The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 3) Read online

  The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia

  Christina McKnight

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

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  Also by Christina McKnight

  About the Author

  Author’s Notes

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Christina McKnight

  Cover Image by Period Images

  Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1-945089-21-0 (Electronic Book)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945089-21-3 (Electronic Book)

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  [email protected]

  For my readers~

  The Undaunted Debutantes heroines are very near and dear to my heart. I do so hope you have loved them as much as I have. They are strong, confident, and deserving of love and happiness…just as every woman is!

  Prologue

  Devonshire, England

  December 1813

  As the resounding gong subsided, Lady Ophelia Fletcher glanced up from her book to note the fire in the hearth had died to mere glowing embers and a cold draft blew through the room, raising the hairs on her arms.

  The other women in the salon, her dearest friends, all laughed, and Ophelia joined in, having lost the train of conversation long ago.

  “…you will tell us everything on the morrow? At breakfast, and not a moment later. I truly must know if everything is as I’ve been told.” Lady Lucianna Constantine raised one brow with a wicked grin. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she wrapped Lady Abercorn, formally Miss Tilda Guthton in a tight embrace. “You look breathtakingly innocent.”

  Ophelia glanced at Tilda, their newly married friend, and was surprised to notice that the young woman did, in fact, look far too innocent for her new status as a duchess. Her mousey brown hair was tied back with a simple white ribbon, the pure shade matching Tilda’s nightshift perfectly, making it all the more clear that at age seventeen, barely introduced to society, their friend was far too young to wed a man over twice her age.

  Again, it was none of Ophelia’s business—the heart loved who the heart loved.

  She only found it peculiar that Tilda, the daughter of a mere baronet, had been the one to capture a duke’s notice. She was lovely enough—adequate at household matters, graceful as expected, and cultured in her speech—however, Abercorn was a worldly, wealthy, and influential lord.

  The duke had seemingly plucked Tilda from obscurity, their courtship developing far quicker than normal.

  But, that was none of Ophelia’s business either.

  She was happy for her dear friend, even if her love match did not resemble that of the star-crossed lovers in her current novel.

  Ophelia stood, along with Lady Edith, Lady Lucianna, and Tilda, preparing to leave the room—at least, that was what Ophelia assumed they were doing at such a late hour. Tilda’s bridegroom would certainly start to wonder where his young duchess had disappeared to if he approached their marriage bed only to find it empty.

  Edith stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Tilda and whispered something in the new bride’s ear. Ophelia wasn’t privy to the private exchange, but an easy smile lit Tilda’s face, removing any trace of unease that may have been there, however subtle.

  “Thank you, Edith. You have always been a great friend.” Tilda hugged Edith a bit tighter before pulling back. “I must hurry. It will not do for my husband to arrive and find that I have fled. He said he would arrive by half past midnight, after attending to a few business matters.”

  Luci slipped her arm through Tilda’s, while Ophelia grabbed her book from the settee and held it to her chest as she followed her friends toward the door, suppressing the tingle of envy that began to blossom at Luci and Tilda’s close relationship.

  Now was not the time to allow the hurt of being left out to surface and thus drag her into despair.

  “Now remember that thing we spoke about, with your ton…” Luci’s whispers trailed off as the women departed the room, their heads leaned together much like conspirators, as if Ophelia could not possibly understand the things they tittered about. The pair had likely never even opened a book and lost themselves to an adventure, or a sensual tale of exploration and discovery.

  Such a pity, but Ophelia would not be the one to share her private collection of leather-bound tales of love, lust, and escapades.

  “I will extinguish the candles,” Edith called as Ophelia reached the threshold.

  She paused, turning to the petite blonde who’d long been the only one in the group to understand Ophelia’s thirst for knowledge and her reserved tendencies. “I will help you.”

  “No, hurry along,” Edith said, waving her off. “I know you are eager to return to your book. It will take but a few moments. I will meet you in our room as soon as I am done.”

  “If you insist.” Ophelia smiled before glancing over her shoulder to see Luci and Tilda had reached the stairs. “I am eager to see how the fair Lady Daniella escapes the rogue pirate, Xavier.”

  Edith laughed softly. “Well, do get back to their story.”

  She needed no further encouragement as Ophelia stepped from the room and opened the blue, leather-bound volume to the place she’d marked with a slip of stationery, always hesitant to mar the pressed pages of her books.

  Oh, how Lady Daniella flipped her long tresses over her shoulder before giving Xavier a narrowed look and demanding he listen to her, heed her words well, or the pirate would never again taste Daniella’s womanly charms.

  Ophelia longed to be so bold, commanding, and beautiful as to gain the notice of…well, anyone.

  Instead, Ophelia’s hair was an ungodly shade of bright red, her nose sprinkled with freckles, and her hips far too curvy to fit with popular fashion. Never could her wild tresses be tamed, unlikely was her complexion ever to be clear and pale, and it was doubtful she would ever embrace London elite’s current affection for bold fabric choices.

  She sighed, focusing on her place on the page.

  A scream pulled her eyes from the author’s description of Xavier’s bare, hair-covered chest.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Edith!” Luci’s blood-curdling scream stopped her in her tracks. “Ophelia!”

  A sob escaped her as her book slipped from her grasp, hitting the polished floor with a resounding
thud, unlike the hollow noise from a moment before. Her slip of personalized stationery drifted across the floor, coming to rest only when it partially slid under a closed door.

  Tilda lay sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, her head turned at an odd angle, her eyes open wide.

  Ophelia blinked several times.

  She waited for Tilda to move. Or Luci to help her up. Or the floor to open and swallow them whole.

  But nothing happened.

  She blinked again when her sight blurred with tears.

  Suddenly, time started again. The distant tick-tock of the mahogany clock in the room they’d just departed could be heard. Edith appeared at her side, and Luci crouched over Tilda, her black hair cascading over her shoulder to—mercifully—block the sight of their friend.

  “Luci.” Edith stepped around her toward Lucianna. “What is it—“

  Edith’s words cut off.

  “No, no, no,” Edith sobbed as she hurried forward. “This cannot be—“

  “He did this.” Desperation laced Luci’s tone when she pointed toward the top of the stairs.

  Ophelia looked to the darkened landing above them but saw nothing of consequence.

  “Who?” Ophelia asked, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape if she opened her mouth again.

  “That is not important at this moment,” Edith scolded her, hurrying to Tilda’s side. “We must wake her up, make sure she is all right and call for the duke—and a physician.”

  How is it not important, Ophelia longed to ask. However, she pressed her lips together and remained silent—as was expected of her.

  If she were Lady Daniella, Ophelia would lift her chin until she stared down her slightly crooked nose at her friends and demand to be heard and answered. However, she was not Lady Daniella, a woman abducted from her village on the Scottish coast by a pirate most fierce. She was merely Lady Ophelia, a passably comely, reticent, self-professed bookworm. The women before her were beautiful, clever, and captivating. Everything the heroines in her novels were. Not red-haired, freckle-faced, and rounded.

  “…he pushed her. I swear it.”

  Ophelia shook her head, feeling guilty at the continued wandering of her thoughts when she should be listening to Luci and attempting to make sense of the scene before her. She’d studied many novels where the hero, a shipwrecked man, had been forced to do battle. She’d read of blood-thirsty Amazon natives and murderous clansmen laying claim to neighboring villages, but witnessing the prone body of a friend was much different.

  Actually, it was in no way the same.

  Never could any tales have prepared her for the sight before her.

  The way Tilda’s eyes stood open but lacked any life. The angle at which her arm was bent. The thin trail of dark red blood leaving the corner of her slack mouth.

  Uncertainty, confusion, and denial all waged war within Ophelia as her stomach tensed and her breath caught in her chest, locking her lungs and preventing the air from escaping. Perspiration broke out across her forehead and her neck heated at her collar.

  Ophelia swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Wha-wha-what should we do?” She hated hearing the weakness in her voice, confirming what her friends already proclaimed about her. She was scared of her own shadow. Likely to faint at the slightest shock.

  “We will rouse the house and tell them all what the duke has done!” Lucianna quickly stood, drawing Ophelia’s eyes from Tilda. “Someone must have heard the commotion.”

  Edith glanced around the foyer. “You are correct. I heard her scream, and then the thump as she fell.”

  “She did not fall.” Lucianna’s tone reached hysterics, sounding much like Ophelia felt on the inside—panicked and terrified. “She was pushed, by Abercorn!”

  They stared at one another. Hot tears began to stream down Ophelia’s heated face, while Luci appeared to regain her composure. Her widened green eyes held no hint of the waterworks Ophelia had been reduced to. Edith reached out toward Luci, but the woman ignored her hand.

  “How could this happen?” Ophelia asked, stooping to collect her book as she dashed the unbidden tears away.

  “That is a question for him. You saw him, right, Ophelia?” Luci turned imploring eyes on her.

  The heat drained from Ophelia as cold overtook her, and her stomach roiled with unease.

  “Tell her what you saw.” Luci took an intimidating step toward Ophelia. “You were standing right here.”

  “I—I—I was reading.” Ophelia turned to Edith, her book held tightly against her bosom as if she loosened her hold, Luci would snatch the volume from her. “I swear it, Edith, I did not see anything. I was reading about Xavier and—“

  “What is going on here?” Townsend, the Abercorn butler, hurried into the foyer, his hair flopping from side to side like the caricatures depicted in the comical pages of The Post. He’d certainly been pulled from slumber. “Your Grace!” His eyes widened at the sight of Tilda as he rushed across the room to where she lay. His hand moved to her wrist and settled. “No pulse. She has no pulse!”

  The servant shuffled to his feet, glancing around the room as if expecting someone to step forward and solve this major dilemma—his new mistress, lying dead at the bottom of the stairs on her wedding night.

  “Petunia, Petunia!” Townsend shouted as he flapped his arms to and fro, rushing deeper into the Abercorn house. “Petunia! We must summon His Grace. Petunia, where in all that is holy are you, woman?”

  Doors opened, and voices called from above as guests exited their rooms, hearing the commotion as Townsend continued calling for Petunia.

  “Oh, Your Grace!” Townsend said, staring toward the top of the stairs. “Please, do not look. This is not for your eyes.”

  Ophelia pressed herself to the wall, praying she could escape notice for a few minutes.

  As she took a deep breath, Ophelia watched Luci’s hands ball into fists at her sides, and her face redden. Ophelia cringed. An angry Lady Lucianna could raise Satan from the depths of Hell with her fury.

  Leaning away from the wall, the duke could be seen making slow progress down the stairs.

  The man seemed oddly unaffected by the sight of his dead wife only five steps below him. Truthfully, his gaze barely took notice of her before he stepped clear of the blood beginning to pool under Tilda’s head.

  Ophelia spun away from the foyer and hurried toward the sitting room they’d departed a few moments before.

  Could it have been only precious minutes ago that they’d all sat close, gossiping about the night to come?

  She’d been so distracted by her book she hadn’t embraced Tilda one last time. She hadn’t whispered good tidings before the new bride had left the room on Luci’s arm.

  Shame caused Ophelia’s face to flush once more as she entered the darkened room and rushed to the windows overlooking the garden. She threw the windowpane open and allowed the cold night air in. Ophelia should return to the foyer, be there for her friends. Did they even notice she’d fled? She’d failed Luci and Edith, and especially Tilda.

  If she hadn’t been preoccupied with her reading, would she have seen Lord Abercorn atop the grand staircase? Surely, Luci was not mistaken, but Ophelia had been unable to voice her support of her friend’s accusations.

  Ophelia had frozen, her mind tangled and confused.

  Chapter 1

  It is with great pleasure that this writer speaks for the young women of the ton.

  Ladies who will not be taken for granted nor misguided by men of unsavory

  character. And with this article, this writer will no longer glorify the misdeeds

  of men, but celebrate the accomplishments of young, bright, charming females.

  It is this author’s opinion that lords far and wide heed the knowledge imbued by

  this column, as there is little doubt there will be postings regarding women of quality,

  outstanding character, and perfect decorum.

  --The Mayfair Confidential
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br />   London, England

  April 1815

  Lady Ophelia Fletcher sat primly in a chair set against the wall, her ankles crossed and tucked under her with her hands folded lightly in her lap. She was the epitome of the proper miss as she watched Lady Lucianna discard yet another stationery sample. This time it was the color, the last was not an acceptable texture, and the one before that smudged when her friend placed quill to paper.

  To all who viewed Ophelia, she most certainly looked at ease with a confident, serene smile.

  Inside, she wanted to scream. She breathed deeply and released the air slowly to remain calm and in control. Her smile didn’t falter, and her hands didn’t so much as twitch, though she longed to clench something, even the delicate muslin of her morning gown.

  If she’d brought her reticle, she would have thrown it against the wall.

  Luci held up a thick, cream-colored stationery with gold leafing to elicit Ophelia’s opinion, silent raising one brow.

  “It is lov—“

  “No, it is far too cream and not thick enough.” Luci sighed, turning back to the proprietor and cutting Ophelia off. “Do you have anything with ebony trim?”

  “Lovely,” Ophelia finished in a whisper. The paper was lovely, as were the five other options presented during their hour in the stationery shop.

  Her knees ached from sitting for far too long, so Ophelia stood and turned toward the storefront windows. The sun was nearly directly overhead, and Bond Street was now busy with the beau monde hurrying in and out of shops, their servants trailing behind, their arms heavy with purchases. It was the way of London. The only thing the ton enjoyed more than being seen was spending money on purchases one did not necessarily need and being observed doing it.

  Certainly, stationery and calling cards were important, and since Luci was to wed the Duke of Montrose in under two weeks, it was imperative she select something with all due haste before she, Montrose, Lady Edith, and Lord Torrington left for Gretna Green.