The Misplaced Husband, page 6
“Why, the only answer is that Mr. de Petras is not, as was previously believed…dead.”
He was so close to her now that he could kiss her if he could just lean forward a few inches.
“I mean it, you know. I intend to court you.” If only he could kiss her, pull her into his arms, and show her just what he had missed, what they both had missed.
A frisson of expectation shivered down Jasper’s spine. He could almost taste her already, his longing so intense. Surely, she could feel it too?
Opal stepped away. “That won’t solve things, Jasper, and you know it.”
Jasper grinned. “It might make you feel better.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he saw a flicker of the old Opal. The carefree one, the one who would just as soon pin him to the bed as allow herself to be pinned.
But then it was gone. “If you cannot take this seriously—”
“Fine, fine,” said Jasper, stepping away hastily and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I just…I want you to trust me, Opal.”
Perhaps it was using her name, something Jasper had not done much since his return, that did it. A sad sort of smile crept across Opal’s face, and she nodded.
“I know. I want to trust you, Jasper,” she said quietly. “You’re just not giving me many reasons to right now.”
Chapter Five
April 15, 1794
Opal took a slow, deep breath as she stood outside Almack’s. Raucous noise already spilled out onto the street; the notoriously bad food, it appeared, had been avoided, and so the effects of the copious wine had already started affecting the guests’ judgment.
She shivered, though the evening air was balmy. She had never enjoyed Almack’s.
Not that she was a frequent visitor. Indeed, her voucher had only been offered a month ago, with the delicate and knowing smile of Lady Romeril. Without her support… Opal knew she owed the woman a debt. If only she did not take its repayment through gossip and slander…
Smoothing the light, almost opalescent blue skirts of her gown, Opal clutched her fan and strode firmly up the steps, ensuring to keep her smile in place.
That was the most important thing in Society, was it not? To always look as though one was simply having the best time? Even when one’s heart was breaking…
Opal smiled at the footmen at the door, who looked surprised to have been treated with such courtesy, then smiled at the gaggle of people in the entranceway, who were muttering.
They halted, stared for a moment, then one said, “Mrs. de Petras. How interesting.”
The muttered conversation continued, though this time, there were a few more glances in her direction.
It was fortunate indeed that the night air was so warm, as Opal could blame its humidity for the tinge of color undoubtedly searing her cheeks. She averted her eyes, keeping her smile fixed.
The news could not have spread that fast…could it? Surely not. And even if it had, it would be false. Lady Romeril and Miss Paston had surely misunderstood the entire situation, Opal told herself, as though merely wishing it could make it true.
Besides, nothing could be more scandalous than the truth.
Still, it was a relief to be out in the world as though nothing had changed. Opal could almost feel the tension in her shoulders dissipating. This was what Wednesday evenings had been for the last few weeks, and it was a reprieve to slip back into a semblance of routine.
A flicker of excitement seared through her heart. Would Mr. Ransome be here?
Immediate shame tempered the happy emotion. Her husband had returned to her, something she had considered impossible despite her constant prayers for it in the early months that he had gone missing.
Was she to sacrifice the blessing of Jasper’s return for—for a mere flirtation?
Opal shivered, despite the heat of the room, as she entered the ballroom and stood to one side, the dancers taking up most of the space. No, it was altogether pleasant to get out of the house, on her own—she had been very firm with Jasper on this—and do something that did not require him nor any reconciliation with past troubles.
Here, she could relax. Almost.
Opal smiled and inclined her head as someone walked past, and her curtsey was returned, but there was something rather stilted about the look.
A twist of nausea crept across her stomach.
Well, news of something had certainly got out, that was clear. Opal tried not to focus on the gazes around the room turning to her, the raised eyebrows, the slight shake of the heads.
Holding her head high, Opal could not deny that as she looked around Almack’s and took in the pretty gowns, the ostentatious feathers, and the rather false looking diamonds, she was looking for a friendly face.
Someone. Anyone. Even Lady Romeril was preferable to standing alone.
Only when her attention reached the punch table did she find such a person, though his face twisted her heart slightly. He had always been Jasper’s friend rather than hers.
Stepping forward languidly, as though she had no particular direction to travel but thought it would be pleasant to take a turn around the room, Opal meandered slightly away from the punch table at first, her fan fluttering lazily at her side until she turned with an inclination of her head to a gaggle of people watching her and arrived right by the ladle.
“Lord Maltravers,” Opal said with false brightness, curtseying to the graying gentleman with a full mustache. “How pleasant to see you this evening.”
The Earl of Maltravers turned from the punch table and beamed to see her, and Opal felt the tension at the back of her neck fall away.
Jasper and Maltravers had been friends for decades—longer than she had known either of them. He had been a discreet friend of the de Petras family, helping her choose a house to purchase in London, but never straying too close to elicit gossip.
He, a widower of many years; she, more recently a widow. Until now.
“Let me help you to a glass of punch, Mrs. de Petras,” said Maltravers smoothly.
Opal smiled weakly. His voice was just a little too loud to be natural. He knew, then, that the eyes of the place were on her. What had he heard?
“Thank you,” she said quietly, taking the glass and stepping slightly to the left, to permit other ladies and gentlemen to help themselves.
The earl followed her and sipped his glass. “You know, I almost thought I would not be seeing you this evening.”
His voice was lower now, just a murmur, though clear enough for Opal to hear every word. Her stomach twisted, and a tingle rushed through her elbows to her fingers.
What had he heard? Had Maltravers heard the gossip—or worse, after all this time of trust, had he in fact known where Jasper was and kept the truth from her?
Opal’s gaze flickered over the man’s features. Older than herself by more than a decade, the Earl of Maltravers had been a steady sort in the background of her life. She had no reason to disbelieve the gentleman when he had sworn on his honor when Jasper had first disappeared, that he had no idea where the blaggard was.
But was she too trusting? Did those gray eyes belie the mischievousness of his nature, and instead conceal a liar?
“Oh, really?” she said airily, taking a sip of her punch and wishing immediately she had not done so. How was it possible to make a punch so weak yet so vinegary?
“Really,” said the earl with a wry smile.
Opal attempted to return it. At least she had managed to persuade Jasper to stay at home with the children this evening, rather than accompany her to Almack’s.
“It’s not even possible,” she had told him firstly, as Jasper had watched her carefully place her opal earbobs in her ears by the looking glass in the hallway at home. “You do not have a voucher, do not be ridiculous.”
“But if you vouch for me—”
“But I don’t.” Opal had turned to Jasper and felt a twinge of regret at the harshness of her voice, but she could not take it back. “I don’t feel as though I even know you, Jasper. How can I vouch for you before countesses and duchesses and princesses?”
She shuddered.
“Cold?”
“What?” Opal said distractedly, turning to her companion and suddenly realizing Maltravers had been speaking, but she had not taken in a word. “Cold?”
The gentleman nodded, a quizzical expression on his brow. “Yes, you shivered just then, Mrs. de Petras. Are you cold?”
Opal almost laughed. If only her problem was that simple—throw on a shawl. No, she had a far more difficult challenge ahead of her.
“Cold, at Almack’s?” Opal said with a forced laugh. “Goodness, that would be the day. ’Tis always such a crush here, so many vouchers given out. I am surprised not to see my modiste.”
Maltravers laughed appreciatively at her terrible joke, and Opal smiled in gratitude. That was what she needed, friendly, dull conversation with people she could trust. It was not seemly to spend her entire social life with one gentleman, of course, but here at Almack’s, they could converse quite safely.
But as Maltravers launched into a description of how clever his boy was, how well he was getting on at school, Opal found herself wondering once more whether the earl knew more about Jasper’s disappearance than he had let on.
Her husband had never tried to contact her—at least, Opal had never received any letters that could reasonably be considered to be from him.
But had Maltravers?
The knot of tension that accompanied all her thoughts of Jasper had returned, and with great effort, Opal tried to focus on the gentleman before her.
Then he said something that gained her attention immediately. “I heard a little rumor about you, Mrs. de Petras. Well. Not about you precisely.”
Opal steeled herself for whatever might come and gripped her fan a little more tightly, as though it were a sword, prepared to defend herself. But this was not Lady Romeril or Miss Paston or another Society gossip. This was Maltravers.
She sighed heavily. “It is not a little rumor, as well you know. Please do not patronize me, Maltravers, I have enough of that in the drawing rooms and tearooms of London.”
Maltravers grinned. “Sorry, Mrs. de Petras.”
She smiled, despite herself. There was a reason he and Jasper had been friends for so long. “How long have you known my husband, Maltravers?”
“Goodness, too long, I would say,” said the earl cheerfully. “You know how these things are, you meet a fellow and suddenly you’re almost fifty.”
Opal chuckled. “Then I think I am due a little of your friendship, too, Maltravers,” she said, her voice dropping a little lower. “I think I may be in need of it.”
“And you shall have it,” he said in the same tone. “He is here, then.”
“Absolutely not,” Opal said with some relief.
Goodness, she could just imagine the uproar the appearance of a Mr. de Petras would cause in Almack’s. A man not only without a voucher but who the best of Society had been informed was dead.
The very idea of the widowed Mrs. de Petras welcoming her husband back to life, right in the middle of Almack’s…
Opal swallowed and pushed aside the idea. “No, not here, but yes, he is back with us. For the moment.”
She had not intended her last few words to be so cold. Looking away from the earl, Opal sipped her disgusting punch and wondered if she could accidentally on purpose slip it into one of the potted plants dotted about the place. Quite a few of them seemed to be dying already. Perhaps they were already victims.
“Erm…actually, I meant, he is here, then,” said Maltravers in a rather apologetic voice. “There, look.”
Opal’s heart stopped, then skipped an awkward beat and returned to a painful patter that seemed to echo through her whole body.
“Erm…actually, I meant, he is here, then. There, look.”
It was not possible. She had been clear, perfectly clear, with Jasper that he was not to accompany her to the ball at Almack’s tonight but spend the evening with the children. He had said he wanted to court her, to gain her trust. Was this how he intended to do such a thing?
Shoulders tight, fan gripped so hard Opal could see her bone through her fingers, she turned very slowly to the entrance to Almack’s.
There stood an incredibly dashing man. Dressed in the best frockcoat she had ever seen, all dazzling gold embroidery and ruffles at the edges, his hair had been expertly coiffed and there was a delicate touch of rouge on his cheeks—a fancy the Court still preferred, and some of the finest gentlemen still aped.
There was a smile on his face rather akin to triumph, and he was attracting quite a significant amount of attention from the ladies near the door. Indeed, a few fluttered their feathery fans in quite a suggestive manner, a few of the mamas eyeing him for their daughters.
He was the most handsome man Opal had ever seen. It was just such a pity that he was also her husband. Had been. Oh, it was so confusing.
Jasper looked around Almack’s, his gaze alighting on herself and Maltravers, and a broad grin spread across his face.
“No,” breathed Opal.
Jasper strode toward them, all confidence and grace, and Opal was reminded strongly of the precise reason why she had married him. Who would not wish to be aligned with such a gentleman? To stand by his side and be admired with him? To secure his affections was to secure the greatest jewel in the world.
Opal’s heart was still fluttering, but now it was a traitorous joy, a hope to have him by her side, rather than far more appropriate anger that he had defied her.
With every step he took toward her, Opal saw more heads turning, more whispers, more gossiping, and there were snickers that made her chest tighten.
How many knew? How many had guessed?
“My word,” said Maltravers awkwardly, though with a broadening smile. “My dear man. How good to see you!”
Placing his barely touched punch glass onto the table, the earl stepped forward past the frozen Opal and pulled Jasper into an embrace, clapping him on the back.
It was a brief moment before Jasper reached her, but Opal took it, grateful to compose herself. She would be mistress of herself. She would control herself, even if she wanted to rail at the man and throw him out of the place.
“I just…I want you to trust me, Opal.”
“I know. I want to trust you, Jasper. You’re just not giving me many reasons to right now.”
The words rang in Opal’s mind, hollow now though they had meant something when first spoken. Well, if that was how Jasper wanted to repay her request for trust, then Opal had no other choice but to deny him that trust.
“—so marvelous to see you,” Jasper was saying as he pulled away from the earl. He grinned at Opal. “You know, I just couldn’t stay away from you.”
Maltravers slapped him on the arm before Opal could say a word. “Good man—let me get you a drink.”
He returned to the punch table, and Jasper took advantage and walked toward Opal. Before she could do anything—berate him, glare, show him in her manner just how very displeased she was with his behavior—he did something that disarmed her completely.
He lightly kissed her forehead. “I missed you.”
Opal stepped back hurriedly, almost treading on the toes of a footman, a scalding sensation on her forehead. “Not here,” she hissed.
Her cheeks were now similarly hot, and Opal was sure that their color was heightened, perhaps noticeably so. Was that why that lady over there had just pointed at her?
Though the gossip rose, though Jasper had done precisely what she had begged him not to, Opal was determined, despite it all, to hold her head high.
And she did. She also took a sip of that damned punch. Anything to prevent herself from spitting poison at the man.
“Here you go!”
Opal jumped as Maltravers returned and passed Jasper a glass of the foul punch.
“You are fortunate to have him back, eh, Mrs. de Petras?” asked the earl cheerfully.
Opal glared at Jasper, who had the good grace to look a little sheepish.
As soon as it was polite, she would leave, taking him with her.
“Yes,” she said in clipped tones. “Very fortunate.”
Opal sighed and tried to look out at the dancing, anything to distract her. She felt the hypocrisy in her words. Just a few months ago, she would have been delighted to have Jasper back by her side, safe and sound.
“Yes, he could have been dead,” said Opal lightly, as though their conversation was of little importance, “or betrayed me or been pressganged into the military, and I would never have known.” She looked at Jasper at these words. “Because he never bothered to tell me.”
Her words had their intended effect. Jasper dropped his gaze, a little flush rising around his cravat.
“You don’t know the full story—”
“I don’t want to hear it right now,” Opal interrupted sharply. “And I do not wish to discuss it here.”
Tears, unbidden and unwelcome, pricked at the corners of her eyes.
Opal took a deep breath and willed the tears to disappear as she smiled brightly at the now rather uncomfortable earl. “That is the trouble with having a misplaced husband, Maltravers. You miss the silence and the comfort and the support. You miss the moments you never even knew you liked. And then you find, slowly, that you can live without them. That you can find them elsewhere. And suddenly,” Opal said coldly, “you find that you do not miss him at all.”
It was a lie. Opal yearned for him in a way she could not put into words, longed to be taken into Jasper’s arms and all her fears kissed away—but how could she permit him to do that when she could not even trust him to not attend a ball at Almack’s?
Maltravers coughed. “Well. Right. I can see they are making a new set, why don’t the two of you dance? I am sure it has been some time.”
“A long time,” said Jasper quietly, and before Opal could say a word, he had taken her hand and started pulling her to the set.
“Jasper! Jasper—let go!” Try as she might, Opal was not strong enough to release herself from Jasper’s grasp and found herself propelled, most unwillingly, toward the group of dancers that were now standing in a line.
