The Misplaced Husband, page 1
The Misplaced Husband
The De Petras Saga, Book 1
Emily E K Murdoch
© Copyright 2022 by Emily E K Murdoch
Text by Emily E K Murdoch
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 23
Moreno Valley, CA 92556
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition April 2022
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch
The De Petras Saga
The Misplaced Husband (Book 1)
The Impoverished Dowry (Book 2)
The Contrary Debutante (Book 3)
The Determined Mistress (Book 4)
The Convenient Engagement (Book 5)
The Disrespectful Duke (Book 6)
The Overlooked Wallflower (Book 7)
The Runaway Elopement (Book 8)
The European Adventure (Book 9)
The Unexpected Proposal (Book 10)
The Determined Suffragette (Book 11)
The Scandalous Rumors (Book 12)
The Argumentative Bluestocking (Book 13)
The Forgotten Bachelor (Book 14)
The Governess Bureau Series
A Governess of Great Talents (Book 1)
A Governess of Discretion (Book 2)
A Governess of Many Languages (Book 3)
A Governess of Prodigious Skill (Book 4)
A Governess of Unusual Experience (Book 5)
A Governess of Wise Years (Book 6)
Never The Bride Series
Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)
Always the Chaperone (Book 2)
Always the Courtesan (Book 3)
Always the Best Friend (Book 4)
Always the Wallflower (Book 5)
Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)
Always the Rival (Book 7)
Always the Matchmaker (Book 8)
Always the Widow (Book 9)
Always the Rebel (Book 10)
Always the Mistress (Book 11)
Always the Second Choice (Book 12)
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Always the Lyon Tamer
Pirates of Britannia Series
Always the High Seas
De Wolfe Pack: The Series
Whirlwind with a Wolfe
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About Emily E K Murdoch
Chapter One
April 1, 1794
The tantalizing smile Opal de Petras gave Mr. Ransome was carefully calculated to please, and she could see it performed its job magnificently.
As the spring sunlight poured through the windows of her drawing room, the hustle and bustle of the London street just beyond filtered through the glass. Opal watched as Mr. Ransome flushed, the color creeping past his cravat, up his neck, and to his cheeks.
“Why, Mr. Ransome,” Opal said in a low voice as the rest of her guests chattered at the other end of the room. “If I did not know any better, I would say you are trying to seduce me.”
Perfect, Opal thought to herself as the flush deepened into a shade of pink, the rather dashing and handsome Mr. Ransome not looking away. In fact, his eyes drifted a little lower, to her lips. Opal’s smile broadened.
“Well, in that case, Mrs. de Petras,” said Mr. Ransome in a murmur designed only for her hearing, “you will have to get to know me better.”
Opal inclined her head and dropped her gaze modestly, the compliment received and understood. That was always the benefit of being a woman of more mature years than these foolish debutantes who stepped out into Society with no idea how to hold their fans or speak to gentlemen.
She had the advantage there. Past her fifth and thirtieth birthday yet still young, Opal knew precisely how to charm a gentleman, how to make him smile, how to draw his breath, how to make his stomach swoop.
Yet never before had she enjoyed the flirtatious routine as with Mr. Ransome. He truly was a master at the wit and repartee that all good Society demanded, and he was rather pleasant to look at, too. That was certainly a help.
Gentle titters echoed around the room, and Opal looked up to see that she and Mr. Ransome had rather inclined toward each other. Straightening herself on the sofa and fluttering her fan, she smiled at the man.
“Rather warm in here, is it not, Mr. Ransome?”
Though it went against her nature to treat this style of flirting with any seriousness, for the first time in seven years, Opal maintained eye contact with a gentleman. His look was seductive, and for the first time in their conversation, it was she who was flushing.
Could she be so bold? Opal had never considered herself a coquette; everyone knew her situation, or at least what they believed of her situation. She never bothered to reveal all. That was her business.
But the truth was that she was lonely. A mother of three children with no gentleman by her side, Opal was hardly past feeling the desire of being in a man’s arms.
She had been good in the eyes of Society for seven years. Seven long, lonely years.
Was it not time to have a little…entertainment?
Was it not time, in truth, for her to consider taking a lover?
Opal fluttered her fan a little more vigorously, hoping her face had not colored. Widows took lovers all the time, she told herself. It was almost expected. She had certainly heard whispered questions as to why she had not.
And Mr. Ransome was a perfect candidate. Handsome, flirtatious, a very good dance partner, and absolutely terrible with cards. He was also seemingly unattached, though that did not prevent the jealous looks from the other ladies in the room whom she had invited for afternoon tea.
Was she brave enough to take Mr. Ransome as her lover? Opal would not have countenanced the thought even a year ago, but now…well… She wanted to be kissed, to be held, to feel…beautiful again.
“I certainly would like to know you better,” Opal said, gently tapping Mr. Ransome’s shoulder with her fan as another one of her guests approached them, “but I do not think Mr. Cleland would like that.”
While Mr. Ransome blustered some nonsense about not wishing to upset anyone, Mr. Cleland invited himself to join them, clearly having overheard Opal’s words.
Opal smiled. Mr. Cleland would certainly not appreciate her flirting so soon after the paperwork was finalized. Her solicitor was always a stickler for decorum, and his wise guidance over the last few years had been exemplary.
It was thanks to him, after all, that she had been legally declared a widow, and could now take her place in respectable Society.
It had been a good while since Opal had had any real influence over a gentleman, and she was beginning to find since she had decided this spring to re-enter Society, that it was indulgently delightful.
The way a word, a look, a mere glance could turn even the calmest of gentlemen into a quivering mess.
It was pleasing, in short, to know her talents had not disappeared after her period of loneliness.
Opal swallowed as the two men attempted to show each other just how little they cared about gaining her attention, while clearly demonstrating just how important she was to them. Mr. Ransome, she had expected, but Mr. Cleland? Evidently, there had been ulterior motives in his eagerness to assist her in being declared legally single.
It all felt rather silly, really. Flirtations, jests, lingering looks. She had known true love once. Known it and claimed it, enjoyed it for a few years before it had ended abruptly.
Now nothing else would compare. One could not enjoy ashes in one’s mouth after dining on the most delectable meal.
But right now, her loneliness at a peak and her desire to be held growing with each passing year, she would take what was offered. What she demanded.
“—Mrs. de Petras, I would be honored to be even considered for your affections,” Mr. Cleland offered.
Opal grinned, allowing the dimple in her cheek to appear. “I know.”
There were some tuts from a trio of ladies who were standing by the window, but Opal chose to ignore them. She had endured far worse in her time. A few tuts would not dissuade her from her decision.
That was the wonderful thing about the world finally having it confirmed, officially, that one was a widow, of course. There were luxuries that a widow was permitted to get away with that a young Miss, fresh from the countryside, simply would not endure.
For example, she could take a lover.
Opal looked carefully at the two men before her, one sitting, one standing. Mr. Ransome and Mr. Cleland. Nothing particularly remarkable about either of them. Both were dressed in the finest of frock coats, splendid embroidery of blue on one and pale green on the other.
Mr. Ransome was a gentleman from trade, Mr. Cleland a gentleman through the law. Little difference lay between either.
Both were men of reputable families, but without titles, which was all to the good. Opal was no fool; if she was to take a discreet lover, it could not be with a gentleman unable himself to be discreet.
And neither man was as interesting nor exciting as…
Opal pushed the thought away. It had been seven years since Jasper de Petras had left her. Abandoned her. Disappeared in the night with goodness knows who.
The world now considered her a widow, and she had been careful to give that impression for many years. She had been alone so long that Opal had found herself sometimes believing it herself, long before the piece of paper she had been given that morning had been placed in her hands.
Now safe in her bureau, she was ready to start her new life. A new life with…
Opal smiled at Mr. Ransome as he made a particularly pertinent point, then saw Mr. Cleland flush with irritation that he had not earned one of her smiles.
Men. They were so easy to read, so easy to tease down a particular path. It was almost disappointing.
“I hope you are pleased with today’s efforts, Mrs. de Petras,” blustered Mr. Cleland, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead.
Opal inclined her head. “You have been indefatigable in your efforts, Mr. Cleland, and for that I am grateful.”
“A most unusual case, and one which a lesser man would not have managed,” said the solicitor proudly, puffing out his chest in what he evidently considered was an impressive manner. “Husband missing—for seven years! Long enough to be declared dead, of course, but a right complicated bit of paperwork it required.”
Opal smiled. Yes, complicated. It certainly had been difficult, but she had reached the other side now. She was a free woman.
“I suppose it would be possible,” a woman from the other side of the room said in a snippy sort of voice, “to have a second cup of tea?”
Opal smiled genially. Lady Romeril was not a woman who enjoyed being outside the center of attention and had such a claim on good Society that she was surprised the woman had accepted her invitation in the first place.
“Of course, Lady Romeril,” Opal said magnanimously. “I suppose you have seen a teapot before?”
It was all she could do not to laugh as she watched Lady Romeril’s eyes widen. The trio of women were indeed standing by a console table with a teapot, sugar bowl, and milk jug, and it was perfectly possible for them to pour their own tea.
Opal stifled a giggle. Of course, the idea of Lady Romeril having to pour her own tea was absolutely scandalous. That was the trouble with being wealthy enough to be in the higher echelons of Society but without a title. She forgot that sometimes other people never lifted a finger for themselves.
Lady Romeril had certainly never cleaned up after one of her children or answered her own front door in haste because one of the two maids was helping Cook pluck a particularly difficult chicken.
“Pour—pour my own tea?” Lady Romeril spluttered.
Opal could see the storm brewing and decided against permitting it to occur in a teacup. Lifting the silver bell that sat on the small table beside her, she rang it.
Molly, one of the two maids of the de Petras household, appeared with a short curtsey. “M’lady?”
“Tea, Molly,” Opal said succinctly, a glint in her eyes. “For my Lady Romeril. She seems unable to operate the teapot and requires some assistance.”
Mr. Ransome snorted, and Mr. Cleland tried to stifle a smile but did a very poor job. Opal smiled broadly at Lady Romeril, who smiled back, though there was little warmth there.
“Why thank you, Mrs. de Petras,” Lady Romeril said coolly. “I don’t know what Society did without you. Do not let me disturb your fun—I believe you were about to pitch Messers Ransome and Cleland in a battle for your hand?”
The woman turned away to glare at the maid approaching her, and Opal’s own gaze dropped to her hands.
Blast. That was the trouble with attempting to be clever in a spar of wits with a woman like Lady Romeril. Opal was clever, yes, though she said so herself—but she had not been bred for grand parties and intelligent conversation in English drawing rooms.
Besides, just because she was considering taking a lover, that did not mean she actually would—and it certainly did not mean that she could let her guard down.
Society was a dangerous place, and if she wanted to survive with her reputation intact, her head held high, and invitations to the very best places, she would have to do better than spatting with Lady Romeril over tea.
When one’s husband disappeared—though she had never permitted that gossip to get out, of course—one had to be very careful about which friends one made, if at all.
Friends could so easily become enemies. And enemies, Opal thought grimly, though attempting to keep her face placid of course, were not in short supply.
“Tell me more about your children, Mrs. de Petras,” said Mr. Cleland, drawing her from her reverie. “I so enjoyed our conversations about them when we drew up the legal petition. They are well?”
There were few things in life that could give her as much joy as her children, and merely discussing them was enough to drain away the tense knot which had been growing in her stomach at the thought of what Lady Romeril’s put down may have meant for her.
“They are indeed well, I thank you,” Opal said. “I have three children, Mr. Ransome, and so have been blessed three times over,” she said gently, including the man in the conversation, while indicating with her fan that the solicitor should be seated.
Instead of taking the seat beside Mr. Ransome on the sofa opposite hers, Mr. Cleland rather scandalously took the seat beside her. Opal felt heat rush through her at the mere proximity of a gentleman.
She had lived in almost complete seclusion since her husband had been…misplaced.
Swallowing, Opal decided to make…delicate inquiries of both gentlemen later. Separately, of course.
“My eldest, Coral, is always attempting to care for me, much like a mother hen,” Opal continued, trying not to focus on the heat of Mr. Cleland’s body beside her, the very masculine scent she was now breathing doing something strange to her head. “And Micah, my son, is always in a temper.”
“And your youngest?” Mr. Cleland asked, his knee perilously close to her own. “Emerald, I think you said?”
Opal’s smile broadened. Was it normal for a gentleman to have such an effect on her?
