TuesdayNights (19 page)

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said as he set down his pint and reached into his waistcoat pocket, trying to get his mind off his sudden erection. “I have a set of keys for you. For the townhouse. And the mansion.”

Olivia watched as he pushed the keys across the table toward her, his broad but long forefinger guiding them in her direction. “For me?” she replied in surprise, an eyebrow cocking into a perfect mahogany arch.

“Of course. As mistress of the house, you may need them on occasion,” he said, wondering when there would ever be a time when his butler, Jeffers, or another servant wouldn’t be at home to open the doors. His sister had seemed quite insistent that he give her keys, though, so he’d seen to it that copies had been made especially for her.

“Oh, thank you,” Olivia said with a nod, taking the keys and dropping them into her reticule. Did he just give me his only house keys? she wondered. He must have – he wouldn’t have expected to return to his home in London as a married man!

Unaware he had finished his pasty and Olivia had drained her teacup, Michael was surprised when Portmouth claimed the empty glassware. “It appears your coach is ready, Mr. Cunningham,” the innkeeper said as he nodded toward the window and the sight beyond.

Michael glanced up, startled. “Of course. What do I owe for the extra days?” he asked, glancing out the window to see that the team was hitched.

Olivia excused herself and hurried to the door, wanting an opportunity to look at the horses more closely before she had to return to the interior of the coach. Standing in front of the left lead, she lifted her gloved hand to the space between his eyes and stroked softly, cooing as she did so. The right lead raised its head and regarded her. She moved to stand in front of him and repeated the stroking, smiling as the horse seemed to press his head against her hand. “You are a darling,” she whispered. The horse nickered softly.

“Mrs. Cunningham,” she heard from somewhere. It was a moment before she realized it was she who was being addressed. “Coming!” she called out. She gave the horses another stroke before hurrying to the coach door where her husband waited. Sensing dissatisfaction from him, or is that just impatience? Or is he amused? she got in quickly and settled into one corner, her attention only on what she could see outside the window.

Dozing when the carriage’s sway was slight, Olivia was aware of Michael’s soft snore from somewhere to her left. She finally looked in his direction, hoping to steal a glance while he slept. The planes of his face, defined by the square jawline at the bottom and the strong forehead above straight brows, were no longer quite so stern. His nose, obviously broken at some point in the past, was too broad to be considered aristocratic, but it suited his strong features, especially given the chin that extended a bit beyond the front of his face. And his mouth, with lips that hid straight white teeth and smiled easily – that mouth had her mesmerized until Michael’s eyes suddenly opened and she was forced to look away or be caught staring at him.

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.