The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,38

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