Michael gave her a look of confusion, his head shaking slightly. “You owe me nothing,” he stated firmly.
Eloisa stared at him, her eyes wide. “I ... I will be your mistress,” she offered suddenly. “It’s only fair that you be ... compensated ... for your expenses in all this,” she said as she spread her arms wide. “And I am already ... ruined,” she reasoned, her face blushing scarlet as she said the words.
Michael considered her proposition longer than he should have, aware that he would be bedding the daughter of his business partner – someone he respected – and the sister of the woman he expected to marry one day. She looks so much like her, he thought with a shake of his head. I could pretend she is Olivia ...
But he declined Eloisa’s offer. “I cannot accept your offer,” he told her as he gave his head a shake. “I will be your ... protector – nothing more,” he stated firmly, a bit relieved he was able to get the words out so they sounded sincere.
On the one hand, he thought Eloisa displayed a hint of relief, as if she had given her words further consideration and realized she had made a mistake in offering herself as his mistress. And, on the other, she seemed almost disappointed, as if she truly wanted him as her lover.
“I understand,” she finally agreed, her embarrassment at having made the offer evident in her reddened cheeks and throat.
Nodding as Michael took his leave of the townhouse, Eloisa considered her future. Aware of her lowered station in life and even more aware of how fortunate she was to have Michael as her protector, Eloisa realized she could never expect Michael to ask for her hand in marriage. Another year before I can marry. But a year I can at least be looking for a suitable husband, she considered. In the meantime, there was a meager household to set up and gowns to put away. Something to do, she thought wistfully. And a new life to build.
Michael arranged it so that he spent every Tuesday afternoon and evening with Eloisa at her townhouse. Despite his initial misgivings, Michael soon found himself looking forward to their visits. He could pretend she was the woman for whom he truly felt affection. When he took tea with Eloisa, he imagined he was taking tea with Olivia. When he spoke with her, he was imagining Olivia, although their conversations weren’t nearly as diverting as they might have been had she really been Olivia. When they dined together, he imagined it was Olivia who sat across from him. When he escorted Eloisa on walks in the park or for shopping in New Bond Street, he was thinking of what it would be like to have Olivia on his arm. There was something right about squiring a young woman about town, even if she wasn’t the one he was imagining.
As to how Eloisa viewed their visits, Michael could only guess. She seemed eager to please, never making demands nor threatening him if he didn’t bring her a bauble or buy her candies and perfume like a mistress might. He never told her about the promise he’d made to his mother. He feared Eloisa might offer herself as a means to make good on his promise, and then he’d have to admit he had someone else in mind to be his wife.
He didn’t want to have to tell her he planned to marry her younger sister.
Chapter 12
Confessions on a Saturday
May 14, 1814
“Your business partner’s daughter is quite the thing,” Edward was saying as he helped himself to a drink from the sideboard in the library. He had just come from his daily trek to search for Anna, his attention on the modistes in Oxford Street. He was sure she was still in London, but in a town of a million people, she was proving difficult to locate.
Although his birthday was earlier that month, he chose not to celebrate it. At the age of five-and-twenty, he had come into his majority. Funds were suddenly available to him, funds he could use toward an expedition to search for artifacts in Greece or Italy. But without Anna, he had no desire to leave England. No desire to do much of anything except search for her.
Despite his mother’s latest ploy to marry him off to one of the Newton daughters, he had deftly avoided attending the ball where she would have made the introductions by sending a note claiming he was ill and would be spending the night at Michael’s townhouse with a chamber pot nearby.
Looking up from his latest business plan, Michael regarded his friend for a moment. He didn’t think Edward had believed any of the tale he and Eloisa had acted out the week before, but he decided to wait until Edward called their bluff before admitting anything.“I suppose,” he said nonchalantly. “Not my cup of tea, but I certainly hope she will be for someone else,” he added, remembering he had some time to find a suitor for her. At least ten months or more.
Edward took his usual chair. “Let’s suppose you tell me what really happened,” he suggested, one eyebrow cocked in what was apparently a challenge.
Michael let out the breath he’d been holding and set aside his business plan. “I found her at Lucy Gibbons’ brothel the night before you met her.”
Nearly sputtering with the news his friend had gone to a brothel, Edward straightened.
“It wasn’t like that,” Michael said with a shake of his head. “I had a note from Marcus asking that I meet him there. Haven’t seen the rake in ... a long time. So, while I waited for him to show up, I spotted Miss Waterford standing in a corner.
“I couldn’t get her out of there fast enough,” he said as his shoulders slumped.
Edward regarded Michael for a moment. “What the hell was she doing there?” he wondered.
Settling back into his chair, Michael frowned, realizing Edward thought she was in the brothel of her own choice. “She was the victim of one of Lucy’s schemes to get young country chits into her brothel,” he spat out with a good deal of disgust. “By the time I saw her, she had already been ruined by some baron, but I couldn’t just leave her there. Christ, she’s Waterford’s oldest daughter,” he whispered hoarsely. “Lucy made some excuse and demanded recompense, so I gave the bitch some blunt and got Eloisa the hell out of there.”
Edward stared at Michael, his elbows resting on his knees. Christ. It’s even worse than I could have imagined, he thought. “So, that entire time I was at White’s waiting for you to make an appearance, you were dealing with Eloisa?” His brows suddenly furrowed in concern. “I didn’t know. If you’d told me ...” Edward allowed the sentence to trail off, realizing almost immediately that there was nothing he could have done.
He hadn’t returned to the townhouse until ten in the morning, but on his way to his bedchamber, Edward had spied the young woman coming out of the room the viscountess used when she was in residence. From the crack in his doorway, he watched as she tiptoed to the back staircase. Then, several minutes later, he spied her from his windows as the chit made her way out the back garden, down the alley to the street, and around to the front of the house. Curious, he met her in the parlor shortly after Jeffers answered the door. Despite the black gown and the veil that covered part of her face, he could tell she was sporting a bruised cheek. “We could have made room for her here,” he reasoned and then noticed Michael’s cocked eyebrow.
“A household with two bachelors cannot host an unmarried woman. The scandal would be untenable,” Michael whispered as he shook his head. “I did the right thing,” he assured his friend. “It probably wasn’t right by her sister – I don’t see how it can be, so Olivia can never discover the truth – but I only did what was best for Eloisa.” He paused, wondering if he should admit the rest.
Michael had been intrigued by Eloisa’s offer to be his mistress, tempted to the point of almost accepting because he was ... curious. Because he knew he could always pretend she was Olivia, pretend he was spending his Tuesday nights making love to the only woman he had ever wanted. But the arrangement would have been as unfair to Eloisa as it was to Olivia. Even if Eloisa felt affection for him, as her incessant flirting suggested, at some point she would realize that Michael didn’t feel the same way about her.
“I had to fabricate a story
for her father, you know,” he stated suddenly, realizing he had to take his mind off the possibility of bedding Eloisa.
“Oh?” Edward replied, surprised at Michael’s comment. “Wait. What are you saying?”
Michael shifted in the chair, thinking he might have to refill his brandy. He’d never made up such a story before, never lied to anyone like he would have to lie to Harold Waterford. “I have created a back story for Eloisa. To make her more ... respectable,” he admitted finally. “I’ve even started to believe it myself,” he claimed with a shake of his head. “And when I’m next in Sussex, I plan to tell him about his newly widowed daughter.”
Edward allowed his head to lean to one side, probably because he was unable to keep it upright. “Oh, this will be rich,” he replied, wondering how his best friend would ever be able to pull off telling a bald-faced lie. Michael Cunningham, liar? he thought with a bit of amusement.
Not a chance.
Chapter 13
A Fib on a Sunday
June 19, 1814
Michael sat across from his business partner and wondered how to broach the subject of the man’s newly ‘widowed’ daughter. He had provided a stack of carefully copied reports to Harold Waterford, knowing the man would read everything. Then the businessman would ask questions, especially if he thought some detail was overlooked.
“I do hope you weren’t adversely affected by the recent floods down here,” Michael said, deciding the information about Eloisa could wait a bit.
Harold shook his head. “We’re far enough away from the river here, but it was hard on those down by the Arun,” he admitted. “And it doesn’t help that some bastards are fencing off land and selling it so it’s not available for pasture,” he added gruffly. “Local folk will revolt, mark my words.”
Michael knew the man spoke the truth on that score. His father had complained about the very same thing just the night before. But Michael decided it was time he brought up the issue of Eloisa’s ‘dead husband’. “There’s been an ... unfortunate death recently,” he finally said, resisting the urge to squirm in his seat.
His business partner looked up from the report he was reading. “Are you referring to Huntington’s wife?” Harold countered, his brows furrowing. “Heard it was an awful fever.”
Startled by the mention of Arthur Huntington, Michael frowned. “Huntington’s wife died?” he asked, stunned by the news. Arthur was one of his sparring partners at Gentleman Jackson’s Salon. And my banker. “I hadn’t heard,” he said with a shake of his head. “I haven’t sparred in a week or more,” he added, wondering how long it had been since the woman’s death.
“He’s beside himself with grief. Poor man. Really loved his wife,” Harold commented as he returned his attention to the report. He glanced back up, though, when he realized Michael had meant a different death. “Who else died?
he asked then, sitting forward in his chair. A worried expression lined his face.
Michael took a deep breath. “Your daughter’s husband. William Smith,” he added, wondering if Eloisa had sent the announcement of his death to her parents. He hoped it would have been delivered to the house before he showed up, but given Mrs. Waterford’s happy nature on his arrival earlier that morning, he realized he had beaten the postal coach.
It was Harold Waterford’s turn to frown. “She’s not even married a month, and she’s already a widow?” he countered, his eyebrows furrowing into one long, white brow.
Nodding, Michael explained the officer’s situation to his business partner, secretly glad that at least Eloisa had done her part in letting her parents know that she had recently wed, and had done so with a marriage license. There wouldn’t have been time for a reading of the banns, a wedding and a death on the battlefield given she’d only been in London six weeks.
“A military man?” Harold Waterford questioned, one of his bushy eyebrows cocking in a most menacing manner. He stood up from his desk and began pacing the floor of the study. There was already a well worn path in the Aubusson carpet near the hearth where he had no doubt paced many times before.
Michael Cunningham gritted his teeth, realizing he had made a mistake in choosing the profession of Eloisa’s supposedly dead husband. “Infantry officer, actually,” Michael clarified, hoping that might help the situation. “Apparently, the man did not know he would be dispatched to the Continent when they wed, and, well, he died on a battlefield in Belgium shortly thereafter.”
Harold rolled his eyes and made a huffing sound. “That damned girl,” he stated, a bit of anger in his voice. “She’ll never come to any good,” he mumbled as his gnarled fingers gripped the back of his overlarge desk chair. “Why didn’t she just come back here?”
Biting his lip, Michael had to fight down the urge to argue with Eloisa’s father. After a moment, though, he thought it best to come to her defense. “Sir, your daughter is three-and-twenty. I believe she thought she was doing your family a favor by marrying,” he explained calmly, hoping he would not jeopardize his standing with the man with his comment. They had been doing business as partners now for over four years, and their joint ventures were profitable. He hoped on this trip to begin another.
“True enough, I suppose,” Harold agreed, taking his seat at his massive desk. “It’s just that ... well, she knows how disappointed I was when my son went off and joined the military ...”
Michael immediately thought of George, the young boy he had only ever seen at the other end of the dining table during meals. Master George couldn’t have been more than ten. “George has enlisted?” he asked, not bothering to hide his astonishment. He wondered if the boy would be relegated to playing a drum at the back of the regiment.
Harold snorted as he shook his head. “I was referring to Charles. My oldest. He’s .. twenty-five now, I suppose. I had high hopes for him, but he always wanted to be a military man. Been in the militia for at least as long as we’ve been partners,” he explained. The elder man shrugged. “I am proud of him now, of course, since he’s become an officer. Charles earned his commission,” Harold stated quite firmly. “I didn’t buy it for him, although I rather think he expected I might. He’s at Brighton and doing quite well,” he added wistfully, his eyes taking on a faraway look before he finally refocused them on Michael. “But back to my eldest daughter. I know I should not be involving you in this, but once the wife finds out, she will insist that I have someone in town look in on Eloisa – to be sure she is safe.” His face screwed up a bit as he considered something. “What’s become of her position as a governess?” the older man wondered suddenly. “Has she returned to it?”
Michael took a deep breath and reviewed in his mind what he and Eloisa had come up with as a back story to cover her unfortunate situation. “She has not. The position was already filled by another governess by the time she learned of her husband’s demise. Even so, it would not be proper for her ... she must honor the mourning period,” he said by way of explaining why she had not taken another position in service. “But do not despair,” he added as he leaned forward to place a hand on Harold’s desk. “As a widow of an officer, she’ll be receiving a pension. She will not be a burden to you,” he claimed in as calm a voice as possible.
Although Eloisa seemed to accept his self-appointed role as her protector, Michael knew the arrangement could only be temporary. At some point, he would have to find her a respectable husband. In nine or ten months.
About the same time Arthur Huntington would be out of mourning, he considered suddenly.
Stunned by the thought, he wondered if the two might suit. She was certainly younger than Arthur’s wife, by ten or fifteen years, but she was similar in appearance. Prettier, actually. Same height ... But he couldn’t think about that possible pairing at the moment; Harold was giving him a look that demanded his full attention.
“That is the least of my concerns,” the man replied quietly, his stan
ce finally softening. He shook his head but was apparently satisfied with this last bit of news about his eldest daughter. “I can certainly afford to support her. And Olivia, for that matter,” he added, his eyes suddenly narrowing as he watched Michael. “And speaking of my youngest daughter. Just what are your intentions toward her?” he asked rather bluntly. “You’ve shown interest in the past. Are you still ...?” He allowed the question to trail off without finishing it, but he straightened in his chair as he made the query.
Shown interest in the past? Michael heard again in his head. He swallowed as he suddenly remembered his comment that any woman comfortable with speaking about gas extraction was a woman after his own heart. That was two years ago. He also recalled the comment Harold made in response. If she is willing, she is yours. Truth be told, he found himself more and more attracted to Olivia every time he returned to Shipley.
“Tell me. Is it true you promised your mother you would wed by the time you were eight-and-twenty?” Harold asked then, his eyebrow cocking with the inquiry. “I apologize, but I was at White’s last I was in town,” he said, as if that explained how he knew about the promise. “The betting book was getting a good deal of attention.”
Michael held his breath and nodded, annoyed that Harold knew of the entry in the betting book. He would rue the day he and Sir Richard made that wager regarding when he would marry. “I did make such a promise, yes,” he admitted, doing his best to keep his face impassive. “And I do intend to keep the promise, of course.”
Harold’s piercing blue eyes bored into him, and Michael found himself more than a bit uncomfortable. “But I hoped to see Mrs. Smith settled with a new husband ... so as to avoid any awkwardness,” he stammered, cursing as he tried to make excuses for himself. The reason he hadn’t yet asked for Olivia’s hand was because he wasn’t yet ready to be thinking about marriage, let alone getting married.
Harold sat back in his deep leather chair and regarded Michael, apparently knowing he had surprised the younger man with his insights. “And since Eloisa saw to her own matrimony, she is of no consequence to arrangements regarding her sister’s marriage,” he countered lightly.
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