She glanced at her mother, who had taken a seat on the settee but had her head in her hands and was still in minor hysterics. And her father, who was blustering now, but certainly at the behest of her mother, not because he felt some wild drive to protect Celeste.
She had been alone in the world for a very long time. It was an odd sensation to have someone thinking of her first.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Perhaps tea in a while. Right now I do think an explanation will go further in easing my mind. I cannot wrap my head around anything you are saying.”
Mr. Gregory nodded. “Understandably. I have dropped a weight on your shoulders that I wish I could have avoided, but in these circumstances it is sometimes better to simply tear the bandage away all at once.”
“Not exactly successful in wound management,” she muttered.
To her surprise, the corner of his mouth tilted in a flash of a smile. He had a dimple, revealed and then concealed just as quickly. But she’d seen it.
“You have asked who I am, and I owe you that courtesy as I start,” he said, glancing at Sir Timothy. “I told you when I arrived that I’m Owen Gregory. I am an investigator.”
Celeste shifted. “An investigator. You are looking into the murder?”
“Now, yes,” he said. “But I was originally hired for another purpose. You see, at the time of his death, Mr. Montgomery was pursuing the marriage of a fourth young woman.”
“Great God,” Celeste breathed as she lifted her hand to cover her mouth. “A villain in every sense!”
“Yes.” Mr. Gregory said, meeting her eyes. “The cruelty of his behavior was unconscionable. This young woman had a family, though, a very important family. A letter was received implying that Mr. Montgomery might already be in possession of more than one wife, and I was hired to investigate the claim and protect the lady in question…and her dowry.”
“Of course!” Lady Hendricks said, her hysterics set aside now that there was a salacious story to be heard. “What family would not wish to protect the money at stake?” Celeste’s cheeks heated as Owen glanced at her. Of course her mother would reveal her priorities in such an obvious way. “Who was the family?”
Celeste gasped at the inappropriate question. “Mama, that is hardly important now.”
Mr. Gregory gave another of those fluttering smiles and said, “Indeed, my lady, I must protect the man’s identity as much as I can, just as I will attempt to protect your daughter.”
Celeste shook her head. There was surely no hope of that now. To keep an intended bride from the public eye was one thing. But she was married…or had thought to be married to Erasmus. The truth of his murder and his bigamy would become public fodder, there was no denying it. She was ruined. And while that terrified her, there were also other thoughts that moved through her at that fact.
Ones she pushed aside.
“So you investigated and discovered the truth of my—of Mr. Montgomery.”
“Yes, and I was with the man who hired me, on our way to confront your husband, but when we arrived we found him dead in the parlor of his London home. Poisoned, it seems. And after some kind of altercation, for his eye was blackened, as well. There was some indication that arsenic was used.”
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach turned. She knew little about the poison, but she couldn’t imagine that death in such a manner would be pleasant.
“The gentleman who hired me is acquainted with Montgomery’s brother, the Earl of Leighton. Though the guard did come, the earl wanted the matter to be resolved more privately. So he asked me to continue with the investigation and try to determine who might have killed his brother. As well as help to resolve the mess with the multiple wives.”
Celeste flinched. Multiple wives. That part still made her head spin. She pushed to her feet and paced the room. Already her mother had begun to talk, an endless stream of words that she blocked out. She’d had plenty of practice in doing so over her life, after all.
She stared out the window onto the drive, past it into the countryside. She still had so many questions, but with her parents in the room she would have no chance to ask them. At least not without interruption.
She pivoted back toward the rest of the room. “I need a moment to speak to Mr. Gregory,” she declared loudly enough that she could be heard over the sound of her mother’s voice.
That stopped the talking, and her parents and Mr. Gregory all looked at her at once. She shifted beneath their regard, their pity, their curiosity. If she found those things here in the parlor, it would only be worse out in the world.
“Then speak to him,” her mother said, false consolation in every word.
“Alone,” Celeste said softly.
“Certainly not!” Her mother leapt to her feet, and the understanding was gone from her voice and her body language. “I will not leave you. This is a family matter.”
“It is not,” Celeste said. “Mr. Gregory, am I to assume that you first came to look for me at my home in the village?” He nodded once. She arched a brow at her mother. “Then I would have been able to have this conversation in private had I not been calling here. I am an adult, this is my…my problem, and I would like a moment alone to discuss it further with this man. Please do not make me leave this house and force him to follow me.”
Her mother huffed and was surely about to launch into a tirade when Mr. Gregory got to his feet. “My lady, your desire to support your daughter does you credit. But I can see how overwhelmed she is. Perhaps it would be better to allow her a moment with all this. I know you care enough to grant her that boon.”
Lady Hendricks pursed her lips, and Celeste could see her struggling. To deny what he said would be to admit she didn’t care about Celeste’s feelings. And she desperately wanted to appear like that was her main concern. So he had effectively trapped her.
Celeste looked at him closely. Had he meant to do so? Or was it accidental?
His gaze slid to her and he gave a very small nod. The action warmed her. So he had meant to protect her. A kindness she appreciated, just as she appreciated the other kindnesses he had shown to her since his arrival. Certainly many a man would have made this much harder.
“I suppose I understand,” her mother grumbled. She glared at Sir Timothy as if this were his fault. He hardly responded at all, probably because he was accustomed to such things. “Come, then.”
She pivoted without another word and flounced from the room, Sir Timothy trailing behind her. Celeste shook her head in frustration at the fact neither had closed the door behind themselves. She moved to do so and then leaned on it. Mr. Gregory arched a brow.
“I would not do something so improper,” she explained on a sigh. “But she is surely attempting to listen in.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t mocking or cruel, just something soft that made that dimple pop in his right cheek again. “Perhaps she means well.”
Celeste laughed, though she found nothing amusing about this situation. “If that makes this more palatable to you, I will allow you to think that.” She moved to the sideboard. “Now let me try to be a better hostess than I have been. I’m going to have the tea you suggested earlier. Would you like some of the same?”
He nodded. “Please. No milk or sugar.”
She poured them each their cup and then motioned him to sit. They each did, she on the settee this time so she could look at him straight on. He did the same as he set his cup aside and leaned forward, draping his forearms over his thighs.
“I must ask you some questions,” he said softly.
She blinked as she realized he meant about the murder. Questioning her about the murder. A strange thought. “Certainly,” she choked out.
“Where were you four days ago?” he asked.
She sucked in her breath. “Was that when he—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence and he didn’t respond, just held her gaze evenly. His face revealed nothing to her about his thoughts, either negative or positive.
>
“I was here in Twiddleport,” she said as she thought back to the day in question. “I will try to recreate my movements. Let me see, I was at my home during the morning. At one I took a meeting with—” She cut herself off with a blush. It seemed there would be humiliation after humiliation now.
“With whom?” he pressed, so softly the words barely carried.
“With the owner of the home I live in. My landlord, Mr. Greenley. He was insisting that Erasmus had not paid our rent and I was equally firm that he must have.” She shook her head. “Though now I doubt it. The meeting lasted an hour.”
“You are certain?” Mr. Gregory pressed.
She nodded. “I shall not soon forget that humiliation. Nor this one.”
That caused a response. Mr. Gregory visibly flinched and inclined his head toward her. “My deepest apologies, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Now it was her turn to recoil. “Mrs. Montgomery. Am I that? I’m not, not if there were two other wives. Nearly three.” She bent her head. “God’s teeth.”
“Would you prefer I call you Miss Hendricks?” he asked.
She choked out a laugh. “That name comes with its own set of troubles, as you have seen.”
He was silent a moment, watching her closely again. Reading her, she was certain, though she had no idea of the outcome of his observation. Finally, he said, “Then what about Celeste? I can call you by your given name, at least when we are discussing this matter in private.”
“An improper suggestion,” she said, examining him now. “But I suppose there is nothing proper about this anymore, is there? This entire situation is impropriety embodied. Yes, Celeste is fine.”
“Then to be fair, I will ask that you call me Owen. In private.”
Owen. She let the name roll in her head. It suited him, though it felt wicked to call him by it when they had only just met.
“Very well,” she said. “I will give you Mr. Greenley’s information if you’d like so you may speak to him. And after that meeting, I had other errands in the village and then joined my parents here for supper.”
There was shouting at the door to punctuate that statement. Her mother, knocking hard and asking if they needed anything. “As you can tell, Lady Hendricks will be happy to discuss any and all details with you.”
He raised both his eyebrows. “It seems so. Perhaps you would like to continue this conversation back at your home in the village later? I can give you time to collect what I imagine are some very tangled thoughts. And it will give me time to call on Mr. Greenley.”
She blinked, shocked yet again by his calm and gentle support. Perhaps it had an ulterior motive; after all he was investigating the murder of her…husband, she would still call him even if it weren’t true. Owen suspected she might have motive to have committed the crime, if his questions were any indication. Why not be kind? More flies were attracted with honey than vinegar, after all. If he were a spider, he was doing a fine job of luring her in.
“Yes, I would very much like a little time to collect myself. Once I escape the trap that my mother will surely spring the moment you depart.”
He rose and she did the same. “I know Mr. Greenley’s address, so I will not require you to share it. I’ll go there and meet you, shall we say in two hours? Will that be enough time?”
“I hope so.”
They walked together to the door and before he opened it, he smiled down at her. “I realize this must be shocking and overwhelming, Celeste. But I assure you that I will do all I can to relieve some of the pain of it if I can.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond, for he opened the door. Her mother immediately rushed to him, babbling that he should stay and trying to get more information out of him. He handled Lady Hendricks admirably, though, detangling himself from her attention, and then he bowed to the family before he departed with a promise to return to speak to them further.
He made no mention of his intention to come to her home and for that she was grateful. Her mother would certainly insist on joining their conversation if she knew. Once he was gone, Lady Hendricks all but shoved Celeste back into the parlor, shrieking for Sir Timothy to join them. Celeste sighed as she paced to the window while the two of them huddled together by the fire.
“This is terrible, Celeste!” her mother wailed. “Think of what it will do to your father and me!”
Celeste saw the glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Even when the world was about to fall, Lady Hendricks would bask at being in the center of it. Celeste could practically hear her sobbing to her friends, sucking in their pity and support.
While Celeste’s world crumbled.
She pursed her lips. Normally she could be patient with this sort of display. She’d trained herself almost not to hear it over the years. But today when her life felt in tatters and her future was completely uncertain, she had less patience for the foolishness.
“Perhaps this is what you get when you grasp, then,” she snapped.
Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “Celeste Belinda Montgomery! How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? Timothy, speak to your daughter.”
“Now, Celeste—” her father began, a sheepish expression on his face. As if he knew this was foolish but had no energy in him to fight it.
Celeste turned away before he could finish. “You wished me to marry Erasmus Montgomery and I did so. This is the result. In the end, what does fault matter? The cost is coming due and I will have to face it.” She let out a long, shaky sigh. “Now I’m sure we have a great deal more to speak about, but I truly cannot even fathom it now. I must go and let all this horrible news sink in.”
“But Celeste—” her mother gasped.
Celeste crossed to her and took her hands. “Please, Mama. I really cannot discuss it right now. I will return and we will work it out later. Good afternoon.”
She pressed a brief kiss to her mother’s cheek and the same for her father, and then left the room. Even as she called for her carriage to be brought, she could hear the histrionics of her mother in the parlor. She was meant to hear them. To feel guilty.
But at present all she felt was numb. And she had no idea when any other feeling would return to her body. Nor if she could bear the emotions when they hit her at last.
Chapter 3
Owen stood in Celeste’s parlor two hours later, looking around him at the stark and worn-out room. The furniture was frayed and tired, a hodgepodge of threadbare fabrics and scratched wood that had clearly not been meant to match as a set. A cheap wallpaper had been hung, faded by time, curled at the water-damaged ceiling line, threatening to unfurl itself down to the floor. There was nothing of style to the chamber, nothing that reflected the woman who lived here. It was not quite a hovel, but only just barely.
He hadn’t been allowed entry upon his first visit, just been told where the lady had gone. But the inside matched the out, much to Celeste’s detriment, it seemed. He wrinkled his brow. Erasmus Montgomery was the younger son of the Earl of Leighton. He’d been raised with money and privilege. Certainly by outward appearances he could afford a nicer place than this one for his bride.
Even the third of three.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gregory,” Celeste said as she entered the parlor.
He pivoted to face her and had to fight not to catch his breath. She was truly beautiful. All curves and softness and bright blue eyes that met his even as her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. She had been crying, that was evident. His stomach clenched at the sight.
“I believe we settled upon Owen in private, did we not, Celeste?” he asked. She tensed, and he frowned. “Unless you would prefer the formality. I would not ever cross a line against your will.”
Suddenly she was looking at him very closely, indeed. “No, I don’t think you would,” she said softly. She shook her head and turned away to the sideboard. “Celeste is fine, of course, just as we agreed upon earlier today. I was only startled hearing it from your lips.”
She seemed to put a lit
tle emphasis on the word lips, but Owen had to have imagined that. He had been instantly and powerfully attracted to her, because no man could look at her and not feel his heart lodge in his throat. But that didn’t mean she returned the attraction. Why would she? He was the man come down to destroy her world. Her future. That she tolerated him was enough, especially since any other option was out of reach. He had a set of values, after all, unspoken rules of his profession.
“May I get you tea?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Or whisky. Is it late enough for whisky?”
He smiled. “It’s late enough somewhere. I think we’ve both earned it.”
She pushed the teapot aside and grabbed for a bottle along the back of the table. Her hands shook as she grabbed for two tumblers, and he moved forward.
“May I?” he asked.
She looked at him again. “I suppose it might be better or half the bottle will end up sloshed all over the room,” she said before she backed away and walked to the fireplace, where he had been standing when she entered the room.
She smiled as he brought her the drink, but then sighed. “I assume you have more questions,” she said at the very same moment he said something similar. They both laughed as she raised her glass to him and then took a sip.
She pulled a face, just as he did. “Oh, that is vile,” she gasped. “My husband…Mr. Montgomery…he was never anything but stingy. I could count on that if nothing else.” When Owen didn’t say anything in response, she shrugged. “You’ll have to write that down later. Suspect found the victim miserly.”
He tilted his head. “You think I believe you to be a suspect in the murder?”
“You’d be a fool not to. I’m the third of three wives, all of whom are living. I might be pretending my shock at that discovery. My husband’s lies and the ramifications of them coming out would certainly give me a motive.”
The Unexpected Wife Page 2
