The Misplaced Husband, page 14
And Jasper found to his surprise he could. She was his Opal. She would not lie; she had no need to. No real blame could be apportioned to a woman who believed herself a widow.
“I was actually looking for the threatening letters, to see if there were any clues I had missed about who had sent them.”
Jasper could not help but notice Opal’s entire body relax as the topic changed. “Ah. Well, here they are.”
She stepped to the bureau to retrieve them, and in doing so, came very close to Jasper. He took his chance.
He kissed her lightly on the head and sighed. “I am sorry for reading them.”
“I suppose I could say the same thing!” Opal said with a laugh as she placed the letters he had been searching for in his hands.
Jasper looked down at them. They contained far less pleasant words. “Have you had any other thoughts about who could have sent these violent letters?”
It was just the perception of an instant. If he had not been looking quite so closely, perhaps Jasper would have missed it. But he could not help but notice that Opal’s jaw clenched, just for a fraction of a second, as she looked away.
“I…I have a complicated family history, back in Italy,” said Opal quietly, stepping away. “But nothing that should have actually hurt us.”
That was new. Complicated family history? Jasper had met Opal’s mother, a good woman, now sadly gone—but nothing about her had appeared to be particularly complicated.
So, what did Opal mean? What did she not what to tell him? Why would she keep the potential perpetrator of such a scheme a secret when it had robbed them of seven years together?
“Well,” Jasper said awkwardly, “then who? Who would want to see us apart, separate, and alone?”
Again, Opal did not meet his gaze. “There may be…someone. A someone in my past.”
Her past? “What do you mean?”
Jasper’s heart fluttered painfully. Finally, they were starting to understand what could have led them to be so unhappy for so long—but just as Opal opened her mouth, the door opened and a hurricane entered.
“Coral’s blaming me for spilling ink on the harpsichord, and it wasn’t me, it was Coral. I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Micah de Petras, you liar! It was Micah, Mama, and I can prove it. I would never take ink near the harpsichord!”
Jasper blinked in the sudden rush of noise, and Opal smiled before turning to the children. “One at a time, please! Micah, you go first.”
Jasper watched as Opal attempted to hear their stories over their impassioned sobs.
That was the trouble with children, one could not have a proper conversation! And that one, in particular, sounded important. Who on earth was in Opal’s past that could do such a terrible thing—and why had he never heard of them before?
Chapter Fourteen
May 15, 1794
It was rather difficult to walk downstairs in the large skirts of the current fashion. One was always more balanced when able to see one’s feet.
But when carrying such a large number of bedsheets, it was almost impossible. Opal took each step at a time, careful not to lift one foot before the other had found a secure lodging. It would never do, after all, to tumble to the bottom and seriously hurt something.
Opal’s fingers gripped the linens as Coral appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is that all of them?”
Opal nodded, still concentrating on her steps. “As many as I can find. Will they do?”
Reaching the bottom step, Opal heaved a sigh of relief as her shoulders loosened and the worrisome knot at the back of her neck disappeared. She never enjoyed carrying anything downstairs; it was one of the reasons she was certain all three of her children had learned to walk so quickly. If they wanted to follow their Mama downstairs and not take a tumble, they had to be steady on their feet.
Coral looked carefully at the sheets in her mother’s hands with a serious expression, a little puckering frown on her face. Opal was careful to keep her smile just under the surface.
She had never believed she would birth and raise a daughter so serious as Coral. In a way, it was a blessing. One day she would be the head of the de Petras family, and she may need to make serious decisions for the betterment of her siblings and own little ones.
But the way she approached every decision or choice in life with such severity…
“I do not believe there are any more,” Opal said into the silence, in the hope it would encourage her daughter to speak. “But if required, I can send Meredith to purchase more.”
Coral shook her head. “No, I do not think that will be necessary.”
Opal nodded solemnly. “Creating a den is a serious business.”
“Are you laughing at me, Mama?” asked Coral sincerely.
It was difficult to reply with anything but a lie when her daughter put it like that, Opal mused. Really, she should treasure these moments. Coral appeared to grow another inch every time she looked.
“Only a little bit,” she confessed.
Opal had readied herself for pouting from her daughter at her admission, but to her surprise, Coral smiled. “Papa laughs at me all the time.”
Heart twisting with both pain and joy, Opal smiled at her daughter. Their daughter.
Happiness? The word could not sufficiently capture just how glorious it was now Jasper was back, all right with the world. The paperwork was almost ready, from what Mr. Cleland said, and then…then they could discuss remarriage. A small ceremony, nothing complicated. Just them and their children.
There had been such pain, such loneliness, but that time was over, never to return.
But it was moments like these that proved to Opal just how strange and difficult it had been without him—not just for herself, but for the children.
“Well, that is only something your father does to the people he truly cares for,” Opal said confidentially. “You are fortunate indeed.”
Coral nodded, her smile remaining. “He really does love us, doesn’t he?”
Opal breathed in deeply, joy soaring through her, but before she could say anything, Jasper’s voice came from the parlor, the door still open.
“Where are those sheets, Coral? This den won’t build itself!”
A squeal of delight from Emerald followed Jasper’s words. Opal shook her head with a laugh. There was something truly different about a father. She could have raised perfectly good children without him, she knew, but now that he was back…
“Here you go,” Opal said aloud to Coral. “Take them on through.”
The pile of sheets looked remarkably large in Coral’s arms. Opal could only just see her daughter’s eyes over the linens.
“Are you going to come to play, too?”
It was such a strange question, it made Opal pause. Play? She had never been a parent to play. She never could have been; she was the authority figure, the one who made them clear their plates or go to bed early if they had been naughty.
“Of course I will,” she said softly.
Coral beamed, and Opal sighed with happiness. If only these days could continue forever, unchanging. As though she could trap this day in time and visit it whenever she wished.
“We have already made quite advancements with the den, you can see that—”
Coral’s excited chatter was interrupted by the doorbell, the jangling noise echoing down the hall. Two sharp knocks followed it; clearly, Opal thought wryly, the individual outside had a matter of great import to discuss.
She looked up the hall but saw no sign of Mrs. Clarkson, the housekeeper, nor the two maids.
“—and Papa says once we have enough sheets—”
“Yes, yes,” said Opal, not paying attention. “Coral, go on through.”
“You said you would come through and play with us,” said Coral—not accusingly exactly, but not too far removed from it.
“I did,” said Opal hastily as the doorbell jangled again, “but I must see to the door.”
It appeared her daughter did not need an invitation. Scampering away and entering the parlor to the cheers of her Papa, Coral was gone in an instant as a flurry of angry-sounding knocks could be heard on the front door.
Opal sighed. She really must have a conversation with Mrs. Clarkson; there were few duties of such a woman, and really, they could get by with another maid who could be far more helpful in the kitchen and with laundry.
But there was something about having a housekeeper, Opal reflected as she walked down the hall toward the front door. When one did not have a title, having a housekeeper was a sign of one’s breeding, and one’s suitability for one’s daughters to marry a title…
Opal opened the door. A chilly breeze swept into the house, and on the steps before her stood a woman of about her age, though dressed in far shabbier clothes. There was a scowl on her face—an expression Opal could have guessed, merely based on the volume and rapidity of the knocking.
“Yes?”
The woman looked her up and down openly, no shyness in her manner. “Blimey, I ent never seen a housekeeper as fancy as you!”
Opal smiled dryly. She was not wearing her best gown. It was only a day gown of dark blue cotton, but it certainly had pretty embroidering on the bodice, and as usual, her skirts were full.
“I suppose I would be,” she said wryly, “except this is my own house, I am no servant. Can I help you?”
As she asked the question, Opal wondered why the woman, whoever she was, had not chosen to go to the servants’ entrance below. There was a roughness to her appearance and an unkemptness to her apparel that suggested a lower class of woman than one Opal would expect to come to the front door.
Her hands were red, rubbed stiff in some places. A seamstress, perhaps? Perhaps she was looking for work; there were plenty of houses that required a little help on laundry day.
“I am looking,” said the woman, drawing herself up as though she could hear Opal’s silent disapproval, “for a Mr. Jasper de Petras.”
Opal’s stomach swooped painfully, as though she had missed a step while carrying the linens for Coral’s den. Her lungs were tight, too tight, making every breath painful.
“I am looking for a Mr. Jasper de Petras.”
Opal had never realized just how unpleasant it was to hear Jasper’s name on the lips of another woman until this very moment. But it was not just hearing his name that chilled her blood. It was the fact of the woman’s presence, suggestive that Jasper had not been truthful.
“I was never unfaithful to you. Never. I could not even imagine it, it-it—it would be unfathomable.”
She had believed him.
He had betrayed her. He had lain with another, taken his pleasure where he could find it because he could not find it with her. And he had lied. Opal was not sure which was worse. The betrayal itself, or the lies which had attempted to conceal it.
Oh, she had been such a fool. So quick to believe Jasper, so eager to believe he had been faithful to her, that he had not even been tempted.
But seven years was a long time for a man to be abstinent, was it not?
A bitter taste tanged in her mouth. Opal swallowed, but it did not dissipate as she stared at the woman before her.
The woman was glaring. “Are you deaf?”
Opal swallowed. She needed to get a hold of herself. She was the mistress here; this was her home. She was not going to permit herself to be overwhelmed by a lightskirt who may have tupped her husband.
“No. No, I am not,” she said. “You seek…Jasper de Petras.”
The last three words become a whisper, but the woman did not seem to have noticed.
She nodded vigorously, going on tiptoes to look around Opal. “Is he here?”
The muffled laughter of Jasper and their children spilled out from the parlor, and Opal’s heart broke. It was all over. The perfection she had believed they had finally found…it was gone.
“No.” Her voice cracked, and Opal cleared her throat before continuing. “No. He is not here.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. Had it tasted as bitter to Jasper when he had lied?
The woman shook her head with a heavy sigh. “Blast. I’ve looked all over for ’im. He owes me money, an’ all,” spat the woman.
A gut-wrenching ache seared Opal’s chest. “Of course he does.”
“D’you know where is, then?” asked the woman hopefully. “He owes me quite a bit of money, then he just disappeared! The blaggard went missing!”
Opal closed her eyes for a moment with the pain, then opened them. “I cannot help you,” she said stiffly. “But if you leave your details with my servants below, I will endeavor to have the money sent to you.”
The woman gave her a rather appraising look. It was unpleasant to be viewed in such a way by anyone, but to be beheld by Jasper’s harlot…it was intolerable.
“You know where he is, then?”
Jasper’s laughter reached Opal’s ears, and her throat became constricted, making all conversation difficult.
“I…” Opal hesitated but pushed on. “I believe in paying one’s debts.”
Thankfully, the woman did not appear to require any additional information. She nodded. “Tomorrow.”
She had already turned away before Opal could ask her name. Not that it mattered. Perhaps it was better she did not know.
Closing the door slowly, she leaned against it and waited for the world to stop spinning. It was so fast, the giddiness almost overwhelming, she was unsure whether she would faint or vomit.
Swallowing both pride and panic, she sat on the bottom step of the staircase.
She needed to think. Needed to be away from him.
She would do what was necessary to protect her family, keep them safe from harm—from the pain that was to come, whether it was tomorrow or the day after, or years in the future. If that meant leaving Jasper behind for a time to consider what she truly wanted, then so be it.
Taking a deep breath, Opal rose to her feet, brushed her skirts, and stepped over to the parlor door. She arranged her face in a smile, hoped to God her eyes were not red with unshed tears, and opened the door.
“My goodness, you do not need my help! Look at the wonderful den you have built!”
Chapter Fifteen
May 17, 1794
“But I do not understand,” came the whine of Micah, grating on Opal’s nerves like nothing else could. “Why are we going to visit Lady Romeril?”
Opal swallowed and waited for the moving carriage to traverse this particularly cumbersome piece of road, churning her insides, until she opened her mouth.
For it was a valid question. After all, the children had never met Lady Romeril. Opal had always been careful to keep her children completely separate from her attempts to move once more into the best circles of Society.
Afternoon teas, dinners, visits…she had conducted them alone.
A painful lurch in her stomach made Opal bring her handkerchief to her mouth once more. This dratted carriage; she had never felt so unwell in all her life.
But she could not lie to herself. It was not purely the rambunctious carriage churning her stomach, making it seemingly impossible to keep her hastily consumed breakfast down.
No, it was Jasper de Petras. He was a part of her past now, not her future. She should not be wasting any more time on him than was necessary.
“Mother!” Micah said sharply, pulling Admiral from the floor of the carriage onto his lap. The dog snuffled and leaned up to lick the boy’s face. “Why are we visiting Lady Romeril?”
Opal wished she had an answer—at least, one she could share. She had always promised herself that she would be open with her children.
Honest as her own family never had been.
But that was before life had become complicated. Opal had been determined to get out of the house before Jasper realized what her preparations the last few days had meant, get out of London and into the countryside. Then she would afford herself time to consider.
“Perhaps,” piped up Coral, seated opposite Opal and beside her brother, “we cannot afford our house anymore, and so Mama has decided to live with Lady Romeril to save money. Is that true, Mama? Are we destitute?”
Despite her misery, Opal could not help but smile at the strange pronouncement from her eldest child. Really, wherever had Coral got such a strange idea about their wealth and financial affairs?
In a few years, she would begin her training. Coral was almost old enough to have a view of the household accounts, the day-to-day running of a home. She would need to learn how to manage not only a household but a family. Then she would see just how “destitute” the de Petras family really was…
“Coral de Petras, you do have the most strange ideas,” Opal said mildly. “We certainly do not need to vacate our house, there are no concerns in that quarter whatsoever. It is just…”
Opal hesitated, the words she was considering sounding rather flat in her mind. There was just no point in trying to give a reasonable explanation. What could she say? Your father has betrayed me for the last time, and I needed to get away to consider what to do next?
“I thought,” Opal said firmly, “it would be pleasant for you to visit with Lady Romeril, and Lord Romeril I suppose, and spend some time with her sons. Make some friends.”
The reactions were instantaneous, and if Opal had been a gambling sort of woman, she could have put money on them.
Micah scrunched his nose as though he could already feel the frustration of having to associate with boys he had never met.
Emerald was more direct. “Boys stink.”
Opal did not laugh, but it was a close call. Well, she had always hoped for daughters with a little ferocity, and Emerald was certainly shaping up to be just that, even if her nervousness in crowds meant the world had not yet seen it. She would go far with that sort of attitude. She may not be very popular while doing it…
“Boys do not stink,” said Opal severely as the carriage rumbled around a corner, sliding them all to the left and then back again. “At least, not all of them, anyway. Your brother does not stink.”
