The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,61

the portrait was passing into the chamber. She had dark, tightly curly hair and flawless tawny skin. Her high cheekbones and full lips reminded Celeste of a painting she’d once seen of Helen of Troy.

“Celeste, may I present Lena Bright. And Lena, this is my dear friend Celeste,” Harriet said as Lena stepped to her side. “And I’m sorry, sir, in all the excitement I did not yet ask your name.”

Celeste blinked and jerked her gaze back to Owen, who had been quietly observing and making no attempt to insert himself in the conversation. “Oh, my manners. Gracious, Harriet, you will think I forgot everything you ever taught me. This is Mr. Owen Gregory. A…a friend.”

“Mr. Gregory,” Harriet said, shaking his hand, but Celeste still knew her well enough to see she was taking him in, wondering about him. Judging whatever she saw there on the surface.

“Mr. Gregory,” Lena said with a brief smile toward him. Then she turned brown eyes on Celeste. “And dearest Celeste. I cannot believe it has taken so long for us to meet.”

She clasped both Celeste’s hands with her own and then leaned in to press a kiss to each cheek. Celeste found herself stunned by the pure essence of the woman. It was no wonder she was so popular despite all the marks against her that might make that unlikely. Celeste had no doubt Lena wound a spell around everyone she came in contact with and there was no escaping, nor even a yearning to do so.

“Sit,” Harriet insisted, and pointed toward the settee. “I’ll pour the tea.”

She and Owen did as they had been asked, taking the settee together as Lena chose one of the chairs across from them. In a few moments, Harriet joined them with tea for all and for a while their party was nothing but pleasant catching up with old friends. Neither woman mentioned Erasmus or the scandal of his death, and Celeste found herself relaxing.

This was what she had missed. What she had loved finding here in London both with Abigail and Pippa, and now with Harriet and Lena. As they spoke, she watched them together. Their love for each other was plain as day and became plainer as they relaxed around Owen. They sometimes completed each other’s sentences, and from time to time Lena would rest a hand on Harriet’s back or stroke her knuckles.

It seemed so easy for them, and Celeste was happy for Harriet. Her outspoken, intelligent friend hadn’t had the simplest life, and Celeste was nothing but pleased to see her settled and contented. Yet it also made her feel other things. A longing to have that same kind of union. And a powerful awareness of the man sitting to her right. The one close enough that Owen, too, could have rested a hand in comfort on her shoulder. Except that wasn’t the relationship they had. They’d been lovers once, they were becoming…friends, she supposed she might call it.

But beyond that? There was no certainty.

“And so how did you and Mr. Gregory meet?” Lena asked, and the question dragged Celeste out of her musings.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He had stiffened slightly. “Well,” she said. “We…he…”

“We share a few acquaintances,” he supplied with a brief glance at her.

He was trying to protect her. And the fact that he would warmed her to her very toes. And yet when she glanced at Harriet and Lena, she didn’t feel she needed to hide. She couldn’t, at any rate. They might be behaving in a polite manner by not confronting Celeste’s situation, but they knew.

Of course they knew. Everyone knew.

“Owen is investigating the death of my…” She trailed off. “I suppose I cannot call him my husband.”

Saying the words, not hiding away from them anymore, gave her a strange sense of relief. One that multiplied when Harriet looked at her with the exact same affection and understanding as she ever had. Her friend didn’t judge her. But now she realized that she never could have. Celeste felt silly for ever believing she might.

“Oh, Celeste,” Harriet said softly. “I am so very sorry.”

Celeste shrugged. “You have been kind to avoid the subject, but I know you must be curious about my circumstances.”

Lena snorted out a breath and reached for Harriet’s hand. She drew it into her own lap and held it there, cupped between hers, as if she could protect the woman she loved. “Curiosity is fine in measure. We only wish to