TuesdayNights (2 page)

“Oh, I am such a klutz,” she whispered hoarsely. “It is I who should beg your pardon.”

Michael regarded her with mischievous eyes before he shook his head and turned his attention to the book. The Flora of England. The title was so unexpected, he had to use his gloved hand to uncover the book completely to ensure he had read it correctly. An eyebrow arched as he turned his attention back to ... what had she said her name was? Olivia.

Noting his surprise at her choice of reading material, Olivia swallowed. “I like to read. I thought it would be ... interesting,” she said with a slight shrug, her face coloring up again.

“You are educated, then,” Michael half-questioned, a quizzical expression on his face. He didn’t try to hide his surprise. Girls raised in the country were rarely taught anything beyond simple reading and math skills.

Swallowing hard, as if she regretted leaving him with the impression she was educated, Olivia nodded. “It is my father’s intention that I should be,” she replied then, worried the man would think her a bluestocking. She glanced around, realizing she needed to be on her way home.

“Indeed?” Michael replied, wondering who her father might be. “And your ... siblings?” He began walking, noting the direction in which she was going matched where he’d left his gig and horse.

Olivia shrugged. “All of us, really, but my sister is not as inclined to it as I am. Eloisa would rather shop for ribbons and frippery and look at fashion plates,” she explained with a shrug. “My father is of the mind that men have no right to complain about chit-chat if they have not properly educated their daughters so they might speak on topics other than gossip and Paris fashions.”

Michael considered the comment for a moment. It was true that too many young women were uneducated, and those that could afford to send their girls to finishing schools or hire a governess only wanted to see them learn French, elocution, and how to play piano-forté or do needlework. “Is your intention to ... to employ your education somehow?” he asked then, suppressing the urge to remove her bonnet and pull the pins from her hair. There was a passing thought of how she might look in a thin night rail with her mahogany hair down past her shoulders and her rose-tipped breasts showing through the translucent fabric. He tried to erase the image as soon as it formed, his cock suddenly hardening at the carnal thought.

Olivia shrugged again. “If I am not married by the time I am one-and-twenty, then I shall become a governess.”

Of all the professions a woman could claim in England, and there weren’t many, governess was not the one Michael expected this young lady to mention. “A governess?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his surprise. Despite her apparent reading habit, the girl did not seem the least bit a bluestocking, nor did he imagine she would still be unmarried by the time she was of legal age. There were obviously men of his age in Shipley who looked upon her with favor (besides the one who had accosted her) and who would no doubt line up at her father’s door when it was time for her coming out. And they’ll probably be lined up behind me, he reasoned, a bit startled by the thought. “You are quite serious?” he asked then, his brows furrowed.

Olivia paused in mid-step, as if she was surprised a man would question her choice of profession. “Is there something wrong with wanting to provide for myself?” she wondered, her posture reinforcing her defensiveness.

Michael took a breath to answer and then let it out without saying anything, his head shaking just a bit.

“I do not wish to be a burden to my family,” she added. At his sudden snort and the grin that changed his serious expression to one of delight, Olivia allowed a tentative smile.

“I assure you, Miss Olivia, you will never be a burden to your family,” Michael said with a shake of his head.

Olivia regarded her rescuer with a small smile. “I really must be on my way now, Mr. Cunningham,” she said as she curtsied. She reached out, intending to take her book from Michael.

“May I offer you a ride, Miss Olivia?” he wondered, pointing in the direction of his conveyance. Olivia’s gaze followed his line of sight, and her eyes widened when she witnessed a rather large Cleveland Bay pulling a gig in their direction, even though there was no one at the reins.

Shaking her head in amusement when the horse came to a halt just as it reached them, she glanced over at Michael and allowed a smile. “Well, seeing as how my father is expecting you, and my mother is planning to host you for dinner and has seen to it a bedchamber has been made ready for you, I suppose I could offer my services as a guide to our home,” she finally answered, wondering if Michael would show his surprise at her identity. She was not disappointed to find him regarding her with a look of astonishment.

“You are Olivia Waterford?”

“At your service,” Olivia replied, giving him another curtsy. With that, she turned and climbed into the gig, rather satisfied that she was the first in her family to meet Michael Cunningham. It wasn’t often her father invited someone other than Sir Richard to their home, and neither he nor the others were as young and handsome as this man.

Michael walked to her side of the gig and held out the book so she could take it. “You might have given me your
entire
name when you introduced yourself earlier,” he murmured, as if he was scolding her.

From his manner, Olivia realized he found the situation amusing. “Except that I am not in the habit of introducing myself to strangers,” she countered as Michael climbed up and took the reins.

“Even if they have saved you from a rake?” Michael teased.

“Even then,” Olivia murmured. The horse was suddenly moving, covering the half-mile to Waterford Hall in a few minutes.

Although the Waterford estate home wasn’t particularly large, it was on par with the other country manor houses dotting the Sussex countryside, its Portland stone exterior half covered in ivy. A large garden extended from the back of the house and along one side, while an expanse of parkland made the front of the estate look as if an aristocratic family lived there during their summers away from London. Given its half-mile distance from Shipley, the nearest village, Waterford Hall had the advantage of seeming as if it was in the middle of nowhere and yet many amenities were either a ten-minute walk south or an hour’s ride north.

Although Michael had grown up nearby, he’d never been to Waterford Hall. He admired the stately manor house from where he halted the horse in the semi-circular drive in front, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness he felt at the prospect of meeting Harold Waterford.

Jumping down from the gig, he hurried to the other side and assisted Olivia. “Have you lived here your entire life?” he wondered, stealing another glance at the house before he offered her his arm.

Olivia noticed his nervousness. Of course, he would be anxious about meeting her father. “Yes. And my father doesn’t bite,” she remarked casually. “Barks a good deal,” she admitted then, one eyebrow arched up. “But if you’ve come prepared and present your proposal in a straightforward manner, he will help you with your venture,” she stated with a nod. “And all the others should you decide to continue working with him. Shipley needs the jobs.”

Michael paused to regard Olivia as she gave her opinion, surprised by her candor and by her comments. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, Miss Olivia,” he murmured. “Truly.” As he expected, Olivia blushed as she bestowed him with a glorious smile.

Later that night

Wearing a long nightshirt and a cap on his balding head, Harold Waterford moved to the bed he shared with his wife. Louisa was similarly dressed in a voluminous white cotton nightrail with a mobcap covering her graying curls.

“So?” she said expectantly, her hands clasped together over the top of the counterpane as she leaned against a pile of pillows.

Harold paused before pulling down the bed linens on his side of the mattress. “So?” he repeated, feigning ignorance over his wife’s desire to know what had happened during his meeting with the handsome, young man that was now ensconced in the guest bedchamber at the end of the hall.

“Harold!” Louisa scolded. “I have been quite patient these past few hours. Do not keep me in suspense!” she pleaded in a loud whisper. “Will he, do you suppose?” she wondered, hoping beyond hope that her eldest daughter would soon be settled in an advantageous marriage.

Her husband got into bed and pulled the linens up to his chest. “Mr. Cunningham is far too young to be thinking about leg shackles,” he stated evenly. “Unless Eloisa is willing to wait until she’s on the shelf, then she should be considering other prospects for husbands,” he added in a tired voice. “Besides, I do think our eldest was behaving a bit ... fast this evening.

Biting her lower lip, Louisa regarded her husband for a moment. “She was a bit ... forward with the man,” she agreed sadly. “But he didn’t seem to mind,” she continued, her countenance returning to a happier state.

Her husband gave her a quelling glance. “My sweeting,
I
was embarrassed for our guest. Eloisa’s flirting was too overt. Even Olivia seemed embarrassed, although I suppose she was more embarrassed
for
Mr. Cunningham than on behalf of her own sister.”

Louisa sighed a rather long, mournful sigh. “I rather hoped Eloisa would be settled in the next year or so,” she murmured. “She won’t even consider any of the local boys ...”

“Can you blame her?” Harold interrupted her. “Can’t say I’d give any of them my permission, although I hear Angus has a brother nearing thirty ...”

“Don’t you dare!” Louisa exclaimed, unable to consider her eldest married to a pig farmer.

A deep chuckle came from her husband. “I rather expect our Eloisa will be off to London to find a husband in a few years,” he said before closing his eyes.

Louisa glanced over at her husband, knowing he spoke the truth. “And Olivia?” she wondered before sighing again. Earlier in the evening, her younger daughter confided that Eli Blaylock had once again attempted a kiss in the Ship’s yard, but she insisted he wouldn’t be trying it again. Ever. Louisa wondered what her daughter had done to the boy to be so sure, but she hadn’t had the chance to ask.

His eyes still closed, a smile split Harold’s face. “She’ll be the one marrying Mr. Cunningham,” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t intend to share the information with anyone. “But you’d be wise to keep that to yourself, Louisa,” he murmured, one eye opening to reinforce his suggestion. “I don’t think either one of them has figured it out just yet.”

Louisa allowed a rather large smile of her own. She rarely saw her husband smile, and the thought of at least one of her daughters married to the son of a viscount made her positively euphoric.

“Patience, dear heart,” Harold whispered. “It may be four or five years before he’ll be ready for a wife. I like this boy, but he’s determined to make his own way in life. He is convinced his older brother is bankrupting the Cunningham coffers, so he wants to build his own fortune and those of Shipley while he’s at it. And that will take a few years.”

He heard Louisa’s gasp, knowing she would be rather happy to have a daughter married to a man of the
ton
, but not if it meant the chit would be living in debt for the rest of her life. “Do you think he can? Build his own fortune? And Shipley’s too, I mean?” she wondered hopefully.

Harold rolled over and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. “I shall do everything in my power to ensure that he
does
,” he murmured as he reached up and began undoing all the buttons down the front of his wife’s nightrail. “He’s got some excellent ideas, and he’s done his research.” Once the last button was undone, he spread open the nightrail and added, “Probably make us both rich.” With that, he planted his face against one of her breasts.

“Oh, Harold!” she whispered happily, pushing herself down from the pillows. “I so love it when you’re naughty.”

Chapter 2

A Picnic on a Tuesday

April 24, 1810

Anna closed her eyes as the sun peeked out from behind an afternoon cloud. Her left hand, firmly grasped by her best friend’s hand, was lifted from where it lay in the grass. She smiled as she felt Edward’s lips touch the back of her knuckles, his fingers gently kneading her palm and wrist. When she was sure the sun had ducked behind the cloud again, she barely opened her eyes. Edward stared down at her, his face a study of joy and his blonde hair haloed by the rays of the sun.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed before lowering his lips to hers. The kiss, a mere teasing touch of his lips to hers, might have ended there, but Anna lifted her other hand to the side of his face. The ends of her fingers gently pulled his head down again and she kissed him. She opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to touch her teeth and her tongue before she used hers to do the same to him. When Edward finally pulled away, he regarded his childhood friend and the love of his life for a very long time. “I am going to miss you terribly,” he whispered.

Anna reached up and plucked a blade of grass from his hair. “Will I see you at Christmastime?” she whispered, bravely keeping tears from collecting in the corners of her eyes.

“Before that, I’m sure,” Edward said with a cocked eyebrow. “I’ll just be back at Oxford.” He said this as if he would be doing research at a school on the other side of town rather than eighty miles away.

Swallowing hard, Anna nodded, her head still resting in the lawn behind the Earl of Eversham’s country estate. The remains of their luncheon picnic were scattered over a blanket spread out beneath a live oak tree. “Father may move us to London before then,” she whispered. “Do you suppose it would be acceptable for me to write to you?”

Edward frowned. “London?” he repeated. He lifted himself onto an elbow. “What are you saying?”

Anna seemed to shrug as she continued to lay stretched out on the manicured lawn. She had a passing thought as to how difficult it would be to get the grass stains out of her morning gown, but quickly replaced it with the thought of how much she would miss the boy who had become a man whilst at Eton and Oxford. Edward had been in school for several years, but he returned to Somerset so frequently, she barely missed him. But Oxford for research on antiquities? She rather doubted Edward would return as frequently. And it was more likely he would be tempted by the larger city’s offerings, both in scholarly pursuits as well as other entertainments, and simply remain there during academic breaks.

The young men of Bath didn’t always return after leaving for school. They were more likely to take a position as a clerk or join the militia or a ship’s crew. Edward was unlikely to undertake any of those occupations given his status as the second son of an earl; moving to London was more likely.

“There is a marquess in Mayfair who fancies Father’s tailoring,” Anna finally replied. “He has promised Father a higher commission than he can ever hope to make if he stays here. Oh, and a character if he makes himself more ‘readily available’ to the man,” she quoted with a roll of her eyes.

Edward sat up, bending one knee and wrapping a arm around it. Despite his height – he was just over six feet tall – he still managed to look elegant in the pose. “I shall just have to take my vacations from school in London then,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Not as far from Oxford, either,” he added with a wink. He regarded her for a moment more. “Fancy your father being noticed by an aristocrat, though. He should be proud.”

Anna covered her eyes with an arm to block out the sun. “He’s a tailor, Edward,” she stated sadly. “And even if every one of his clients is a member of the
ton
, he’ll always be the lowest class citizen in this country.”

Her best friend frowned again, surprised at Anna’s assessment. It was true tailors weren’t well regarded, but a good tailor was a necessity for any man who wanted to stand out among gentlemen, especially those who lived in London. “Still, to have a marquess notice his work and request that he move is an honor, I should think.”

Retrieving her bonnet from the grass, Anna sat up and pulled it onto the back of her head. She thought of putting her hair back into a bun, but she would have to find the hairpins Edward had pulled out of her carefully constructed bun, a rather difficult task given he had tossed them off so they were hidden somewhere in the grass. “Perhaps someone will notice my sewing skills and request I work in their modiste,” she said hopefully. At some point she would have to find employment. She was already one-and-twenty and still living at home. How much longer would she be welcome to do so? Perhaps the move to London would provide more opportunities.

Edward took her hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t have you working, my love,” he stated suddenly, apparently surprised by her comment. “I intend to marry you ... just as soon as my older brother is married and an heir is born.”

Anna arched an eyebrow and regarded Edward. She’d heard his claim before. At one time, she believed she would one day be the wife of Edward Seward, the second son of the Earl of Eversham. But as she grew older and learned more about the ways of the world – the ways of the aristocracy – the more she realized that Edward’s fanciful claims were just that. She was sure Edward’s parents would forbid such a match for the very reason that she was a daughter of a tailor. They would no doubt require Edward to marry an aristocrat’s daughter. At least a baron’s daughter. Anna could claim no ties to any well-born family let alone a family of the
ton
.

“If my father does move us to London, than I shall have to seek employment, Edward,” she said quietly. “I will have to make my own way at some point.”

Shaking his head, Edward gave her a look of impatience. “If and when you’re no longer welcome to live with your parents, I shall arrange a small house or apartment for you,” he insisted.

Anna’s eyes widened. “You expect me to be your mistress?” she asked in alarm, stunned by his offer. No man arranged for a woman’s housing unless he expected to pay calls on her – and not for the purpose of having tea and biscuits.

“No,” Edward replied too quickly. “I ... Well, I suppose one would assume that, but ...” He allowed the sentence to trail off. Of course, he wanted Anna as his mistress. Especially if he couldn’t have her as his wife right away. “I love you, Anna. I want you in my life. For the rest of my life,” he vowed as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

Sighing, Anna nodded. “And I love you, Edward,” she whispered. “But I will not hold you to your claim.”

A grimace formed on Edward’s face, making his long features a bit comical. “You think I will not honor my vow?” he asked, obviously offended by her comment.

Anna shook her head. “I know you would if you could. But this isn’t just
us
we’re talking about. Your parents have expectations. You’re an earl’s son. You cannot expect to be allowed to marry a tailor’s daughter!” Tears suddenly streamed from her eyes, surprising her and startling Edward.

“Anna,” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms, rocking her as he held her against his chest. Somewhere deep down, he knew that what she said was true – to a point. Once his brother had an heir and the earldom’s succession was secure, Edward would be free to marry whomever he pleased. But until then, he had a responsibility to his father – to the earldom – to make it appear as if he was biding his time in finding a suitable daughter of the
ton
to marry.

We have time,
he reasoned.
All the time in the world.