TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  “No!” she interrupted, her head shaking from side to side. “I cannot go back there,” she claimed, the haunted look in her eyes made more so by the smudged kohl.

  Stunned by her comment, Michael sat back and regarded the young woman. “Returning to your home would certainly be safer ...”

  “I’ll go mad, Mr. Cunningham,” she countered. “There is nothing for me in Shipley. And I do not wish to be married to a barkeep. Or a pig farmer.”

  One of Michael’s eyebrows arched up at the comment. If she didn’t go back home, she’d have to earn a living in London. What else could she do? He leaned forward in the coach. “Have you ever worked in service?” he wondered, thinking he could arrange for her to be hired in a friend’s home, perhaps as a scullery maid or a chaperone.

  Eloisa shook her head. “My father has always employed servants, so I have never ...” She paused as she realized why he asked. Positions as a servant or a lady’s maid or a laundress were possibilities, but she had never so much as watched how the servants in their household had done their jobs. She came from a middle class household. A rather well-to-do household, in fact. She didn’t know the first thing about working in service. “No,” she finally answered.

  Michael nodded his understanding just as the coach pulled into the alley behind his townhouse. Good of Mr. White to help him keep his passenger hidden from the eyes of gossips, he thought. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Everything seems better by the light of day, after all,” he added, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than his passenger.

  “Thank you,” he heard her say, her voice clear and her tears gone. “I owe you so much, Mr. Cunningham,” she added before sniffling again. “I will do anything you ask. Anything you tell me to.” The implication of her words weren’t lost on him. She might have come from the country, but she understood her predicament just as clearly as he did.

  Once Michael had her out of the coach, through the garden, and up the back steps of the townhouse, he took a quick look around before hurrying her up the servants’ staircase. He suddenly remembered the time he had saved a young lady from ruination. Olivia! Were no girls safe from the rakes of the world?

  When they reached the second floor, Michael left her on the stairs and called out his greetings to the footman who manned the upstairs hall. “If there are still some servants about, I’d like to take a bath,” he stated firmly. “Can you see to it?”

  “Of course, my lord,” the servant replied, hurrying down the main stairs to see to the preparation of hot water.

  Michael used the few moments they would have to get Eloisa into his mother’s bedchamber. “See what you can find in the way of a gown and ... under things,” he whispered as he grabbed a hairbrush from the vanity and a nightrail and dressing gown from where they hung over a screen.

  Sensing his urgency and realizing they didn’t have much time before Michael would have to be in his bedchamber – the footman would probably return to his post in a few moments – Eloisa opened the wardrobe and stared at the vast selection of elegant gowns. She grabbed the first dress that looked like it might fit, a black gown made of bombazine, and a pair of black slippers. She pulled a few items from a dresser drawer and nodded in Michael’s direction.

  “I’ll dismiss the footman for the night,” he said as he gave her the items he had collected. “Stay here. I’ll come get you once the bath is ready,” his whispered.

  Hurrying off to his room, Michael was relieved when he realized the footman hadn’t yet returned to his post.

  Soon, cans of steaming water were brought to his room and poured into the copper tub. Once it was half-full, and several flannels were stacked nearby, he dismissed the servants, saying they could retire for the night. Although Edward probably wasn’t yet home from White’s or wherever he had spent the evening – Michael hadn’t seen him for two days – Michael doubted the man would need any assistance in preparing for bed.

  When the house quieted and Michael was sure the servants were in their rooms, he found Eloisa and escorted her to his bath.

  “When you’re done here, just go back to the blue room and get some sleep,” he ordered. “In the morning, we’ll see to breakfast and get this all sorted.”

  Eloisa’s eyes widened. “Where will you be?” she whispered.

  Michael shrugged, not having given it much thought. But there was another room – a salon of sorts that included a small bed – where he could spend the night. “I’ll be in the guest bedchamber,” he murmured, deciding he couldn’t very well stay in his bedchamber with Eloisa using his bath. “Do you have everything you need?” he wondered, seeing her arms clutching bedclothes and other sundry items.

  “I think so,” she nodded before swallowing. “Thank you again, Mr. Cunningham.”

  Michael nodded and left the room, rubbing one side of his face as he made his way to the secret panel in the hall wall. He pushed a lever hidden in the panel molding before grabbing a torch from a nearby sconce. Once inside the small room, he lit a lamp and returned the torch to its sconce.

  Even in the dim light, the small room made him smile. Whose idea had it been to hide a salon in the middle of a townhouse, he wondered? And furnish it with nothing more than a bed, a vanity and an upholstered chair? A room for trysts, he thought as he undressed and settled into the small bed. Olivia would look rather lovely in this room, he thought wistfully. She could read books or do needlework by the light of the only window. Write letters or watch for him from the window when he was returning from his appointments. She could sleep in this room.

  He stilled himself, wondering why he thought of her just then. Thought of how she would look in a thin night rail with the pins pulled out of her mahogany hair and her bare feet showing beneath the bottom ruffle. Of how she would raise herself up on her toes to kiss him. Of how she would wrap her arms around his neck and press the entire front of her soft body against his. Of how she would invite him to spend the night with her in this room, sharing the only bed. Of how he would make love to her, slowly and passionately, until they were both satiated and sleepy. Of how he would pull her body against his and hold her for the entire night while they slept.

  Smiling, Michael was asleep before he could think of anything else.

  Chapter 11

  A Widow on a Friday

  May 6, 1814

  The following morning, Michael returned to his room before Jeffers would normally arrive to dress him. He was intent on seeing to it there was no evidence a woman had used his bath. He was surprised to find that, not only was there no evidence of a woman having taken a bath, there was no evidence that anyone had even been in the room. His bed was still made, although it had been turned down. Messing up the bed linens a bit and even settling into the mattress for a moment to make it look as if he’d slept there, he got up and stepped back to admire his handiwork. He was shedding his shirt and breeches when Jeffers knocked.

  “Come,” Michael called out as he pulled on his dressing gown.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Jeffers said as he moved to pick up the clothes Michael had just tossed onto the bed.

  “Morning, Jeffers. Did Mr. Seward ever return here last night?” he wondered, not having heard anyone on the second floor after he went into the salon. Nice, quiet little room, that salon, he thought, moving into the bath so that Jeffers could give him a shave.

  “He did, although I believe it’s more appropriate to say that he arrived this morning,” he commented lightly. “And just in time for your caller, I might add. I put her in the parlor. One of the maids is seeing to some tea and cakes.”

  “Caller?” Michael repeated, wondering who would be calling on him at ... he glanced at the mantle clock over the fireplace. Well, it was a bit after ten, but no one ever called on him at home.

  “Yes, my lord,” Jeffers said with a nod as he placed a bath linen around his master’s neck. “A M
iss Waterford, I believe she said it was. Poor dear,” he muttered as he spread shaving soap over Michael’s face.

  Attempting to control his alarm at hearing Jeffers’ comment, Michael merely raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Why do you say that?” he asked. Was her plight that evident?

  Jeffers began shaving him, his strokes even and quick. “Someone must have died. She’s dressed in a black gown and wearing a black veil. I do hope whoever died is not someone you know well, my lord,” he added as he completed the shave and began wiping Michael’s face with a flannel.

  Michael thought fast, realizing just then that Jeffers apparently knew nothing of their female boarder from the night before. Had she sneaked out the back door and come around to the front, acting as if she was paying a call in order to gain entrance legitimately? If so, he had to give her credit for her ingenuity. And then another thought struck. The gown she had borrowed from his mother’s wardrobe was a black gown. Of course, she would look as if she were in mourning. “Widows’ weeds,” he murmured hopefully.

  It was the perfect solution to their problem!

  He heard Jeffers’ gasp as he stood to get dressed. “She’s so young to have already been married and widowed,” his valet was saying. “Husband must have been a soldier.”

  Michael regarded his valet with new found appreciation. “Indeed,” he agreed. “I believe he was in the infantry. An officer,” he added hopefully, remembering that enlisted men weren’t entitled to pensions. “But this is the first I’ve heard of his death. Her father is my business partner in Shipley. I have been a guest at their house on many occasions,” he added, deciding it made her calling on him seem that much more ... legitimate. “I do not wish to keep her waiting,” he continued, stepping into a pair of breeches. “What is the protocol should she need a place to ... stay?” he asked, hoping it would be within propriety’s bounds to invite her to stay at the townhouse for a few days, at least until he could arrange a place for her. “Her landlord may not allow her to keep the house if her husband has died. I hear it can take some time before pension monies can be arranged.”

  Jeffers gave him a look of disappointment. “My lord, this is a household of bachelors. I cannot believe that it would be acceptable for her to stay here,” he said as he tied Michael’s cravat. “There would be gossip.” This last was said as if it wasn’t already scandalous enough to have two bachelors sharing a terrace. At least most in the ton knew that Edward was a friend and not a molly.

  Damnation!

  “Well, I’ll see what can be arranged if the circumstances warrant it,” Michael countered as he pulled on a waistcoat. The thought of Eloisa down in the parlor with Edward made him pause in his effort to button the waistcoat. What are they talking about? And how much of the story that he had just developed would fall apart when Edward heard it? This is all my brother’s fault! he considered. I would never have been in this situation had Marcus not sent that missive. But then, if he hadn’t, Eloisa would still be at Lucy Gibbons’ establishment, more ruined than she already was. Michael sighed. “I’ll see to our guest now,” he said as he took his leave of his valet.

  “Ah, Miss Waterford,” Michael announced from the threshold of the parlor. “I apologize for keeping you waiting so long,” he said as he bowed.

  Eloisa, her face somewhat screened by the veil on the hat she wore, stood up quickly from the Grecian couch on which she was seated and then performed a perfect curtsy. “And my apologies for calling too early, Mr. Cunningham,” she countered. “But Mr. Seward has been kind enough to keep me company,” she added as she indicated Edward. “He’s been regaling me with stories of his youth in Bath.” She lowered herself to the couch and resumed drinking from her teacup.

  Michael nodded in Edward’s direction, not surprised that the man would be talking about his days with Anna. He wondered if Edward had found the woman, and if so, had they made arrangements for their future together? And, if not, he half-expected to find Edward wearing crumpled clothes and sporting a pair of bloodshot eyes. But the man was impeccably dressed and appeared as if he’d had a good night’s rest.

  “Please accept my condolences on the death of your husband,” Michael stated, hoping she would realize what he had in mind.

  The sound of a startled gasp came from Edward. “Oh, my apologies, my lady,” he said as resettled into his favorite chair. “I should have asked as to your health earlier, but our conversation about Anna ...”

  “Quite alright, really,” she interrupted. “You couldn’t have known.” I certainly didn’t.

  Michael took a seat near Eloisa and watched as she poured him a cup of tea. “How long has it been? Three ... four weeks since you heard from the British Army?” he wondered, hoping she would understand his meaning.

  She gave him the cup and saucer. “About that, yes,” she agreed.

  “Forgive me, Miss Waterford, but I must ask. Has your landlord approached you about the rent?”

  “Now, see here, Cunningham ...” Edward spoke suddenly.

  Eloisa held out a staying hand. “It’s quite alright. I do so appreciate Mr. Cunningham looking out for me. I am sure my father put him up to it, didn’t he?” she hinted, angling her head so she was facing Michael as she made the query.

  “Of course,” Michael replied with a shrug. “He is ... concerned. You were married ... what? Two months?” he countered.

  Eloisa swallowed, trying to do some quick math. “Closer to three, I should think,” she said. “But my husband was dispatched to France just as soon as we returned from our wedding trip,” she added sadly. “And, in answer to your question, the landlord has stated that he expects the next year’s rent to be paid by the end of the month. But I won’t have Mr. Smith’s pension by then.”

  Smith, Michael thought quickly. Good choice for a new last name. Common enough that no one would question her. Rent for a year. Well, that was common enough for a house in a decent neighborhood. There was a rather small one for let down in Green Street, not too far away. He had considered renting it for Edward, just to get the man out from under his roof.

  “I can see to it,” Michael said with a wave of his hand. “How do you like living in Green Street?” he wondered then.

  Eloisa’s eyes widened before she was able to control her reaction. “Oh, it’s a fine neighborhood. Rather ... quiet.”

  “And safe. I shouldn’t want you any farther away. Your mother is quite concerned, you see,” Michael said, more for Edward’s benefit than for Eloisa’s. “After your mourning period is over, we’ll have to see about arranging an advantageous marriage for you.” He turned his attention to Edward. “I’m sure Mr. Seward can help in that regard. Between the two us, we must know at least a dozen or so bachelors who will need to wed in the next year or so,” he stated with an arched eyebrow. Including me, he remembered suddenly.

  Straightening her back, Eloisa nodded. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Cunningham,” she replied, obviously pleased at the possibility of marrying a man of means.

  Edward stared at Michael and then at Eloisa. “I’m sure we can find someone ... when the time comes,” he agreed with a nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. I have an appointment with my tailor.”

  Michael and Eloisa both stood and watched Edward leave the parlor, exhaling their collective breaths when they heard the front door close. They regarded one another for a moment. “Do you think he believed all that?” Eloisa asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Shaking his head slowly from side to side, Michael sighed. “Not a chance.” His hands on his hips, Michael sighed again. “My butler seems to believe it will be inappropriate for you to stay here, so I think it best we see about that house in Green Street.”

  Eloisa’s eyes widened. “You were serious about that?” she asked, her eyes darting from side to side. “I cannot afford rent for a ...”

  “I’ll see to it,” Michael assured her, one hand w
aving as if the rent would be pin money. A year’s rent would put a dent into his recent earnings, though. “It’s the least I can do given my meager fortune is mostly due to your father,” he reasoned with a shake of his head. “I’ll get my coat.”

  They spent the afternoon touring the property in Green Street, a furnished townhouse featuring two stories and a small garden. Once Michael had acquired the key from the proprietor, they stopped at an agency to arrange a part-time maid, and finished their day at a modiste’s shop in Bond Street to pick out a complete wardrobe suitable for the quiet lifestyle of a London widow.

  “Are you comfortable with your new identity?” Michael wondered as he opened the door to her townhouse. They’d discussed several options whilst they shopped, one having him act as an escort for a war widow who dared not venture out on her own. “Widow of an infantryman killed in France?” he added.

  Eloisa gave him a wan smile. “He was an officer,” she corrected him. “And I am, actually. It’s like I am a whole new person,” she reasoned, taking some of the parcels from him when they threatened to drop from his grasp.

  “Near the end of your mourning period, say, eight months or so, we can reintroduce you into Society. After a year, certainly no one will recognize you as having been a prostitute at Lucy Gibbon’s brothel – especially when you were only there one day,” he reasoned. He pulled several pound notes and a collection of coins from his pocket and laid them on the small dining table. “You’ll need some pin money, for food and whatnot,” he explained when she seemed startled by the money.

  “I cannot accept this, Mr. Cunningham. That is ... I cannot unless you accept something in return,” she countered, her face turned up at a defiant angle.