The Misplaced Husband, page 15
The moment the words left her mouth, Opal saw the trap that she had inadvertently laid for herself and sighed heavily as she watched the ensuing argument.
Her youngest glanced at Micah, who immediately stuck his tongue out and made a silly face. Emerald burst into tears.
“Micah made a face at me, and the face is horrible and it’s stinky and the faaaace…”
Opal sighed. “Coral, would you be a dear and switch places with your brother,” she said, grasping at the only method that she could use to quell the fight as they rattled along in a carriage.
That was the trouble with travel. When things went wrong, one had little recourse for improvement.
Coral sighed as she rose in the juddering carriage, carefully took a step as Micah picked up an unprotesting Admiral, slid behind her to where she had been sitting far from Emerald, then sat opposite her little sister.
“I hate being the eldest,” she muttered.
Opal spoke without thinking. She was tired, the last few days a struggle to keep her temper and her tears at bay, every moment thinking Jasper would recognize the signs of an escape and prevent her from leaving. The words just slipped out.
“Me, too, dear.”
Guilt rushed through her veins as the words seemed to echo around the carriage. She had promised herself before Coral had even been born, that she would never speak of her past with the children. Or with Jasper. Oh, he had met her mother, but that was all. That was enough.
The carriage shuddered slightly, then its pace changed. It was slowing.
“Are we there?” Micah asked eagerly, looking out of the carriage window. “Are we at Lady Romeril’s house?”
“And Lord Romeril’s house,” Opal corrected.
Really, that was perhaps the most difficult thing she was going to have to navigate. Her children had been raised in a household where she was the head. It was no surprise, in hindsight, that it appeared they believed every household was the same.
The drive was not overly long, and before long, the carriage pulled up. Opal let out a deep breath.
“But Mama,” said Coral with a heavy sigh, “you don’t even like Lady Romeril.”
“Hush child!” Opal glanced at the two footmen stepping toward the carriage. The last thing she needed was for them to take an ill report of her to their mistress. Her cheeks tinged slightly with the lie as she continued, “I like Lady Romeril, of course, I do.”
Deciding what to do next would be crucial, something she could not rush.
Coral was right, though. If Opal had had any other options, she would certainly have gone to them instead of Lady Romeril, but then her re-entrance into Society had been so recent. There were few ladies, in truth, who Opal could go to at all.
Gentlemen, on the other hand…
If she truly had been a widow, she would have had a lover by now, a gentleman on whom she could have relied in any situation of difficulty—though admittedly, one’s husband reemerging from the grave would have scuppered that.
With no other friends, Opal had no choice. Lady Romeril was her only option.
“M’lady,” murmured a footman as he opened the door to the carriage and proffered a hand. “Lady Romeril welcomes you.”
The words were said stiffly, but Opal attempted not to notice as she graciously accepted the hand and was helped out of the carriage. It may just be the footman’s way, after all. It did not necessarily speak directly to the temperament of her hostess.
“Lady Romeril welcomes us?” repeated Micah, sticking his head out of the carriage cheekily, Admiral poking his snout out and sniffing the air. “Well, where is she then?”
“Micah de Petras, hold your tongue,” Opal said quickly. “Come on.”
It took a few moments to help all three of her children out of the carriage. Coral refused the hands offered to her by both mother and footman and stumbled as she came out of the coach, caught by Opal who said nothing. Coral stood by with red cheeks as Micah accepted his mother’s hand and ignored the footman, and Emerald cried, refused to come out, and had to be lifted bodily from the carriage.
Well, this was not precisely how she had expected to arrive, Opal thought wearily as she carried the heavy, sobbing weight of her youngest child. But there it was. They were here.
The large house before them was impressive, built in the new style with a delicate symmetry. Lady Romeril’s estate—Lord Romeril’s estate, Opal corrected silently—was sufficiently far from London to prevent anyone from accidentally coming upon her, and she would have to hope Jasper would not know of it.
Returning to Italy was out of the question, not after… Bath was also impossible. It was the first place Jasper would look. Perhaps the north? No, not after that wonderful moment they had shared reminiscing about the Lake District, the closeness they had—
“Ah, Mrs. de Petras, how…interesting.”
Opal took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her lips, and tried her best to curtesy with a heavy child in her arms. “Lady Romeril.”
Lady Romeril had descended the steps and moved toward them, arms open and an expressive, cheerful look on her face. “So wonderful of you to invite yourself and your children to my country house for…how long did you say it was?”
It was all Opal could do not to laugh. Well, she had to hand it to the woman. Lady Romeril really did have a way with words.
“And these are your children, I suppose,” said Lady Romeril, halting just before them and examining Coral, Micah, and finally, Emerald. “And a dog, my word. If they go into the hallway, my butler is waiting for them. He will show them the way to the kitchen where I have given instructions that they can eat anything they like.”
Micah did not need further invitation. Without a backward glance at his mother, he raced forward into the house, Admiral scampering at his heels.
Emerald immediately stopped crying. “Anything?”
Lady Romeril peered into the red eyes and puffy cheeks of the child in Opal’s arms. “Anything.”
Opal allowed her littlest to slip from her arms and follow her brother.
Coral looked at her mother for permission. “May I, Mama?”
Pride swelled in Opal’s chest. “Of course, off you go.”
While it was obvious Coral wished to demonstrate that she, the eldest, was far more restrained, the idea of eating absolutely anything in Lady Romeril’s kitchen proved too much. By the time she reached the door, she was running.
“What delightful children.”
Opal swelled with pride. “Yes, I think so.”
“What a pity,” Lady Romeril said delicately, “that you are committed to the strangest of ideas. Letting Coral inherit, for example.”
Perhaps it was the stress and strain of the last few days; perhaps it was her own argumentative nature suppressed for too long.
But Opal found herself speaking far more directly to Lady Romeril than she had ever spoken to anyone in polite Society before. “Yes. Coral will inherit, and what’s more Lady Romeril, both she and Emerald will not only keep their names when they marry, but their husbands will take ours. I believe I have mentioned this before, and it is not something I am ashamed of. Do you think I should be?”
There was genuine surprise on the face of her hostess, but she was not easily provoked.
“My, my, so much I have to learn about you, Mrs. de Petras,” Lady Romeril said silkily. “Won’t you come in? And your husband, or late husband, I am not entirely sure still how to address him. What a delightful man you have—why does he linger in the coach?”
Agonizing guilt stabbed Opal’s heart. When would he realize that they were gone? How long would he wait for them to return from some outing and then realize, slowly, they were not returning?
Perhaps she should have left a note.
She would have to go missing just as he had gone missing all those years ago. Opal had no choice. She would not allow him to hurt the children or most importantly, her heart.
“Mrs. de Petras?”
Opal smiled at the waiting Lady Romeril. “Shall we go in?”
If Lady Romeril had been surprised at her complete refusal to answer the question about her husband, she did not show it. The minute it took them to cross the driveway, ascend the steps, and enter the hallway gave Opal just enough possession of herself to speak calmly again.
“Sadly, Jasper was detained in town.”
“Oh, no matter,” said Lady Romeril breezily. “I will make sure one of my footmen sends a note round to let him know that he can come any time he—”
“No!” Opal flushed as the word echoed around the hallway. She should not have been so swift, so decisive.
A smile crept across Lady Romeril’s face. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”
If only she’d had the presence of mind to say something else—something calm and seemingly off the cuff. Opal should have considered this, should have planned for some sort of excuse in the carriage.
If only the children had given her space to think…
But the very idea of Jasper finding her so soon sent panic roaring through her veins.
Opal sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I come to you for help, Lady Romeril. Surely you will not hold it against me?”
Lady Romeril smiled. “My dear, whether you are running from your husband or not, none of that is my concern. I just need to be the center of the action. You may stay as long as you want.”
Perhaps she had underestimated Lady Romeril. In a very real way, she was the closest thing to an Englishwoman like her—the queen of her own castle.
“Thank you,” Opal said honestly. “I…I am grateful.”
Lady Romeril replied, saying something that Opal could not quite make out. Her mind had been overwhelmed with the memory of that woman who had turned up at her door, demanding money—demanding it of Jasper.
“He owes me quite a bit of money, then he just disappeared!”
Opal forced a smile on her face as Lady Romeril chattered on. She could not think on that now. She had done what she had always done—what was right for her children.
Just as she thought of them, the children reappeared, clutching marchpane and accompanied by two boys who must be Lady Romeril’s sons.
“Mama, look!” said Emerald, holding up the marchpane, sticky sweetness all around her mouth.
“We should save some for Father,” said Micah eagerly, looking at his mother with a wide smile. “Where is he?”
“I have no idea,” said Opal harshly, unable to prevent bitterness from seeping through.
Chapter Sixteen
May 20, 1794
Jasper pounded heavily on the door.
He regretted it at once. It echoed loudly in the darkness, but it was absolute murder on the knuckles. Lifting his hand to his mouth and sucking on his sore fingers, Jasper pulled at the doorbell chain once again and heard it rattle.
They must be able to hear him. It was impossible that there was not a single servant about the place, even at this time—and it couldn’t be that late—who could open the door. Which meant that they had been instructed not to open the door. Was that it?
Wild thoughts tumbled through Jasper’s mind as he removed his hand from his mouth and started hammering at the door again.
“Open up!”
The slight drizzle which he had ignored when he had started out on his journey had increased now. Raindrops dripped down the back of his neck, chilling Jasper to the bone, despite the earlier warmth of the day.
His collar was soaked. Jasper could feel the cold seeping into his skin as he stood, battling against a door that would not open. He would wait here, rain or no rain, until they opened this damn door.
“Open up, I say!” Jasper called out, his voice hoarse. Exhaustion tugged at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to go back home.
How could he call that place home if Opal and the children were not there?
A dark shadow had entered his soul the moment he realized they had gone. This was the only place they could be. There was nowhere else.
And once they bothered to open the door, he would force his way in and make Opal show him whatever letter had arrived to frighten her off.
The wind blew, a rumble of thunder threatened a greater storm to come, but Jasper ignored it. He was cold, wet, and alone. How much worse could things get?
Do not think on it, Jasper told himself darkly. He did not need to invite God to show him any more pain or misery.
Jasper bashed his fist painfully against the door again. “Damn it all, let me in!”
Whether it was the amount of time he had waited, whether his knocking had become particularly violent, or whether his cry of desperation had shifted the hearts of those inside, Jasper did not know.
He was suddenly blinded as the door opened and a footman appeared holding a candle. “I am afraid my master is not receiving guests at this time, so—sir, I say!”
Jasper did not say a word. By the time he had pushed rudely past the footman, stomped into the hallway, and adjusted to the dim light, he was beyond all expected niceties.
“Maltravers!”
A little late for visitors, to be sure, but their friendship went so far back that there was surely no time he could not arrive here.
“Goodness!”
Jasper whirled around to look at the man who had appeared in a doorway.
“Good God,” said the Earl of Maltravers in a hushed voice. “What are you doing here at this hour, de Petras?”
Jasper stared at his friend and suddenly became conscious of what he was doing and where he was. He was standing on a rather fine rug—an Axminster if he was not mistaken—dripping a great deal of water onto it. His boots were muddy, and the silt of the road was gently soaking into the rug. It was late—far later than he had imagined. Later than it was polite to receive guests.
Ah. Perhaps he should have thought about this a little more before rushing off to the one man he had been certain would be protecting Opal. But where else would she go?
“It…” Jasper swallowed, then said blankly, “Is it late?”
Maltravers approached him with a great look of concern. “If I was any judge, man, I would say that you have seen a ghost. What has happened?”
“A ghost of a man, perhaps,” Jasper said bitterly. “I see him when I examine myself in a looking glass—you do not happen to have any dry clothes I can borrow, do you?”
His voice had fallen, becoming a little apologetic. One did not generally pound down a friend’s front door as though the very hounds of hell were at your heels if you did not have a good enough reason, and “Opal left me” did not feel quite enough.
Jasper swallowed. It was bad enough to have one’s woman disappear, but to go begging to a friend for dry clothes because you took neither the precaution of a greatcoat nor the sensible idea of taking a carriage…
Perhaps he needed more sleep. Perhaps that was it.
Maltravers’s face was still concerned, but a small smile had appeared on his face. “For you? Of course. My footman will show you the way to my dressing room, take whatever will fit—but do be quiet, for heaven’s sake! James is asleep up there, or at least he was. You’ve made enough of a ruckus to wake the entire household.”
Jasper’s heart twisted, ripples of agony combining to create a painful harmony within his chest. James, of course. It had been years since he had seen the boy—why, he must be eight, nine years old?
James was upstairs in bed, warm and safe, and his father knew precisely where he was. But where was Micah? Was he warm and safe?
But he could not speak these fears aloud, not yet. Jasper followed the footman upstairs, the single candlestick in the servant’s hand sufficient to show the way. The dressing room was just off the main bedchamber, but it had its own door onto the landing, and after the footman had bowed him in, he thrust a towel into the unwelcome guest’s arms, handed him the candlestick, and left him to it.
It took but ten minutes for Jasper to entirely strip off his sodden clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor—better that than a chair, he guessed—and rummage through his friend’s clothes to see what he could find.
Thankfully, they were much of a size, and so it did not take him long to find breeches, shirt, and waistcoat that would do. Maltravers favored a far more flamboyant style, Jasper thought wryly as he caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. Far more embroidery and ruffles than was good for a man.
Still, he was grateful and knew he did not deserve such hospitality after barreling into the man’s house in the dead of night for no good cause. It was clear Opal was not here; the townhouse was small, and there were few places where four people could be hidden. Maltravers had not seemed concerned that he had arrived. There were no secrets here.
The children would be asleep by now, Jasper thought with misery seeping into his heart. But where? Were they comfortable? Did they miss him?
A creak downstairs. Maltravers was still awake then. Jasper rubbed at his eyes, glancing quickly at his sore knuckles that were scraped and slightly bleeding. He must be polite; he could not merely ensconce himself in his friend’s dressing room and refuse to talk to him.
When Jasper reached the hallway, he approached the door from whence Maltravers had appeared and opened it to reveal a drawing room. His friend was seated with a glass of wine in his hand and a book in the other.
A smile crept across the earl’s face as Jasper closed the door. “Better?”
“Dryer, certainly,” said Jasper shortly. He would make polite conversation for a few minutes, try to find out whether Maltravers knew anything about Opal’s disappearance, then either collapse into sleep here or find his way back to the house.
“Can I get you a glass?” asked Maltravers, lifting his half-drunk glass of wine.
“A large one,” Jasper said heavily as he dropped into an armchair by the fire. The flickering flames started to warm his cold bones, and he shivered, gazing into the fire.
“There may be…someone. A someone in my past.”
The memory surfaced slowly, but it shook Jasper to his core. He had barely picked up on Opal’s words when she had first spoken, but now in hindsight, he should have sent away the children and encouraged her to tell him everything she suspected.
