“Mine, of course,” she said, but there was no strength to her tone now and her gaze went faraway.
Celeste shook her head. “Not your own. We already knew our names were there. Were you looking for the name of someone else?”
Pippa stood up with a clanging crash of keys and then paced to the window. She stood there, shoulders shaking, for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, she pivoted back. “Why are you so curious, Celeste? Why press this?”
“Because, as Abigail said, we are a sisterhood of sorts. And I hope I can help you.”
That was true to a point, of course. Celeste did want to help. She wanted to find that one piece of information that could remove Pippa from Owen’s list of suspects. She wanted to free her friend for a life and a future once this was over.
But Pippa stared at her like she couldn’t trust her now. She pursed her lips. “Ras didn’t only hurt us, Celeste. There are many others who will suffer for his foolishness. And I will fight to protect them. That is all I will say on the matter.”
“Fight?” Celeste whispered. “Pippa, what are you—”
Pippa came forward a long step. “Your lover wants to know if I’m the killer, does he? And he’s using you to determine that answer?”
Celeste flinched at that assessment, true but not exactly one to paint her in a good light. “If he can eliminate you as a suspect, it will move him closer to whoever did this, won’t it? And you can go on with your life.”
Tears suddenly filled Pippa’s green eyes and she ducked her head. “My life doesn’t really matter. Ras destroyed every single thing I dreamt of, everything I hoped for. I know that, I’m working hard to accept it. But there won’t be any going on with my life. Only creating something new, if I’m lucky.”
Celeste stepped toward her. Pippa was being evasive about the entire situation, of course, but Celeste could feel her deep pain. It was right there on the surface, and all she wanted to do was take it away. She wrapped an arm around Pippa’s shoulder and was happy when she sagged against her. For a moment they stood that way, Pippa drawing deep breaths while Celeste squeezed her shoulder and tried to pour every bit of strength she had into her friend.
“He isn’t a bad man, is he?” Pippa said at last.
“Who?” Celeste whispered.
“Owen Gregory.”
Celeste sucked in a breath. “He isn’t. He is decent, Pippa, so very decent. He genuinely cares about the truth and I think he would do everything in his power to protect us if he could. We can trust him and his motives. I may not know anything else, but I know that.”
“You are truly under his spell,” Pippa breathed, leaning back to look at her. She shook her head when Celeste took a breath to respond. “Oh, don’t argue, it will only be a tiresome exercise for us both. You trust him and I trust you.”
She squeezed Celeste’s waist and then pulled away to cross to the fireplace. She stared into the flames for a moment, drawing a few long breaths. Celeste allowed her that moment to compose herself before she said, “One easy way to take yourself from the list of suspects is to tell me where you were the night Erasmus was killed.”
“Murdered,” Pippa corrected as she faced her. “Let us not sugarcoat what happened. I try not to think about what Erasmus must have suffered. I don’t know much about arsenic, but I’ve been told most poisons are not pleasant deaths. He must have been…” She caught her breath. “Afraid. No matter what I think of him, no matter how much I have grown to hate him, I cannot think he deserved that kind of end.”
Pippa’s eyes had filled with tears again, and Celeste turned her face. She had not allowed herself to picture what his final moments had been like. Now she did, and it felt like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.
“No, no one could deserve that,” she whispered.
“But you asked me where I was that night,” Pippa continued. “And hope that it will absolve me of being the monster who would let another person die in such a fashion. I have no good answers. I came to London seeking him, angry at him for…for betrayals he committed that aren’t even related to his multiple marriages. That certainly gives me motive. As for alibi…”
Celeste held her breath, waiting for the answer. She found herself leaning closer, hands clenched.
“I have none,” Pippa whispered. “I was alone that night in a room at an inn that I let before the truth came out and Abigail so kindly invited me here. It was busy there, I doubt anyone saw me go up to my room. And it could just as easily be said that no one might have noticed if I slipped out to poison a man who shattered all our lives. I can tell you the truth, that I didn’t do it. But Mr. Gregory will need more than my word. The word of a woman who had every conceivable reason to take revenge.”
Celeste’s heart sank. Here she had hoped to free Pippa from the suspicion that had to be heaped upon her. But she hadn’t. Her inability to explain why she’d come to London, her lack of alibi, all of those things were very good reasons to keep her on the list.
And yet Celeste believed her when she said she was innocent. Pippa’s strong reaction to the mode of Erasmus’s death, her passion about his not deserving such an end, felt like a suggestion of innocence.
Just not the kind one could prove. It was a feeling, nothing more. And Owen might not accept that. Certainly no other man in her life had ever taken her feelings, her intuitions, seriously.
She crossed to Pippa and caught her hand. “If you say you didn’t do it, I believe you.”
“Thank you,” Pippa whispered. “But in the end, it won’t matter what you believe, but what Mr. Gregory believes. What…what the Earl of Leighton believes.”
“There are other suspects,” Celeste said. “I’ll talk to Owen. And perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps someone saw you go up to your room or heard you inside that night.”
“Someone peeping on me, then?” Pippa asked.
Celeste pulled a face. “An admirer, yes. That could be. You are very pretty, Pippa. I suppose someone might have been watching you with interest and will tell Owen so.”
“So my hopes lie on the ears of some man who watched me for likely a nefarious purpose,” Pippa said with a laughing shake of her head. “How fitting.”
Celeste couldn’t help but join in on the laughter. This was such a horrible situation, but to be able to joke, even in a dark way, helped.
“Pardon me, ladies.” Both of them turned to find Paisley standing in the doorway. “I have a letter for Mrs. Celeste Montgomery.”
Celeste’s heart began to throb and she dug her fingers harder into Pippa’s arm as she fought to steady herself. “Thank you, Paisley,” she managed to croak out as she released Pippa and came to fetch the folded sheets he held out.
Once he had departed, she glanced at the letter. The hand was so familiar she would have known it with only a glance.
“Who is it from,” Pippa asked, “to inspire such a reaction from you of first terror and now the smile of the deepest comfort?”
Celeste looked up at her with a light chuckle. “I’m a fool, I know. I only have one acquaintance in London, my old governess, Harriet. After much hemming and hawing, I wrote to her yesterday to tell her of my being here, and she has written back.”
“And yet you stare at the letter and don’t open it,” Pippa said. “Why? Your old governess must only be happy to hear from you.”
“Perhaps,” Celeste said slowly. “I adored her when I was a girl. She was not that much older than I was. Perhaps fifteen years my senior? She told me to want more than what the world expected from a girl like me. She taught me to think more and read more. That was why she was let go, I’m sure. My parents didn’t support the bluestocking I became.”
Pippa nodded. “Oof. Well, in that we are similar.”
“When Harriet left, she eventually settled here in London, found a partner and together they opened Lady Lena’s Salon.”
Pippa’s mouth dropped open. “Lady Lena’s! The Lady Lena’s? That place is legend. Only th
e best thinkers are invited. They discuss everything from abolition to the conditions of workhouses, as well as discussing literature and theatre. It is everything a salon should be!”
Celeste smiled at the passion of her friend. “I’m sure Harriet and Lena would love to hear your opinion. I know they are proud of what they’ve built. But I’m so…I fear they will see me as a bumpkin, especially since the news of my marital…er…problems is so public.”
“I cannot imagine that is true,” Pippa said. “Why don’t you open it and see?”
Celeste drew a deep breath. “Very well.”
She broke the wax seal that bound the papers together and unfolded them. She felt Pippa watching her as she scanned the words, then lifted her head with a smile.
“They wish to see me this afternoon!” she said.
Pippa clasped her hands together with a gasp of delight. “Of course they do. They would be fools not to want to see you! When?”
“For tea,” Celeste said, and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Oh, I must send Owen a message, then get ready.”
Pippa tilted her head. “Why involve Mr. Gregory?”
Heat filled Celeste’s cheeks and she folded the letter to have something to do with her hands. “Owen encouraged me to reach out to them and said he would escort me if I was called to visit.”
After clearing her throat, Pippa said, “I see.”
“What does that mean?” Celeste asked. “What do you see?”
Pippa arched a brow and held Celeste’s stare evenly a moment. “Bedding a man is one thing, my dear. But please be careful.”
“You sound like Abigail,” Celeste said. “You two are so concerned with me guarding my heart.”
Pippa crossed to her and caught her hands. “You didn’t love Erasmus, and for that you are lucky. But it also means perhaps you don’t understand the grief of a broken heart. Neither of us would wish to see you experience it.” She leaned in and bussed Celeste’s cheek. “Now go up and pick your prettiest dress and do your readying. We can further discuss your heart later.”
Celeste smiled at her, but it fell as she left the room. She had told herself that her heart didn’t have to be involved with Owen. But when she’d read the letter from Harriet and Lena, the only person she’d wanted to tell about it was him.
Which meant that same heart was in danger and she would have to protect it.
Owen had let a carriage for the ride today and he shifted inside it, peering past the curtain every few seconds to see if they had yet arrived at the Montgomery house. He reached into his pocket and his fingers brushed the message he’d received from Celeste just a few hours ago. He withdrew it and read it for what had to be the twentieth time:
Harriet wants to see me! Would you please accompany me to Lady Lena’s Salon today at three? I would dearly love you to be at my side. Celeste
Her hand was very elegant, with swirls and slants and beautiful little embellishments. It fit her, and he smiled as he replaced the message in his pocket. He had no idea why he’d brought it today.
The carriage turned into the drive and he straightened up, smoothing his jacket as they came to a stop and the footman rushed to open the door for him. He came down and looked up at the door that Paisley was opening in greeting. Behind him, Celeste and Phillipa stepped into view and then past the butler. Celeste said something to the man and he smiled briefly before falling back into more proper butlerly expression.
No one was immune to her charms, it seemed.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen said as he met them at the bottom of the stair.
“Good afternoon,” Phillipa said, meeting his eyes evenly.
She knew he suspected her, that was clear. Celeste must have spoken to her—Phillipa was too smart not to know exactly why even if Celeste attempted subterfuge. That was fine. He wasn’t trying to be secretive about it.
“Oh, Owen, you brought a carriage?” Celeste said.
“I thought it would be better for the longer journey across town to the salon. Plus, it looks to rain and I would not wish you to get sick from it.”
She smiled up at the cloudy sky. “You think of everything.”
He almost puffed out his chest at her compliment, but managed to rein himself in. “Are you ready to go, then?” he asked, motioning to the vehicle.
“Yes.” Celeste turned back to Phillipa, and for a moment they whispered together. Then Celeste nodded with a furtive glance for him. “Goodbye, I’ll see you later tonight,” she said.
“Phillipa,” Owen said.
“Mr. Gregory.” She gave a hint of a smile and then turned back into the house.
Owen helped Celeste up into the carriage, then followed her up, taking a seat across from her, even though he very much wanted to slip in beside her and give her a much more proper welcome. It felt like forever since he’d touched her, even though it had only been a day.
They began to move and she smiled at him, though the expression was nervous. Everything about her was nervous, like a fluttering little bird. Was it only because of her meeting, or did her discussion with Phillipa come into play with her emotions?
Her knee was bouncing and he reached out to cover it gently. She stared at his hand there and then up at his face. He smiled to ease her mind. “You are going to have a wonderful visit with an old friend,” he said. “You have nothing to fear.”
She blushed and it was so very pretty. He couldn’t help but recall the same blush when she shattered with pleasure. She didn’t erase that image from his mind when she tugged her glove off and let her fingers smooth over his own. Suddenly the carriage felt very close and warm.
“I just wanted to touch you,” Celeste said, and he realized he had tilted his head toward her. She must have read that as a question. “I feels like forever since I touched you.”
The sound that escaped his throat was more animal than any other noise he’d ever made in his life. He moved to her side of the carriage and let his arms come around her. She sighed as she tilted her face up and he took her mouth.
They kissed and it felt like forever. It felt like nothing but the briefest of moments. When her tongue traced his lips, he wanted to flip up her skirts and do the same between her legs. He wanted to make her shake and shatter and moan his name. He wanted to make her forget all her fears and uncertainties and pains that plagued her at present.
Only making her come undone would only cause temporary relief. Once it was over, she would have to fret over her hair and whether she should have or shouldn’t have. He might want her, but not if it caused her more worry in the long run.
So he pulled away, difficult…impossible…but he managed it somehow. She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her there, smoothing a hand over her back in comfort.
“You’re nervous about seeing Harriet and meeting Lady Lena,” he said. She nodded against his neck without speaking. He felt her draw in a shaky breath. “Would talking about it help?”
“I fear I would only make myself more nervous,” she admitted. “I fear I would say out loud everything that could go wrong and then I won’t be able to breathe.”
“Then we’ll talk about something else,” he said. “Phillipa had an odd look when I arrived this morning. It makes me think you spoke to her.”
Celeste lifted her face toward him. “I-I did.”
“Then perhaps that would be a good distraction on the ride.”
She worried her lip a moment, brightening the color and making him want to nip it himself. Make her gasp against his mouth.
“I suppose we will have to have it out eventually,” she murmured.
“That doesn’t bode well,” he said.
She sighed and slipped from his arms, moving to the opposite side of the carriage, where she met his gaze. There was strength in that, but also nervousness in how she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. In how she fidgeted and tried to find someplace where she would be comfortable in how she faced off against him.
He trie
d to reserve judgment about what it all meant until she had said her piece.
“Pippa and I had a long conversation about Erasmus just before you arrived,” Celeste admitted. “I wish I could give you more information, more real evidence, but she doesn’t want to tell me why she was nervous about names being in the paper. She’s trying to protect someone, that is very clear, but who? She holds her tongue on that score.”
Owen pursed his lips. “I’ll look more into it. Erasmus Montgomery wasn’t a careful man. If there is evidence to be found, I’ll just have to find it.”
She nodded. “Pippa knows she’s a suspect, just as Abigail does. They’re both too clever not to believe it to be true. But she cannot give me hope that her whereabouts would be accounted for on that night. She was staying at an inn when she arrived in London.”
“The Nightingale House,” Owen said. “Yes, I know.”
“And she says that she was there all night when Owen was murdered. But she was alone. So unless someone noticed her of their own accord and would recall the time or date without confusion, I’m afraid I found nothing of interest for you. Nothing that absolves her of the crime.”
Owen could see she was disappointed in that fact. No, it was more than that.
“Are you angry with yourself?” he asked.
She huffed a breath. “Of course I am! You asked me to do one thing and I failed at it spectacularly. I added nothing of value to the investigation, and after you brought me all this way so I could help.”
“First off, that is not the only reason I brought you here, and I think you know that after what we’ve shared,” he said. “And secondly, you must understand that there isn’t winning or losing when it comes to gathering evidence, Celeste. You’ve given me two further pathways to pursue. Which will move my investigation forward, no matter what the outcome. So I thank you.”
He expected her to smile at that. To find relief in what she’d accomplished. Instead, she turned her face and stared out the carriage window pensively. The tension came off of her in waves, and it was evident that wasn’t just because of the visit to her friends or because of guilt regarding Phillipa.
The Unexpected Wife Page 14