Chapter 28
Jasper's horse trotted along the tree-lined road to Bramblewick, its hooves muffled by the thin layer of snow that sat on the road.
He sat tall and impeccably dressed, but his polished exterior barely concealed the nerves twisting in his gut.
The letter from Lord Nathaniel had arrived at first light, and he'd wasted no time. He rode straight into the village after inquiring at his leased home as to where he might find what he required, and was duly directed to the local seamstress’s shop. .
Inside, shelves brimmed with charm—homespun cloth, polished buttons, and rows of hand-crafted rag dolls. The scent of lavender hung in the air.
The seamstress had made small talk. Hoping to gauge what she knew, Jasper casually mentioned the doll was for the Duke and Duchess of Everly's granddaughter. "She's a quiet one, the little miss. She is going to love this doll," the seamstress lovingly said as she handed Jasper his purchase.
The rag doll wore a soft pink dress, with a white lace bonnet perched atop its head. Brown yarn peeked out like wild curls beneath the hat, and a painted face smiled faintly from the white cotton. It reminded him of the dolls his sister used to cradle, though hers had been far more intricate.
He had also commissioned a stuffed rabbit toy, the seamstress said one could be made for him in a few days time.
Now, with the doll carefully tucked into his jacket, Jasper dismounted at Bramblewicks entrance. The doorman greeted him without expression and ushered him inside.
The morning room glowed with filtered light. Grace and Nathaniel sat side by side on one settee, dignified and still. On the other, Philip and Sophia, visibly pregnant, nodded a quiet greeting. But Abigail was nowhere to be seen.
He took the high-backed chair they gestured to, grateful for the support.
A maid entered with a gleaming tea cart, setting down the tray with precision. Teacups clinked, porcelain chimed. Grace poured for them all, then set her cup aside. She folded her hands in her lap and looked directly at him.
"Nathaniel told us you stopped by a few days ago," she began. Her voice was composed but cool, like water just starting to ice over. "Looking for our daughter."
Jasper nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
"You told him, and Philip as well, the story of what happened. Why you did what you did." Her lips tightened. "Out of loyalty- evidently misplaced loyalty- to your sister, you said."
He flinched at the tone. "Yes."
"I was appalled by what Charlotte did," she continued, her voice steady but flat. "The lies. The manipulation. But I was doubly appalled by what you did to Abigail—by the choices you made. We may not yet know everything, but what we do know is enough to leave us utterly horrified."
Jasper's brows furrowed. "I... I don't understand. You say you're not aware of everything that transpired. But surely—Abigail told you?"
Grace's face went rigid. But it was Nathaniel who answered.
"No," he said quietly. "That is precisely why we wanted to speak with you first. Before Abigail joins us."
Jasper's heart thudded.
"You've told us what happened from your side," Nathaniel went on, voice low but firm. "Let me show you what happened after you drove away from Graystone Hollow."
He reached into his coat and retrieved a folded letter; the paper softened at the creases. He handed it to Jasper.
"You may read it yourself. It arrived despite it not being properly posted.... It was addressed to 'The Duke and Duchess of Browning, Lyndhurst.' I dismissed it. But Grace did not."
Jasper unfolded the letter and read:
Your Graces, the Duke and Duchess Browning,
My name is Mrs. Martha Rigby. I am the caretaker of Graystone Hollow Manor near Bournemouth, on the southern coast.
I do not wish to speak ill of my employer, Lord Jasper Finch. But I feel I must tell you: your daughter, Lady Abigail, was left here nearly three months ago. She was dropped off with her belongings and then... he drove away.
Since that day, she has scarcely moved or spoken. At first, she wept constantly, gazing out the windows like she expected him to return. Then even that stopped. She began staring at the nothing. Not eating. Barely sleeping.
I have been the one to bathe her, dress her, brush and braid her hair. She only responds when prompted. Her tears now fall silently. She does not see, does not hear, does not live.
And now she is sick. She vomits frequently, has lost weight, and I fear she may be with child.
The funds provided to sustain the household were meant to last until spring. But no address was left to request more—or to seek counsel. I am afraid to call a doctor and deplete our coin too soon, but I cannot sit by and do nothing.
The staff at the house are certain you are not aware that your daughter is here. I cannot imagine anyone leaving their child here if they knew, Your Graces.
Please come for her. Take her home. If she is expecting, she will need her mother's care.
She will need you.
—Mrs. Martha Rigby
Jasper lowered the letter with shaking hands. "Dear God..." he whispered. "Is she—? Is Abigail— Is she all right?"
Nathaniel's eyes were hard. "No. She Isn't. Not for a long time."
Grace looked away, tears in her eyes.
"When we received the letter, we went immediately," Nathaniel said.
"And found our daughter wasting away, pregnant, and completely silent.
You had left her at a remote estate after bedding her and vanishing without any means of contact.
Did it not occur to you, Jasper, that such a night could result in a child? "
Jasper's throat closed. His entire body felt like it was breaking apart from the inside out.
"We brought her home. We nursed her. We waited. For months, she did not speak, did not smile. She did not acknowledge us."
He paused, then added quietly, "And then, in the fifth month of her pregnancy, something shifted. She began to eat again. She began to dress herself. She began to cradle her stomach."
Grace continued softly, "We were still unsure of what would happen after the babe was born. But after laboring, your daughter was put on her chest and Abigail watched her nurse and then spoke... she named her."
Nathaniel's voice was like flint striking stone. "That was the first real word she'd said in nearly six months. 'Emmeline.'"
Jasper closed his eyes as pain overwhelmed him. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted in his lap.
"She keeps Emmeline with her at all times," Grace added. "We have a nurse, but she barely allows the child out of her arms. It's as though she fears the baby will vanish too."
Jasper tried to speak, but nothing came. No defense. No excuse. Only shame.
"She will be in shortly," Nathaniel said. "She knows you're here. But she likely won't speak to you. She may not even look at you."
"She may not let you near the baby," Grace said gently. "So do not expect it."
Jasper nodded, his throat burning. "I deserve nothing."
"No," said Nathaniel. "You don't."
He sat there, silent, the rag doll still hidden in his jacket. And in that moment, Jasper knew with painful clarity:
He had murdered something sacred.
Abigail's light.
Her trust.
And maybe—if he was too late—her love.