The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,54

her grief in the end?

Chapter 15

Celeste sat before the fire in the sitting room, her needlepoint in hand, halfway through a stitch, and yet her thoughts were anywhere but in the room. Instead her mind was a jumble, both of good and negative thoughts, memories and fears. She had never trusted the future, after all, but now it just felt so foggy.

“There you are!”

She glanced up as Pippa entered the chamber, a wide smile on her pretty face. Her curly blond hair was just barely tamed today and ringlets swung around her cheeks.

“Good morning,” Celeste said.

“Will it trouble you if I play the pianoforte?” Pippa asked, motioning toward the instrument tucked into the corner of the room.

“Not at all!” Celeste said. “I’m rubbish at it, I fear, but I love to hear others play.”

Pippa smiled and took her place, resting her fingers on the keys with a contented sigh before she began to play. It was a rather melancholy song, but Celeste set her needlepoint aside and shut her eyes, allowing the music to permeate through her. It was such a relief.

After a little while, she opened one eye and peeked at Pippa. She had not yet approached her to find out more about her involvement in Erasmus’s death. If she could do nothing else, at least she had to try to keep her promise to Owen.

The fact that it would give her an excuse to see him was certainly not the reason. Not at all.

“I was thinking about our conversation last night,” she began carefully.

Pippa continued to play. “About?”

“Erasmus.”

There was a slightly mangled sound to the next few notes Pippa played, but she righted herself swiftly. “Erasmus, Erasmus, Erasmus. We three are certainly more interesting than just our ill-fated unions to one liar of a man. I do look forward to the day we don’t ever have to speak of him again.”

“As do I. But so much is left unanswered yet.” Celeste shook her head. “Like his murder. And also if there were other women, perhaps even other wives.” A thought crossed her mind and her stomach turned. “What if there are children?”

Pippa stopped playing abruptly. “None of us had children,” she snapped.

Celeste’s brows went up at the harsh reaction. She treaded carefully as she continued, choosing her words wisely. “No, none of us three did. But in his desperation, it seems the man was not careful in any way. Why assume he would be with lovers he didn’t marry? There might be children.”

Pippa began to play again, but her posture had changed. Her notes were more staccato and some were slightly off key. Celeste couldn’t help but mark all these things and pursue their reason if she could.

“I was also thinking back to when the news of this first broke in the paper,” Celeste continued. “When our names were listed. That seemed to trouble you.”

Pippa glanced at her over the instrument. “It troubled us all. A death knell to our individual futures, was it not? How could one not react?”

“You wanted to see the names, if I recall,” Celeste said softly. “Pippa, were you looking for one in particular?”

“Mine, of course,” she said, but there was no strength to her tone now and her gaze went faraway.

Celeste shook her head. “Not your own. We already knew our names were there. Were you looking for the name of someone else?”

Pippa stood up with a clanging crash of keys and then paced to the window. She stood there, shoulders shaking, for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, she pivoted back. “Why are you so curious, Celeste? Why press this?”

“Because, as Abigail said, we are a sisterhood of sorts. And I hope I can help you.”

That was true to a point, of course. Celeste did want to help. She wanted to find that one piece of information that could remove Pippa from Owen’s list of suspects. She wanted to free her friend for a life and a future once this was over.

But Pippa stared at her like she couldn’t trust her now. She pursed her lips. “Ras didn’t only hurt us, Celeste. There are many others who will suffer for his foolishness. And I will fight to protect them. That is all I will say on the matter.”

“Fight?” Celeste whispered. “Pippa, what are you—”

Pippa came forward a long step. “Your lover wants to know if I’m the killer, does he? And he’s using you to determine that answer?”

Celeste flinched at that assessment, true but not exactly one to paint her in