She also showed her affection through action. She had determined Celeste’s favorite tea and biscuits and always had them on hand. She offered books that might be to her liking. She slid the paper away from her side of the breakfast table, since the sight of the gossip splashed across its pages was so upsetting to Pippa especially. She protected, but did so without fanfare or requirement for thanks or recognition. She fixed things.
Celeste only hoped she hadn’t attempted to fix the situation with Erasmus and that it had gone all wrong, that he had ended up dead in the parlor. She didn’t want to believe Abigail could do that. She didn’t want to think of the consequences for her friend if she had.
“You look very pretty this morning,” Abigail said with a smile as she moved to the sideboard Paisley had abandoned and poured them each tea. “That blue suits you very well.”
Celeste smoothed the skirts of her gown with a smile. “Oh, thank you so much. I’ve always liked this dress.”
Abigail motioned to the seats before the fire and they each took one. “How are you settling in?”
Celeste sipped her tea, giving herself time to ponder the answer before she spoke it. “I’m…well. As well as can be expected. I feel a little restless. Like I should be doing something, rather than sitting around waiting.”
“Waiting for Mr. Gregory,” Abigail said softly. “I hear he is coming to collect you today.”
Celeste couldn’t help but shift because Abigail had speared her with one of those all-seeing stares she possessed. She never missed a thing. “Yes. He has promised to continue his tour of London for me.”
“And I suppose you two will also be talking about the case,” Abigail said. “I know you are assisting him.”
Celeste nearly choked on her tea and jerked her gaze to Abigail in surprise. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I’m not a fool. You weren’t in London, unlike Pippa or myself or a half dozen other suspects he must be considering. Don’t worry, I don’t disapprove. The sooner he ends this, the better.”
There was something bitter in her tone, but her expression remained serene. Still, Celeste wished she could…comfort her somehow.
“Certainly, he suspects me,” Abigail said with an arch of her brow that all but dared Celeste to deny it.
Celeste shifted. Owen hadn’t given her directions on what to do if one of his suspects addressed this sort of thing directly. Did she deny it? Did she say yes?
Abigail was clearly still waiting for a response and Celeste’s cheeks burned as she stammered, “I-I—”
Abigail held up her hand. “Gracious, don’t hurt yourself. It’s all right. I wouldn’t respect him much if he didn’t suspect me. After all, I had every reason to kill Ras, didn’t I? I am the humiliated first wife. Ras spent any fortune we might have once had, so I will be penniless.” She sighed. “The scandal is already dragging me to hell. Friends have begun to cut me off because of him.”
“I’m so sorry, Abigail,” Celeste whispered. And she was. Abigail was, by nature of being the first and legal wife, the public face of this situation. The one with the most to lose, the most to confront.
“Why? It isn’t your fault,” Abigail said on a heavy sigh. “It was Ras’s and Ras’s alone. And Mr. Gregory knows that as well as anyone—he’s a clever sort. I’m sure he looks at all my motives and adds them to the fact that I was here in London, I have knowledge of herbs and I have no alibi.”
Celeste’s heart sank with every admission of possible guilt. She liked Abigail so much. She didn’t want her to suffer even more because she was accused of murder.
“No alibi at all?” Celeste pressed. “You weren’t out with friends or with a servant?”
“No.” Abigail looked around, a suddenly faraway sound to her tone. “I was right here in this house, the very place where Ras died. It was late, so my maid had gone to bed. There would have been nothing to stop me from coming down and confronting him about what he’d done…” She trailed off with an almost wistful expression.
Celeste’s hands shook as she leaned closer. “And…did you? Did you go into that parlor where he was found, the one that’s all locked up on the other side of the house, and confront him? Did you?”
“Did I kill him?” Abigail whispered. “No. By the end, my love for him had disintegrated to cinders. Hardened to a shell that I wore to protect myself from him. And yes, I did want to be free of him. But not like this. Never like this.”
Her voice cracked, and Celeste couldn’t stop herself from grasping for her hand. Abigail smiled at her, the vulnerability gone from her face as if it had never been there.
“I am sorry.”
Abigail squeezed her hand gently. “And as I said before, you needn’t be. It wasn’t your fault, nor is it your place to fix it. I don’t think your Mr. Gregory has a vendetta toward me, nor does he seem to be a careless person. I’m sure he’ll determine the truth soon enough and that will be the end of it.”
“He is not my Mr. Gregory,” Celeste gasped.
Abigail arched a brow. “Is he not? Because it is very clear how much you like him.”
Once again Celeste found herself speechless. “I—”
Abigail waved her hand. “It’s obvious, so you needn’t deny it.”
“How is it obvious?” Celeste asked, barely able to make her voice carry.
“It’s written all over your face, my dear, the moment he enters a room.”
“Oh dear,” Celeste whispered as she clenched her fists against her thighs. She wanted to find words to deny this, but she couldn’t. “What you must think of me.”
Abigail tilted her head back and laughed. “I think you are a woman, with as many desires and needs and interests as any man, even if they lie and tell us we are supposed to be behave differently than they do. Honestly, you could have chosen a worse object of affection. Mr. Gregory is very handsome.”
“I cannot deny that—it is a fact anyone can see,” Celeste breathed.
Abigail chuckled. “But he also seems kind and intelligent, even-handed. Attentive and that will always translate well into a more…intimate situation.”
“Abigail!” Celeste burst out as she leapt to her feet and paced away, as if distance could silence this untoward conversation. “I wasn’t even thinking about…about…intimate situations.”
That was a lie, of course. She had thought of such things, dreamed of his hands on her. She shivered even now at the memory.
“Why not?” Abigail said with a laugh as she got to her own feet. “I think each of us deserves a bit of fun after what Ras did.” She moved closer. “But have a care, my dear, if you do decide to pursue such an arrangement. A broken heart stings like nothing else.”
Abigail’s gaze went faraway, as if she were thinking of something personal. Something painful.
“Abigail—”
Abigail ignored her and continued, “I would hate to see you make a mistake by clinging to anything that seems solid when you’re in a vulnerable state. Protect your heart. No one else can be depended upon to do so.”
Celeste swallowed. She hadn’t dared to seek permission for the feelings, the desires Owen stoked in her. But having that permission was heady and her mind leapt to wild, wanton scenarios where she might get what she wanted for once in her life.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It seems like a dream to even consider it.”
“We all deserve dreams,” Abigail said, and moved to the window. She glanced down at the street and then turned back toward Celeste with a smile. “And now he’s here.”
Celeste caught her breath and rushed to stand beside Abigail. Down below, one of the footmen was standing by as Owen came down from his phaeton. Owen straightened his jacket, smoothing his hands along the lines of it as he spoke to the servant for a moment.
“He does cut a fine figure,” Abigail murmured. “There is no denying that. At least you’ll have fun.”
“Fun,” Celeste responded softly. “There’s a thought.”
Owen
turned his head toward the window, and Abigail caught Celeste’s arm, drawing her back as the two of them began to giggle. It felt so good to be foolish and girlish with a friend. Back in Twiddleport Celeste had always felt the odd one out. She was too bookish for some of the girls and too unaffiliated for others. But now the bond between her and Pippa and Abigail was growing. She didn’t want to lose it.
She didn’t want to lose any of it.
“Mr. Gregory,” Paisley said as he stepped into the doorway, then moved aside so Owen could enter the room.
Celeste’s face grew hot as she and Abigail both acknowledged him with a bend of their heads. He had certainly seen her in the window watching him. But he made no mention of it and merely smiled at them both.
“Ladies, good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” Abigail said with a very real and welcoming smile of her own. “I would offer you tea, but I hear you and Celeste are pleasure bound today.”
Celeste caught her breath and shot Abigail a look. “Abigail, you…we…”
“What sights will you see?” Abigail continued with a little look for Celeste.
Now her heart began to pound. She’d been so caught up in thinking of wicked things, she’d thought Abigail dared to speak of them right in the parlor. But of course she meant their tour of London.
“I wasn’t certain what Celeste would be in the mood for,” Owen said with a brief smile for her.
Abigail nodded. “Had you considered the British Museum? I’ve always liked their herbarium.”
“I had thought of it, madam, as I am as much a fan. Tuesday next was my plan for that.”
“Excellent. I shall be excited to hear Celeste’s report on it.” Abigail smiled again at Celeste and then moved toward the door. “I will not keep you. Good day.”
She left them then, shutting the door behind herself most inappropriately. And now that they were alone Celeste couldn’t help but feel…awkward. All this talk of fun and pleasure and naughty desires made her look at Owen in a most inappropriate way.
“Are you well?” Owen asked.
She jolted at the question, as well as the concerned expression on his face. “Yes. Yes, of course. How are…how are you?”
He chuckled. “I’m very well.”
She nodded and paced away, wishing her hands didn’t shake so much.
He was watching her. She felt his stare boring into her back. “Celeste, have a few days apart changed that we are friends?”
She pivoted back and found he had a truly concerned expression. “No, of course not. I am sorry, I know I’m behaving out of sorts.”
“And why is that?” he pressed gently.
“Because being around you makes me…nervous.”
He stared at her for what felt like forever, though it couldn’t have been more than a second or two. Then he moved toward her. “That doesn’t bode very well,” he said softly as he reached for her hand. She wasn’t wearing gloves and he had removed his before he entered the room. His palm was rough against hers, his fingers tracing a pattern on her palm that made her shiver.
“You needn’t be nervous about me, Celeste,” he said, watching her face for every reaction to his touch. “Because I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to do. I promise.”
Her lips parted as she stared up into his face. His pupils were dilated, the pressure of his fingers increased and for a brief, powerful moment she thought he might kiss her again. She wanted him to kiss her again.
But he stepped away instead, releasing her from his grip and his spell. “Now let us talk about today. I didn’t make solid plans because I wasn’t certain if you had reached out to your friends in Town. Are we going to Lady Lena’s Salon?”
She swallowed. “Er, no. I only just sent my letter to Harriet this morning.”
His brows lifted in surprise, but he said nothing about it, just smiled as he motioned toward the door. “Then we can carry on. Are you ready?”
“I am,” she said, but as she followed him from the room, she knew that was a lie. She wasn’t ready, not at all. Not for him, not for London and not for the things she wanted that were beginning to squeeze all other thought and desire from her mind.
Unlike the first time he’d toured her in his phaeton when she’d all but tumbled from the carriage in delight, today Celeste had been quiet on the ride across London. She was restless, listless, and he wanted desperately to fix it, foolish as that inclination might be.
But he still wondered what had caused this particular hesitation in her.
“Do you want to tell me why you didn’t write to your friend earlier than today?”
She blinked and her gaze slid to him furtively, like he had uncovered some horrible secret she had hoped to take to her grave. “I didn’t mean to put you out.”
He wrinkled his brow. “You didn’t. But we spoke about your former governess days ago. I assumed you would be thrilling at the idea of meeting with her again, especially without your parents involving themselves or limiting you.”
Celeste let out a long sigh. “I suppose I must be honest with you after all your kindness. I came home just as excited to reach out as you describe but I sat in my chamber and stared at a blank piece of vellum, just…not knowing what to say.”
“You might try ‘Greetings, old friend, I’m in London and wish to see you,’” he suggested gently.
She folded her arms. “But the real message is ‘Greetings, sophisticated friend, I am in London because my husband turned out to be a murdered bigamist and I am the laughing stock of the city. Do you want to lower yourself to see what I’ve become?’”
He frowned. Celeste was so good at showing her strength. At lifting her chin and making the best of the worst in the world, it was easy to forget that she had to be flailing at the deepest part of an ocean. That she couldn’t picture her future because her past and present were so clouded by lies and gossip and pain.
“I just don’t know my place in this world,” Celeste continued. “In any world.” She was quiet a moment, then smiled at him apologetically. “I swear you will regret taking me out today when I am in such a maudlin mood.”
“I certainly don’t,” he said, and meant it. Truth be told, he’d missed seeing her during their time apart. Missed that soft floral scent of her hair and skin, missed the way her hands fluttered when she was excited, missed the sound of her laugh.
That was incredibly dangerous and also totally undeniable. This woman had begun to bewitch him and he didn’t want free of her spell.
He slowed the rig and moved it to the side of the path, then turned toward her. “You must be exhausted because the future is filled with such question. You want to see things resolved?”
She nodded. “Perhaps I could better see the path then, yes.”
He smiled. She was so very clever—of course she liked to set herself a path to follow. Of course she would be troubled by how rocky and twisted the one before her seemed. “Then why don’t we go to my home instead of a museum or a park today?” he suggested.
Her eyes went a little wider and her pupils dilated, and for a moment every muscle in his body contracted with wild, unfiltered desire. She had no idea what that look did to him. No idea what her presence in general did.
“Go to your home…alone?” she whispered.
He nodded slowly, hoping to mask some of his eagerness for just that. “Yes. I could use your help with some elements of the case. Your eyes and observations might help me move along a little faster.”
She bent her head. “Oh, yes, of course. Your case. Yes, I’d be very happy to join you there and assist in any way I can.”
He nickered at the horses to jog on and for a little while they rode in silence. Then he grinned at her. “Also, I think it wouldn’t help your situation if I kissed you in the open rig in the middle of the road. But alone in my study, I can do so with far less worry.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he reveled in her surprise at that forward suggestion. “Unless you don’t wan
t that.”
She barked out a little laugh that she smothered with her hand. When she lowered her fingers, he could see the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying to suppress a smile.
“I think, Mr. Gregory, that I would very much like that. Is there no way to make the horses go faster?”
He threw his head back to laugh before he flicked the reins and they rushed even more quickly toward his home, toward his case…toward whatever would happen when they were alone and he could do all the wicked things that had been haunting him since the first moment he met her.
Chapter 12
Celeste was focused mainly on controlling her breath as Owen pulled the phaeton onto a small circular drive before a brightly painted blue house in the little neighborhood they had observed a few days before. She clasped her hands as she stared up at the narrow home snuggling along the row of others.
“What do you think?” he asked as he climbed down and came around to assist her.
“I was hoping it would be the blue one,” she breathed. “I love how happy the color is.”
“I was drawn to the color too,” he admitted. “Let us hope you don’t find the inside a disappointment.”
She took his hand, climbed down from the rig and shook her head up at him. “Owen, you saw my awful little home in Twiddleport. I don’t think anything could be disappointing after that.”
“Thank you, Jenkins,” he called to the young man who had swept up into the rig to take it away. He offered Celeste an arm and guided her to his door, where a smiling lady with graying hair had stepped outside.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gregory. Welcome home.”
“Mrs. Cookson,” he said with an equally wide smile. The one that made his dimple pop. They followed her into the foyer. “Good afternoon. This is Mrs. Montgomery, a client.”
“Ah, well, welcome, welcome,” the woman said. “I assume you’ll be going to the study. Should I have tea sent in?”
“That would be wonderful, but wait a few moments.”
Mrs. Cookson nodded and smiled at Celeste again before she slipped off to start those preparations.
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