TuesdayNights (25 page)

There, I said it, he thought, not feeling the least bit triumphant about his confession. How long would she hold that night against him? How long would she regret having met him? Regret even knowing him?

And why wasn’t she responding?

He glanced down at Olivia when he realized she hadn’t made a sound for several minutes. Moving her so he could better see her face, Michael realized that her eyes were closed and she barely breathed. She looks like an angel, he thought, a grin spreading on his face. The grin disappeared, though, when he realized why she hadn’t said a word.

Olivia was sound asleep!

Michael sighed, feeling a bit of relief that she probably hadn’t heard a word he had said. But the thought that Olivia felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms brought another smile to his lips.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed, lowered her to the space above the downturned linens, and covered her. For a moment, he considered climbing in next to her. Then he remembered that his mother slept in this bed when she was in residence. Whatever thought he had of holding his wife while she slept immediately left him. Leaning over, Michael kissed Olivia’s forehead and the back of one of her hands before he quietly left the room.

Olivia lay motionless for several heartbeats, surprised Michael had simply kissed her head and left the room. His apology, at least what she’d heard of it while half-asleep, seemed heartfelt. Humble, almost.

Did she regret what had happened last Tuesday night?

Yesterday, yes. She had to admit she had regretted everything that had happened since Tuesday night.

But, now? Tonight? She wasn’t so sure anymore.

Chapter 26

Sunday Morning in the Garden with His Wife

April 16, 1815

Bounding down the stairs at precisely nine o’clock in the morning, Michael Cunningham came to a dead stop where the stairs ended in the central hall. The round table located in the middle of the hall, usually topped with an empty crystal vase, sported an enormous floral arrangement. Symmetrical in both form and color and featuring a variety of greenery and spring flowers, it appeared to have been created by a professional florist.

Or his mother.

“Jeffers!” he called out as he slowly walked around the arrangement, figuring Lady Cunningham had to have put it there.

“Yes, sir?” Jeffers replied when he appeared from the dining room, adjusting his sleeves as if he’d been performing some duty that required his sleeves to be rolled up.

“Where is she?” Michael asked gruffly, waving a gloved hand toward the flowers.

Jeffers’ eyebrows nearly disappeared into his wig. “Mrs. Cunningham is in the garden, sir,” he stated carefully, wondering why his master seemed so offended by the floral arrangement.

Michael started to turn and then redirected his attention to the butler. What did he say? “‘Mrs.’? Not ‘Lady’?” he questioned, wondering if he’d heard Jeffers correctly.

The butler nodded. “Your wife, sir, is in the garden. If Lady Cunningham is here, she has not made her presence known. A rather unlikely event, I would venture to say,” he stated in a quieter voice, one eyebrow still cocked in confusion.

Michael frowned but showed his relief regarding his mother’s continued absence. “Then, where did the flowers come from?” he wondered, the tenseness easing from his shoulders and his voice.

Jeffers did his best to suppress a sigh. “Some were delivered from a hot house yesterday. The rest are from your garden, sir.”

Michael stood staring at the butler, stunned. “Did Olivia ...?” he waved his hand toward the floral arrangement and circled it in the air and then added his other hand in a pantomime that could have indicated the building of a rather large monument to Sir Nelson.

“Mrs. Cunningham did the florals, yes,” Jeffers acknowledged with a nod. “A rather nice arrangement, if I may say. Very balanced both in color and structure. I believe she is working on one for the dining room right now.” When his master didn’t reply right away, the butler asked, “Are you displeased with the effort, Mr. Cunningham?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “No!” he answered quickly, shaking his head vigorously. “Not at all. I am just ... surprised is all.” When had she had time to create such a huge display? he wondered. After a moment, he asked, “Just how long has Mrs. Cunningham been up and about?”

Jeffers clasped his hands behind his back. “She came down at seven this morning and had tea, but she said she would wait to break her fast until you were ready to join her.”

Michael colored a bit, not realizing he had married a woman who woke up before noon.

“Thank you, Jeffers. I think I will go to the garden then.” Hurrying to the back door, an entrance he hadn’t used but for the one night when he’d been too drunk to climb the front steps and the night he’d sneaked Eloisa into the house, Michael opened it and did a quick survey of the back yard. The gardener had trimmed the bushes on either side of the door and cropped the bit of lawn around the statuary, but most of the plants surrounding the walk appeared to need attention. Although he saw no sign of Olivia, Michael started down the garden path, weaving his way through the islands of early spring flowers and admiring the riot of colors represented. Are there usually this many flowers in bloom this early in spring? he found himself wondering. It’s been rather cool this year.

He came upon the derrière of his wife as she knelt over a clump of daisies, her dark green muslin gown shaping itself quite nicely around the globes of her bottom. Admiring the view, Michael did not immediately make his presence known. When Olivia leaned forward to cut some stems from the lower parts of the bush, he could stand it no longer. He reached out and placed his hands firmly under her arm and around her waist and lifted her from the ground, holding her solidly against the front of his body. He could feel her heart suddenly racing through the thin fabric of her gown. When his left arm rested just under a breast, he realized she wore no corset and his own heart began to race.

“Oh!” Olivia shrieked, the pruning shears dropping to the ground as she was pulled up and back against Michael. “Let go of me!” she demanded. Despite Olivia’s feet being clad in only kid leather slippers, her solid backward kick into Michael’s shin and sharp elbow into his ribs produced nearly the effect she intended. Michael stumbled, but instead of releasing her from his hold so she’d land on her feet, he pitched forward. His grip around her middle, already tenuous at best, gave way with her struggles. Olivia fell awkwardly, the wrist of her left hand twisting as she landed on the walking path. She continued to kick and squirm in an effort to get away from her would-be attacker.

“Damn it, woman, be still!” Michael exclaimed, crouching down in an attempt to lessen the impact of her fall. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d cursed at her.

Olivia let out an audible, “Ouch!” before she tried to sit up in front of him. As her left hand moved to support her, she winced and pulled her left arm against her body. Tears of pain pricked the corners of her eyes. She was glad of the wide-brimmed bonnet that hid most of her face.

Embarrassed by her outburst and by his, Olivia could feel her cheeks flaming even before she fully realized that it was Michael who had tried to lift her before she hit the ground. What had he intended by lifting me like that? she wondered.

“Good God, you’re hurt,” Michael breathed, his apparent anger replaced with genuine concern. Oh, Christ, what have I done?

Sighing audibly, she slumped forward, cradling her wrist with her other hand as the fight went out of her. Even before the tears began streaming down her face, Michael scooped her into his arms and was carrying her to the back door, shouting for Jeffers. And the way Michael winced as he took his first couple of steps told her she had succeeded in hurting his shin when she had kicked backward as hard as she could.

Her head suddenly pressed against the solidity of his chest, Olivia could hear the quick beats of his heart beneath his coats, smell the sandalwood of his cologne and feel the urgency in his step, the comfort of his arms as he carried her. When the startled butler opened the door, Michael called out, “Send for the physician!” Alarmed at the sight of his master carrying his prone wife, Jeffers nodded and disappeared back into the house.

Michael maneuvered himself and his burden through the door before looking down at Olivia. Seeing her eyes were closed, he at first thought she might have fainted, but her lashes fluttered and she looked up to meet his worried gaze.

“There is really no need for a doctor,” she murmured as she attempted to shake her head. The bonnet she wore was crushed against his arm, but she managed to pull it off with her right hand.

“Hush,” Michael spoke quietly in reply, moving into the parlor and gently placing her onto the settee.

“I think it’s just a sprain ... ”

Michael’s hand went to the side of her face, holding her cheek as he surveyed her, his thumb brushing tears aside. “Was it just your arm, or did I ...?”

“It’s only my wrist,” she assured him, finding it odd that his look of concern was such a source of comfort. There was a moment of embarrassed silence between them. Olivia lowered her head and wondered what to say. An apology, certainly, despite his having brought this on himself, she considered. Her heart hammering in her chest, she took a deep breath and ventured to look up. “I apologize. I ... I did not know it was you,” she started to speak, not knowing what else to say under the circumstances.

“I am the one who is sorry. It was most improper of me to have ...”

The two stared at one another for a moment before Olivia’s gaze fell on his knee and his wandered over her. “Oh, dear. You’ve got dirt on your breeches ...”

“And you’ve got dirt on your gown ... “

The two stopped in mid-sentence and regarded one another in an awkward silence, bemused expressions on their faces. “May I?” Michael asked as he motioned to the space on the settee next to her.

“Of course,” Olivia nodded as she shifted a bit to allow him room to sit.

Michael reached for her gloved right hand, his attention on her face. Lifting her hand to his lips, he hesitated when she suddenly tried to pull it away.

“If only I had known it was you ..,” she stammered, her eyes darting between the back of the soiled glove and Michael’s face.

Michael followed her point of attention and glanced at her glove, realizing she was attempting to prevent him from kissing a layer of dirt. He gently tugged on the fingers of the glove until it came free of her hand. Holding her bare hand with his other hand, he kissed the knuckles. “It was entirely my fault for having thought to ...” Michael let the sentence trail off. What did I intend to do? Kiss her, certainly. Aroused by the site of her bent over the daisies like that made him think of other things he would like to do with her at some point in their marriage bed. Now, he realized it would be some time before she would even allow him in her bed. After this incident, he was afraid it might be a very long time before he was welcome in the same room. He removed his top hat and held the brim with both hands, his large fingers nervously brushing the beaver.

“If I’d known it was you, I would not have reacted as I did,” Olivia explained quietly. Although I still would have been startled by what you did, she added to herself. Whatever were you thinking to do? She held her left arm in her lap, the wrist already swelling.

“I did not mean to startle you so,” Michael countered lamely. “Our garden is safe from intruders, I assure you,” he added, releasing his grip on his hat to reach over and carefully lift her left arm.

Our garden? she repeated to herself. He means his and Edward’s, of course, she figured. Olivia allowed him to remove the glove from her left hand and survey the wrist, the fingers of one hand holding her arm as the fingers of his other hand gently manipulated her fingers, all while he asked where and if it hurt. When she could prove to him that she was able to bend every finger, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his lips over the knuckles. Her breath caught at the pleasant sensation that suddenly rushed up her arm and seemed to settle somewhere deep inside, but Michael misinterpreted her reaction. He quickly lowered her arm. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t ...”

Not wanting him to withdraw, Olivia raised her right hand to the side of his face. “You did not hurt me,” she whispered, her hand gently pulling his face towards hers. Nearly close enough to kiss, her lips parted and her eyelids drooped.

Michael held his breath, stunned that she was inviting a kiss. His lips brushed over hers for only an instant before they were both startled enough to turn and sit upright just as the parlor door suddenly opened.

A white-haired gentleman carrying a black leather bag appeared. “Good morning, Cunningham,” he announced. Jeffers rolled his eyes as he stood behind the man, his hands clasped behind his back.

Michael quickly rose to his feet and then turned to place a hand on Olivia’s shoulder to keep her from standing. “Doctor Ashcroft, so good of you to come,” he said, his face coloring as if he’d been caught stealing something. A kiss, I was sure, he thought with a bit of annoyance.

“And so quickly,” Olivia breathed as she nodded at the physician. “You must have a very fast horse.” Despite the early hour, the man was well-dressed and sported a white cravat with perfect folds and an elaborate knot.

The doctor grinned at his patient as he stepped forward and gave a leg. “Proximity,” he answered proudly.

“What an interesting name for a horse,” Olivia replied, her eyebrows furrowing as she considered what the horse had been guilty of doing to have earned such an odd name.

The doctor cocked his head to one side, caught off-guard by her response. “Oh, there’s no horse,” Dr. Ashcroft stated with an even larger smile, his humor obviously at her expense. He lowered his black bag to the floor next to the settee.

“Dr. Ashcroft lives next door,” Michael said in a quiet voice, taking a breath of relief as he did so.

“Oh,” Olivia acknowledged, her face blooming with color. She held out her arm at the doctor’s urging and he performed the exact same manipulations as had Michael, although he did so less gingerly.

“However did this happen?” the doctor asked as he examined her swollen wrist, turning her arm gently with one hand while holding her elbow with the other.

“I was cutting flowers in the garden,” Olivia started to explain.

“I dropped her,” Michael replied, not realizing how his words would be interpreted.

At the doctor’s raised eyebrow in Olivia’s direction, she said quickly, “He was helping me up from the ground.”

The doctor turned his withering gaze on Michael. “She kicked me,” Michael stated defensively, not wanting the doctor to think that he had deliberately dropped her.

“I didn’t know it was him!” Olivia countered when the doctor turned back to look at her. “I was simply caught off-guard and thought only to defend myself.”

When the doctor turned back to Michael, her husband simply shrugged. ”I assure you, our garden is safe from intruders,” Michael countered, his clipped words indicating he had taken offense at the implication his garden was somehow a bastion for miscreants.

“I did not mean to offend, I assure you,” Olivia replied in a very quiet voice.

The doctor’s eyebrows drew together to become one bushy white caterpillar.

Michael regarded her for a moment and the hardness in his features softened a bit. “You did a rather effective job of it,” he said, a quirk at the edge of his mouth the only hint that he was teasing. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted it. “I am the one who should apologize,” he said with a small smile, thinking he was having to do a lot of that, but at least she was awake to hear this one.