The Unexpected Wife

by Jess Michaels

  Abigail got up and slowly crossed the room to Pippa. When she reached her, she gently touched Pippa’s hand. Celeste held her breath as the two locked eyes for a moment. Pippa turned away and Abigail’s shoulders rolled forward in defeat.

  Pippa walked toward Celeste, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Out with it, then. What do you have in mind, Celeste?”

  Celeste nodded. If they could save Abigail, she and Pippa would have some resolution to reach for. “If this Rosie Stanton was Erasmus’s first love or first…conquest, it follows that she might have some knowledge about him. Perhaps even a reason to want him dead. I say we determine if she is in London and call on her.”

  “She is in London,” Abigail said, her tone a little flatter now, a little softer. “She returned shortly before you came here, Pippa.”

  Celeste cocked her head. “And how do you know that?”

  “I’d saved a portion of my pin money over the years,” Abigail whispered. “And I used it to gather information. Rosie Stanton has a very small house she lets near Lambeth. It isn’t the finest neighborhood, but it isn’t Seven Dials either.”

  “We’d be together,” Celeste said with a nod. “And we would look out for each other.”

  “I have a…gun,” Pippa whispered. “We will take that.”

  “Why do you have a gun?” Celeste gasped.

  Pippa shrugged. “You never know when you need protection. I came here alone, didn’t I? I’ll fetch it and then we can make our way.”

  After she had stepped from the room, Abigail let out her breath in a gasping sigh. “She will never forgive me, will she?”

  Celeste crossed the room to wrap an arm around her. Abigail had always felt like such a large presence, so certain of herself and what to do. In this moment she felt small.

  “Forgiveness is a tricky thing, isn’t it?” she said. “Pippa is hurt now. She can picture paths that never came to be, ways out of this situation that she is currently convinced would have existed if you had only…only…only…”

  “I picture them, too,” Abigail whispered. “I have since the moment Ras died and the world spun off its axis.”

  “She’s in shock right now,” Celeste continued. “But it’s obvious you had the best of intentions and that does matter.”

  “Except that the outcome remains the same, no matter my intention: I hurt Pippa. I hurt you. And Ras died perhaps because of what I did and didn’t do.”

  “Ras died because he was a blackguard who flew too close to the sun,” Celeste said. “You were a victim of his chicanery, not an architect. Give Pippa some time. She will forgive you.”

  “And what about you?” Abigail asked softly. “Will you forgive me?”

  Celeste smiled at her. “I am not like you or Pippa. I was never heartbroken by Erasmus Montgomery’s wicked ways. I never loved him.”

  “But you do love Owen Gregory.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Celeste bent her head. “I do love him. Very much. I have no idea of our future, but I am happy to have been able to know him and love him as I do, no matter the outcome.”

  “He’ll be angry that you went behind his back to visit this woman, I think. And that you told me I am his main suspect.”

  Celeste worried her lip. “Perhaps he will. And I grieve that. But just because I love him doesn’t mean I must always follow his path. I must do what is right, wholly separate from him and his values and plans. To protect you is right. To confront this woman, just the three of us, to use our collective relationship to a man she cared for at least once, if not still, is the best way. If he cannot forgive me for that, then…”

  She swallowed hard. Owen’s steady presence had become so very important to her. She feared what her life would be like without it.

  “Then?” Abigail whispered.

  “Then I suppose our connection was never meant to be more than what it was.” Celeste shrugged and tried to feel as nonchalant about it as she pretended to be.

  Abigail sighed. “You are risking a great deal for me. For the truth. So I shall be as strong as you are. I’ll go call for the carriage and then we shall be off.”

  She hustled from the room, leaving Celeste alone for a moment. She clenched her hands before her, wishing she could slow their shaking. Slow her racing heart. Slow her growing fears. Thanks to Erasmus, none of them were in a good position. All of them had something to lose.

  And for Celeste, losing Owen was not something she could bear to fully contemplate.

  Owen paced the parlor in the Earl of Leighton’s home, clenching his hands in and out of fists as he made turn after turn across the room. He couldn’t stop thinking of Celeste.

  He had hurt her today. By keeping the truth from her. By denying her a place at his side as he searched out the details. But what else could he do? This situation was about to reach its boiling point and the danger was now far more than physical. Loss and grief and heartache were very likely.

  He wanted so much to spare Celeste from those things.

  “You are going to wear a path in my carpet.”

  He jumped and pivoted to face the earl, who was now standing in the doorway watching him. “Forgive me for coming without sending word first.”

  Leighton’s expression grew concerned as his brow furrowed. “Not at all. What is it, Mr. Gregory? Something about my brother’s case?”

  “Yes. I would like you to accompany me to question a person. Will you do so? I can explain the rest on the ride over.”

  Leighton stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Of course. Should we take my carriage?”

  Owen pursed his lips. “I think the crest might scare off our quarry. I’ve a rig waiting outside for us.”

  “Then I will come directly.” Leighton motioned toward the door. “Please.”

  Owen followed him, and as Leighton took his place in the carriage, Owen gave the driver instructions on where to take them. Once he had taken his own seat and the vehicle had begun to move, Leighton tilted his head. “Tell me then, so I might be prepared.”

  Owen worried his hands on his lap. “Gilmore is compromised.”

  “Gilmore? How? Do you suspect my friend of doing this thing to my brother?” Leighton asked, and all the color drained from his face at the thought.

  “I don’t,” Owen said. “I believe him to be innocent. But I also believe he is personally invested in the innocence of my main suspect.”

  “And who is that?” Leighton breathed.

  Owen hesitated. “I hate to say it, but I believe Abigail might be our answer.”

  Leighton bent his head. “I feared it would be one of the ladies. Christ, poor Abigail.”

  “You would have pity for the woman who might have stricken your brother down?” Owen asked.

  “Of course. My brother was a lout who destroyed everything in his path because of his selfishness. If Abigail snapped and caused him harm, I cannot hold her blameless, but nor am I blind as to why she might have done such a thing. So you think Gilmore has…affection for her? Despite their confrontational relationship?”

  “I know he doesn’t want her to be guilty,” Owen said. “And he will defend her rather than seek the truth if its path leads to her door.”

  “Fascinating.” Leighton shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. So are we going to Abigail’s then? Confrontation on your mind?”

  “No, Abigail is fine where she is. Gilmore brought me information about Montgomery’s first love. The woman you and I discussed a while ago: Rosie Stanton.”

  “That’s right,” Leighton said. “Rosie! I knew it was an R name.”

  “And now that we know it, I think it would be best to speak to her as soon as possible, to see if she has any information regarding the murder.” Owen sighed. “Or anything else.”

  “Why bring me?” Leighton asked. “I hardly knew the woman—I couldn’t even recall her name.”

  “But you did know your brother. It will be easier to have someone with me who can at least attempt to fill i
n the gaps when it comes to that time in Montgomery’s life. And you might also be able to detect if the woman is being honest about her relationship.”

  “I will try, yes.”

  They were quiet a moment, and Owen felt how curious Leighton was by his intent stare. “What is it you have to say, my lord?” he asked at last.

  “You’re a decent fellow,” Leighton said softly.

  Owen wrinkled his brow. “I try to be, yes.”

  “And I have come to think of you as a…friend, if that makes any sense,” Leighton continued. “You could have been many things when it came to my brother’s bad deeds. You have always been discreet, but more importantly, you’ve been kind. And I’ve appreciated that as I’ve attempted to navigate the nightmare Ras left behind.”

  Owen shifted. “Thank you. I recognize how hard this situation is for everyone involved. Resolution is my only goal, not to create further harm.”

  “Well, perhaps I can return some of that friendship to you,” Leighton said slowly. “You seem…troubled. One must assume that is because of Celeste. Would you like to discuss it?”

  Owen sighed. “Not very professional of me, is it? Falling in love with one of the suspects in a case.”

  “A suspect you dismissed with cause long ago,” Leighton said. “And love is a…complicated thing. I know that.”

  “She’s angry with me,” Owen mused softly. “Because she doesn’t want Abigail to be the murderer.”

  “Nor do any of us.”

  “No, but I think it is in her nature to try to fix this,” Owen said with a shake of his head. “Even if that means destroying everything in her path. That kind of loyalty is admirable. I love her for having it. But I may have to hurt her even more before we’re through. And I hate it.”

  Leighton stared out the window for a moment, apparently lost in his own thoughts. “Let us hope that hurting her, hurting any of them, doesn’t come to pass.” He cleared his throat. “There is the Stag and Serpent. So we’re going to Rosie’s old employer.”

  “She might work there still,” Owen said as the carriage stopped and he pushed the door open to exit. “And if not, they may have the address of her residence or next employer.”

  “A fine notion.” They both stared up at the building, and Leighton shrugged. “Decent enough place, I suppose. My brother went to far worse over the years.”

  Owen led them inside and they took two seats at the bar. They ordered ales, and after they had been delivered, Owen pushed a coin across the table toward the barkeep, a thin man with a scar across his lip.

  “Don’t suppose you might have any information on someone who once worked here,” Owen began.

  The barkeep stared at the coin a moment. “What do you want, toff?”

  “Rosie Stanton,” Owen said. “We’re looking for her.”

  The barkeep sneered as he took the coin. “Rosie don’t work here no more.”

  Leighton leaned closer. “You must have some information about where she lives or might have gone next to work.”

  The man snorted. “None for you, Your Highness.” He turned then and walked away, Owen’s coin in his pocket and with no further information.

  Owen’s heart sank. It wasn’t that the reaction was surprising. The bar wasn’t for those with uppercrust accents. It was for those who saw enough of those with money and supposed polish all day long in their jobs, in their businesses.

  Still, he’d hoped one thing in this God forsaken investigation would be easy. Just this one thing.

  They drank their ales in silence. Owen scanned the room, but there was no one else near who looked amenable to conversation. Anyone else who seemed to work here would no longer look at them. The patrons were few and didn’t seem any more interested.

  “Dead end,” Leighton muttered as he set his empty mug aside.

  “I’m afraid so,” Owen said. “I’ll get some of my connections on the hunt for her. But this would have been easier if we had the information now.”

  Leighton grunted his agreement as they both got up and made their way through the glaring crowd toward the door. They stepped out into the busy streets of Cheapside. Despite the disparaging name, it was a good part of the city. The middle class had homes here, there was bustling trade and even the rich came to visit the shops.

  Owen waved for the carriage to be brought back around and as they waited, he sighed in frustration. As the carriage stopped and Leighton began to climb in, Owen felt a tug on his jacket arm. He pivoted to face the person, on guard for a street beggar or sneaky thief. It was a woman who faced him, and from her apron, he thought she might have followed him from the tavern.

  “’Scuse me, did I hear you asking about Rosie?”

  Owen exchanged a glance with Leighton, who was now leaning out the carriage door to hear what was being said.

  “I did,” Owen said. “Do you know something about her?”

  “For a price,” the woman said, holding out a hand with an arch of her brow.

  Owen dug into his pocket and drew out another coin. He pressed it into her palm. “Two more if the information seems true.”

  She flashed him a grin. “Rosie left over a year ago,” she said. “Went to Bath to shack up with some lover, I heard.”

  “Bath,” Leighton repeated. “Who was the lover?”

  “Some toff like you,” the barmaid said with a little flutter of a gaze over Leighton. “Looked a bit like you, even. But you all look the same. She called him a funny name. Rash, Razzle?”

  Owen jerked his gaze back to Leighton. The earl’s face had lost all color. Owen felt his own doing the same. “Do you know where in Bath?”

  “No, but you ought to know she’s back now,” the woman said with a shrug. “Showed back up a month or so ago and came in to say ’ello to old friends. She lives just outside Lambeth now. Near the smithy there on Colford Road. I visited her a few days ago. Her and her lord and master.”

  Leighton staggered out of the carriage and nearly deposited himself at her feet. “Wait, you said the man she left London for was with her a few days ago?”

  “Aye. Not the babe, though. No explanation for it. Maybe they left ’im with a relative in Bath or some such.”

  Owen blinked. “They had a child?”

  She nodded. “She talked about ’im when I saw her.”

  “Was the lover’s name Erasmus? Ras.”

  “That’s it,” the woman said. “Ras. I hardly paid any mind. Handsome fellow. Bit nervous. But tall as you, my lord.” She flitted her hand at Leighton. “Same eyes.”

  “Thank you,” Owen said, and pressed three more coins into her palm, rather than the promised two. As she went back into the tavern, he faced Leighton. His heart was throbbing so hard, he almost couldn’t hear over the sound. “My lord—”

  “She said my brother was alive,” Leighton said. His tone was blank and his face deathly pale. “Erasmus is alive.”

  “He may well be,” Owen said. “Somehow. Or she might be lying or mistaken. Either way, we need to get to Rosie Stanton’s house right now. Because whatever is happening, it cannot be good.”

  Chapter 22

  The house in Lambeth was nice enough. Small, but bright and well kept. Celeste couldn’t help but wonder who had paid for these accommodations and think of her own desperate hovel in Twiddleport.

  As she followed Abigail and Pippa from the carriage, Abigail said something to her driver and he nodded before he eased the carriage off.

  “I asked him to give us some privacy for a little while before he returns to watch for us,” Abigail said. “Worst case, we can walk down to the village and find him.”

  “We might all need some air after this,” Pippa said softly as she looked up at the house with a shiver. “Are you ready, ladies?”

  Celeste stepped forward to lead the way. “As ready as one can be in these situations. Perhaps she’ll turn out to be another friend.”

  “Yes,” Abigail said with a sigh as she followed. “Perhaps.”


  Her heart throbbing and her hands shaking, Celeste knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence and then movement from within. A woman’s voice calling out, “What did you forget, love?” before she threw open the door.

  She was a little younger than Celeste, no older than her mid-twenties. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes the same color as Abigail’s. In fact, she looked very much like their friend, and judging from the way Abigail stared, she recognized it too.

  But it wasn’t Abigail’s reaction that shocked Celeste from her silence. It was Pippa’s. She pushed forward, her eyes wide. “Rachel?”

  The woman behind the door gasped and started to slam it, but Pippa wedged herself in. “Stop, what are you doing here? Where have you been?”

  “What’s going on?” Abigail asked. “Who is this woman? How do you know her?”

  “I knew her as Rachel Simpson,” Pippa said, still struggling with the door. She shoved hard and the woman staggered back, allowing them entry into the foyer. “She worked for me back in Bath. Ras insisted I take her on as my maid. She had an affair with Ras that resulted in a child, but right before I came to London, she disappeared. She is why I was searching for Ras. But here you are…in a house that is supposed to be for his first lover and…and…”

  She trailed off and staggered back. Celeste’s stomach flipped, nausea and fear and horror all at once.

  “This was a plan, wasn’t it?” Celeste whispered. “You…you and Erasmus never parted ways, even when his father tried to separate you. You carried on even when he married Abigail. You knew he was playing Pippa for a fool. You were part of all of this, weren’t you?”

  Before the woman could answer, the door behind them shut. Celeste pivoted, and her blood ran cold.

  Because Erasmus Montgomery was standing there, a gun trained on her and an angry grimace on his face.

  “You were always the most clever of this bunch,” he said. “I never should have married such a clever woman.”