The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,37

for her.”

Owen couldn’t help but think of Celeste’s soft sigh when he took her lips. Of the sweetness of making her smile or teasing some clever observation from her mind. He shook his head.

“I would like to be good for her,” he muttered, and then immediately wished he could take it back. Whether his suspicions about the man had been alleviated or not, Leighton wasn’t his friend. He was his employer, at best. It wasn’t right for Owen to hand over personal information, personal connection to a stranger. “I beg your pardon.”

Leighton shrugged. “My brother created chaos, Mr. Gregory. It was his forte for all the years of his far-too-short life. If any kind of happiness or pleasure, permanent or temporary, could come out of what he’s done, I would be glad of it. Certainly there is little I can do to create it.”

Owen wrinkled his brow. “Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?”

Leighton’s lips thinned. “No. There cannot be. I know that. I accept it, however reluctantly.” He pushed to his feet. “And now I have intruded upon your privacy for far too long. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

“I will,” Owen said as he followed his guest to the door of the study. “And my lord?”

Leighton turned back. “Yes?”

“Perhaps it isn’t my place, but I do feel that sometimes when the relationship wasn’t…easy, then the rest is harder when it comes to loss. To grief. But you are trying to do right by Mr. Montgomery. That makes you a good brother.”

Leighton’s expression softened slightly, a trickle of relief cutting through the stone of his countenance. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Good afternoon.”

The earl tipped his head and then he departed toward the foyer. Owen shut the study door and leaned back against it. He had a great deal to think about when it came to his case. But it wasn’t all the new information that ricocheted through his mind like an errant bullet.

No, it was thoughts of Celeste, and the idea that pursuing the desire, the connection he felt toward her might not be a losing proposition.

Chapter 11

“Is there any letter, Paisley?” Celeste asked as the butler brought a tray of tea into the parlor and set it on the sideboard, arranging it to perfection.

He smiled at her. “No, madam. However, you did only send out your missive this morning. So it might be too early to expect a reply.”

Celeste’s cheeks heated. She had taken almost two days to write her message to Harriet after Owen’s encouragement. Partly because she didn’t know exactly what to say to explain her arrival in London. Partly because she feared the response. And now she was anxious and worried and silly as a schoolgirl.

“Of course,” she murmured.

“May I get you anything else?” Paisley asked.

“Nothing, thank you,” she said.

“And what about you, Mrs. Montgomery?”

Celeste turned and realized that Abigail was standing in the doorway, observing the room with that quiet, intelligent elegance she always portrayed. Unreadable, as always, but never unkind. “No, thank you Paisley. That will be all.”

The butler left the room and Abigail closed the door behind him. When she turned back, Celeste’s heart leapt a bit. In the handful of days since her arrival in London, she had begun to know her fellow wives better. She liked them both immensely. Where she had feared censure, she had only found kindness. Where she had expected judgment, only understanding.

Pippa was softer about it. More direct in her offers of a shoulder to cry upon if it were needed. Celeste had taken her up on it a few times, though Abigail always seemed capable of controlling her reactions to the situation they found themselves in.

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