apparently to keep herself sitting up straight on the settee.
Michael reminded his mother that Parliament was in session and that she shouldn’t expect Mark Cunningham to return anytime soon. “I can escort you to the house in Mayfair,” he offered, thinking she would quickly grow bored if she were to stay in Horsham. “I’m sure Father is in residence there. Or, you’re welcome to use the blue room in my townhouse for the Season if you don’t mind a lack of servants,” he added, thinking she would attend enough Society events that she would rarely be in his home. And given the lack of servants, she probably wouldn’t take him up on his offer. “But I must warn you that I will be quite occupied with a business venture and will be unable to escort you to many soirées,” he added, deciding just then he would probably stay at Cunningham Park for the duration of this first venture, at least until it was up and operating under the foreman.
The reminder of soirées had Violet’s eyes widening. “I’ll go to the house in Mayfair, of course,” she answered quickly. “But before I leave for London, do you suppose you could escort me to the Fitzsimmons’ ball in Crawley tomorrow evening?” she wondered, her grief apparently forgotten as she remembered she had sent her response to the invitation the day before.
Most of the invitations Violet found on the salver upon her return were for events that had already happened. The early Season ball in Crawley was intended for those in Sussex who hadn’t yet moved back to London, and the annual event was worth attending if only to see the new crop of debutantes from the area. “We could spend the night at Iron Creek. I haven’t been there in an age,” she murmured, thinking of the twenty-room ‘cottage’ that her husband would give to Michael when he reached his majority.
“I suppose,” Michael said reluctantly, not because he objected to spending time at Iron Creek – the twenty-room house was his favorite Cunningham property – but because he remembered that one particular girl would be in attendance at the Crawley ball.
And the other would not.
Just before he’d left Waterford Hall, Eloisa had made a point of mentioning that her come-out would be at this ball. Should I save a dance for you? she wondered, her lashes batting as if she had something in one or both of her eyes. At the very moment Eloisa was addressing him, he was aware of Olivia, a hoop of needlework in her lap, rolling her eyes at her sister’s boldness. Eloisa was certainly an accomplished flirt, although Michael couldn’t begin to imagine on whom she practiced besides him.
Perhaps Eloisa wasn’t really an accomplished flirt just yet.
“I have to pay a couple of calls and finish some paperwork tomorrow, but I’ll do my best to be ready around seven,” he offered, knowing the ride to the Fitzsimmons’ estate in Crawley would be at least an hour.
“I’ll be ready,” Violet promised before she excused herself and headed for the door. “And I’ll see to it we have a dinner this evening at seven,” she added before she disappeared.
Michael watched his mother leave the salon, wondering if she had done something she now regretted because she believed his father to have a mistress. How could she have jumped to such a conclusion? he wondered sadly. Had his father done something to make her believe he employed a mistress? Or was it just the unfortunate timing of Colette’s arrival that had her believing the worst in Mark Cunningham?
Not wishing to dwell on the topic any longer, Michael moved to the escritoire, moved a sheet of his stationery into place and took up a quill. Dear Mr. Evans , he wrote in an even script. It is my sincerest pleasure to formerly offer you the position of foreman for the Shipley Iron Smelting Works ...
Chapter 4
Oh, the Joys of Champagne on a Thursday
April 26, 1810
“We’ll be back by midnight,” Louisa was saying to Olivia just as Eloisa waltzed
Michael reminded his mother that Parliament was in session and that she shouldn’t expect Mark Cunningham to return anytime soon. “I can escort you to the house in Mayfair,” he offered, thinking she would quickly grow bored if she were to stay in Horsham. “I’m sure Father is in residence there. Or, you’re welcome to use the blue room in my townhouse for the Season if you don’t mind a lack of servants,” he added, thinking she would attend enough Society events that she would rarely be in his home. And given the lack of servants, she probably wouldn’t take him up on his offer. “But I must warn you that I will be quite occupied with a business venture and will be unable to escort you to many soirées,” he added, deciding just then he would probably stay at Cunningham Park for the duration of this first venture, at least until it was up and operating under the foreman.
The reminder of soirées had Violet’s eyes widening. “I’ll go to the house in Mayfair, of course,” she answered quickly. “But before I leave for London, do you suppose you could escort me to the Fitzsimmons’ ball in Crawley tomorrow evening?” she wondered, her grief apparently forgotten as she remembered she had sent her response to the invitation the day before.
Most of the invitations Violet found on the salver upon her return were for events that had already happened. The early Season ball in Crawley was intended for those in Sussex who hadn’t yet moved back to London, and the annual event was worth attending if only to see the new crop of debutantes from the area. “We could spend the night at Iron Creek. I haven’t been there in an age,” she murmured, thinking of the twenty-room ‘cottage’ that her husband would give to Michael when he reached his majority.
“I suppose,” Michael said reluctantly, not because he objected to spending time at Iron Creek – the twenty-room house was his favorite Cunningham property – but because he remembered that one particular girl would be in attendance at the Crawley ball.
And the other would not.
Just before he’d left Waterford Hall, Eloisa had made a point of mentioning that her come-out would be at this ball. Should I save a dance for you? she wondered, her lashes batting as if she had something in one or both of her eyes. At the very moment Eloisa was addressing him, he was aware of Olivia, a hoop of needlework in her lap, rolling her eyes at her sister’s boldness. Eloisa was certainly an accomplished flirt, although Michael couldn’t begin to imagine on whom she practiced besides him.
Perhaps Eloisa wasn’t really an accomplished flirt just yet.
“I have to pay a couple of calls and finish some paperwork tomorrow, but I’ll do my best to be ready around seven,” he offered, knowing the ride to the Fitzsimmons’ estate in Crawley would be at least an hour.
“I’ll be ready,” Violet promised before she excused herself and headed for the door. “And I’ll see to it we have a dinner this evening at seven,” she added before she disappeared.
Michael watched his mother leave the salon, wondering if she had done something she now regretted because she believed his father to have a mistress. How could she have jumped to such a conclusion? he wondered sadly. Had his father done something to make her believe he employed a mistress? Or was it just the unfortunate timing of Colette’s arrival that had her believing the worst in Mark Cunningham?
Not wishing to dwell on the topic any longer, Michael moved to the escritoire, moved a sheet of his stationery into place and took up a quill. Dear Mr. Evans , he wrote in an even script. It is my sincerest pleasure to formerly offer you the position of foreman for the Shipley Iron Smelting Works ...
Chapter 4
Oh, the Joys of Champagne on a Thursday
April 26, 1810
“We’ll be back by midnight,” Louisa was saying to Olivia just as Eloisa waltzed
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