TuesdayNights (6 page)

Suddenly at attention, Edward stared at his friend. “Wager?
You?
” he asked in disbelief. Other than during an occasional card game, Michael Cunningham never gambled.

Shaking his head, Michael groaned. “Sir Richard bet one hundred pounds that I wouldn’t be married by the time I was eight-and-twenty years old.” Shrugging, Michael pondered how the man had even learned of the promise he’d made to his mother.
Probably from her,
he realized. In fact, she was probably telling everyone she knew that he would be marrying in three years’ time.

“Can you afford to lose a hundred pounds?” Edward wondered then, his brows furrowed in concern.

Michael held up a finger, as if to make a point. “I didn’t take the bet. At least, at first,” he replied rather proudly. “Not until I got him to agree that I would only owe him
one
pound if I
didn’t
get married.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, Edward slapped one of his knees. “Leave it to you to make sure you profit from getting married,” he teased. “And you’ll probably get a dowry out of it, too!”

Cocking his head to one side as he considered his best friend’s words, Michael realized getting married wouldn’t be all bad. As long as his wife didn’t drain his accounts with frequent trips to the Continent and to New Bond Street modistes.

Like his mother did.

Edward considered his friend’s plight. Given Michael’s status as a second son, he should have some latitude as to whom he could marry. He wasn’t due to inherit the viscountcy, after all. “And, since you promised, and you said you’ll be keeping your promise, just who do you intend to marry?” he wondered. “Faith?” he suggested as he waggled one eyebrow, giving Michael his very best teasing grin.

Faith Seward, Edward’s youngest sister, had a tendre for Michael Cunningham – and had since she was still in the school room. Edward figured Michael would somehow end up married to the chit.

“Oh, I know exactly who I will marry,” Michael replied coolly, draining his first glass of brandy after his pronouncement. “And it won’t be your sister,” he added as he got up to make his way to his bedchamber. I have three years. If she’s still available, I’ll ask Olivia to be my wife, he decided.

He took a moment to consider how lovely she appeared when she’d come running down to his coach as his favorite team pulled it into the drive at Waterford Park just a few days ago.

“Welcome, Mr. Cunningham!” she called out, managing to meet him before her sister was even out of the house. “How was your trip from London?” she wondered as she placed her arm on his and walked with him to the steps to find Eloisa glaring down at them. But Eloisa’s expression softened in an instant, and Michael realized how much alike the two girls appeared.

“Good day, Miss Waterford,” he’d said then as he removed his hat and gave her a bow.

“And to you, Mr. Cunningham,” Eloisa replied, her manner suggesting she no longer wished to flirt with him. Or that she was incensed at Olivia for having beaten her to his coach. He realized it was the latter when Eloisa tried to flirt with him during dinner. After his talk with Olivia about coal mining and gas extraction just before dinner – a rather surprising discussion given she was eighteen and had never visited the site – Michael found it easy to ignore Eloisa’s overt manner in favor of continuing the conversation. Harold only occasionally chimed in, apparently impressed enough by his daughter’s insights and her questions that he allowed her to talk more than she normally would.

While he enjoyed a cheroot with Harold in the library after dinner, Michael admitted to the older man that he was a bit smitten with the chit. “Any woman who is comfortable speaking of gas extraction at the dinner table is a woman after my own heart,” Michael claimed before taking a sip of port.

Harold had merely given him an arched eyebrow and a knowing grin. “But will you still feel that way in two or three years?” he wondered.

Michael gave the comment a moment of thought. “If I do?” he countered.

Cocking his head to one side, Harold replied, “If she is willing, she is yours.”

Michael shook himself from his reverie, wondering how long he had indulged in the daydream. But Edward appeared not to have moved one inch, and his glass held about the same amount of brandy. “When are you going to marry Anna?” Michael asked suddenly, a dark eyebrow cocking up as he regarded his friend.

Michael knew that discussing marriage to Anna was a sore point with Edward, although he always thought that once Edward reached his majority and Anna reached one-and-twenty, the two would simply head to Gretna Green and elope – the
ton
be damned – because Anna would make a perfect wife for Edward. She’d been his closest friend since she was in leading strings, her childhood spent in a village near Bath where they both grew up. But as the son of the Earl of Eversham, Edward Seward was all about his responsibility to the earldom and to his family. He wouldn’t dare risk his family’s disapproval until the line of succession was safely in place. So he was a bit surprised to hear Edward’s response.

“Someday I will marry Anna,” Edward vowed, his words not the least bit slurred. “Someday, I will.”

Chapter 7

Business Over Breakfast on a Monday

April 12, 1813

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Harold Waterford said from behind a copy of
The Times
he had spread open and was reading during his breakfast.

About to bring a cup of tea to her lips, Louisa set it down and waited for her husband to explain himself. It was bad enough the man’s breakfast was getting cold; now he was cursing in the presence of his younger son, George. “What is it, Mr. Waterford?” she wondered, deciding she was rather curious about whatever had caught his attention.

Before Harold could give an answer, Olivia entered the breakfast parlor. “Morning,” she said as she helped herself to a plate and some eggs and a rasher of bacon from the sideboard. “Will Mr. Cunningham be joining us this morning?” she asked, hoping her question didn’t make her sound as if she was pining for her father’s business partner. Despite the fact that it had only been a month since his last visit, he was due to arrive for a few days of meetings and some fishing with her father. “I am curious as to his opinion of the news about the coal gas apparatus.” She turned around to put her plate on the table, stopping short when she realized that both her mother and father were staring at her. “What is it?” she asked, slowly taking her seat.

“How did you know about Melville’s device?” her father asked, one of his bushy eyebrows cocked up on his forehead. The news of David Melville’s patent for an apparatus to make coal gas had just reached England. “I just
now
read about it,” he added, waving a hand at the paper.

Olivia craned her neck to see the page her father had indicated. “I read that yesterday, when it first arrived with the post,” she answered nonchalantly.

Her father frowned. “Well, why didn’t you say anything about it yesterday?” he wondered. “This is very important news.”

Intending to remind her father that he was in meetings with Sir Richard at the time, and she didn’t think it appropriate to interrupt, Olivia was about to say so when the butler appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Cunningham is pulling into the drive. Should I escort him here, Mr. Waterford?”

Eloisa was suddenly next to Smithers. “I’ll escort him, father,” she offered, her normally sullen expression replaced with one of delight at hearing her father’s business partner had arrived. Before Harold could tell her to be seated for breakfast, his oldest daughter had disappeared from the doorway.

“By all means,” he said with a shake of his head, knowing Eloisa was already out of earshot.

Louisa turned and said to Smithers, “Mr. Cunningham will stay in the guest room at the end of hall. Can you see to his things and offer breakfast?”

“If he’s already eaten, you can take him to the study,” Harold said before taking up a fork full of eggs. “And offer coffee. He prefers it over tea.”

The butler nodded, disappearing in the same direction Eloisa had a moment ago.

“Would you like to tell Mr. Cunningham about the coal gas?” Harold wondered, directing his attention to his youngest daughter.

Olivia colored up a bit, her face taking on a pinkish hue, but her mother spoke before she had chance to respond. “Really, Mr. Waterford. Do you think it appropriate for Olivia to be discussing ...
gas
... at the breakfast table? It was bad enough that she spoke of it at the dinner table last month.”

George grinned, displaying a distinct lack of front teeth while his father rolled his eyes. “Louisa, really. If it wasn’t for coal gas, London wouldn’t have outdoor lighting,” Harold admonished her.
And we wouldn’t be as wealthy as we are,
he added to himself.

“I rather suppose he’s already read the paper,” Olivia offered. “But if you want me to, I will mention it,” she agreed, her stomach suddenly filled with flutterbies. She regarded the fried egg on her plate, deciding not to eat it just then. Perhaps after she’d given the news to their guest. ‘I do wonder if Mr. Melville’s device improves upon the one that Mr. Murdoch invented,” she said as an afterthought.

Harold regarded her with a bit of surprise. “Reading up on steam engines, are you?” he wondered, a hint of amusement evident in the question.

Olivia shrugged. “Steam ships, actually,” she admitted.

“Good morning,” Michael Cunningham said as he crossed the threshold of the breakfast parlor. “Please do not get up on my account,” he said as he patted George on the shoulder. The young boy was already half out of his seat upon seeing their guest enter the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Cunningham,” Olivia said with a nod. “Would you like breakfast?” she offered, barely aware that she was asking what her mother should be.

“I can fill a plate for you,” Eloisa offered, having just appeared in the room, apparently on their guest’s heels.

Louisa grinned, finding amusement at her daughters’ dueling efforts to welcome their guest.

“Thank you, but no,” Michael replied, standing behind his usual seat when he was in residence. “Just coffee for me.”

Eloisa hurried to the sideboard, pouring a cup of coffee and adding a bit of cream before placing it on the table in front of Michael.

“Thank you, Miss Waterford,” he said, waiting until Eloisa had filled her own plate at the sideboard and was seated before he took his own seat.

Harold gave him a nod. “Have you read
The Times
from last ... Wednesday?” he asked, pausing a moment to confirm the date of the paper spread out next to his breakfast plate.

Michael shook his head. “I have not,” he answered quickly, thinking he had several days’ worth of papers to read. “Not more bad news, I pray?” he wondered, a worried expression darkening his face. After what his father had told him at White’s the night before, he was prepared for the worst.

Marcus had apparently gambled away his monthly allowance in the first nine days of the month. When the rake had shown up at the house in Mayfair requesting an advance on his allowance, their father refused to see him. Incensed, Marcus stormed out of the parlor, hurling their mother’s favorite vase against a wall in the vestibule as he took his leave.

Drawn from her rooms at the sound of breaking glass, Violet hurried to the top of the stairs and watched her oldest son’s poor behavior as he tried to kick a footman on his way out. Her lower lip quivering, she slowly descended the stairs. When her husband emerged from his study, she begged that he forgive Marcus. “It was just a vase,” she said in off-hand manner, the words at odds with the tears making their way down her cheeks. “Please, forgive him.”

Mark Cunningham would have none of it, though. “Your favorite vase, as I recall,” he countered, giving her a quick hug before summoning the butler. “Get the constable. I will be pressing charges,” he said with a grim expression.

Marcus was arrested before he made it to White’s. Perhaps a few nights in lock-up would make him regret his poor behavior. Or, perhaps it would make him worse.

Michael left London before his brother was incarcerated.

Aware the others in the room had their attention on him, he gave a quick shake of his head. “It’s nothing affecting our business, I assure you,” he stated with a quick shake of his head. “What has
The Times
to say?”

When Harold nodded in Olivia’s direction, Olivia took the cue to mean she was to speak. “Over in the States, a Mr. David Melville was granted a patent on an apparatus he developed to create coal gas,” she stated evenly. “Are you familiar with his work, Mr. Cunningham?” Olivia kept her gaze on Michael, well aware that her sister had just rolled her eyes and was displaying an expression of boredom. Eloisa had no interest in matters of science.

Michael considered Olivia’s words, nearly interrupting her with a request to call him ‘Michael’. They had known one another for several years now. She might be his wife some day. If so, they would spend their mornings much like this, sharing news over breakfast, making plans for the rest of the day. Perhaps they would ride through Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. Have dinner under the crystal chandelier in the dining room at his townhouse. Drink port and claret in the library afterwards. Share a bed for the rest of the night in a room lit by a single candle. There would be no need for coal gas in his bedchamber.

He was suddenly conscious of everyone else in the room staring at him.
Concentrate,
he scolded himself.
David Melville. Coal gas
. He’d been aware of several inventions claiming to make illuminating gas from coal, but none that had been patented. “Is this Mr. Melville the same one who has the patent for the gas light?” he wondered, one eyebrow arching up, his interest piqued.

Nodding, Olivia added, “And the gasometer.”

Leaning back in his chair, Michael regarded Olivia with even more appreciation.
I’m going to marry this chit
, he thought, reminded of the decision he’d made the year before. “Indeed,” he whispered. He turned his attention to Harold. “We may be able to get what we need for the next venture,” he said
sotto voce
. How much more profitable their coal and smelting ventures would be if they could capture coal gas as a by-product! At some point, all of England could be lit by coal gas – indoors and out.

“Great minds think alike, Mr. Cunningham,” Harold answered with a smirk. “I believe we have our next venture.”

Michael nodded and took up his coffee cup. “I concur,” he said with a grin. And then holding the cup in Olivia’s direction as if he was making a toast, he added, “Well done, my lady.”

A pink blush coloring her face, Olivia allowed a demure smile. “Thank you, my lord,” she replied as she dipped her head.

Having completed her assignment, she took up her fork and ate her breakfast, her thoughts on what it would be like to impress Michael Cunningham on a daily basis. To be the object of his attention, even for just a few minutes. To find him watching her as she went about her daily routine. To share an evening meal and conversation about everything and nothing. To welcome him into her bedchamber. To allow him to undo the fastenings of her gown and watch as she prepared for bed. To help him unwind his cravat and remove his coats. To watch him as he climbed into bed next to her. To settle herself into his arms with her lips against his for what had to be the very best kisses.

Was a life with the handsome Michael Cunningham even possible?
she wondered, her eyes lifting to find his regarding her with what appeared to be fondness.
Of course it was possible
, she considered as she gave him a slight nod and returned her attention to her plate.

A girl could dream, after all.