “As I said before, I have no claim on the widow.” At Arthur’s look of disbelief, Michael added, “I admit to helping her where I can, but ...”

  “You’ll no longer be doing that,” Arthur interrupted, his chin back up and his gaze very steady. “I have asked for her hand, and she has agreed to marry me,” he stated, a hint of pride – or was that challenge? – in his voice.