Chapter 30
Abigail shifted slightly in the armchair; one arm wrapped protectively around Emme's waist—just enough to steady her daughter.
Emmeline giggled softly. Her doll's cotton dress was rumpled from eager little fingers, and she tugged at its tiny bonnet with fierce concentration as she sat nestled safely in her mother's lap.
Across the room, Jasper sat, hands clasped, shoulders stiff, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.
She didn't understand why he was here.
Her family had told her the day before that Jasper had come to Bramblewick, intending to speak with her. She hadn't believed it. Not really. It had been a long time since she'd truly thought of him, not since the fog had settled over her mind.
Once, he had been her everything. Her sun. Her moon. Her stars. Her world, wrapped in promises of love and forever.
And then he was gone.
He'd turned on her with cruel words and crueler silence, abandoning her without explanation. She had waited at first, desperate for clarity—for something to make sense. But none came. Only silence.
Then, through the grey fog that dulled the edges of her mind, she had felt Emmeline move—just a flutter in her womb. And she had become her anchor. Her purpose.
From that moment on, everything else fell away. The betrayal. The heartbreak. The past.
There was only Emmeline.
A soft clink drew her from her reverie—her mother placing a steaming cup of tea beside her. Abigail murmured a quiet thank you but didn't reach for it. Her eyes returned to Jasper.
He looked older. Tired. And yet still familiar in a way that made something bruised and buried inside her ache.
She remembered how she'd once known him only as her friend Charlotte's brother, and her older brother's best friend. But at her coming out ball, something had shifted. She had looked at him and seen her forever—and believed she saw the same reflected in his eyes.
Especially after he had proposed. Especially when he had married her.
But she had been mistaken.
When she looked at him now, she didn't think she saw that man anymore.
She said nothing.
Jasper cleared his throat after receiving her nod to go ahead.
He told her everything. Some of it she already knew, but he insisted she deserved to hear it from him directly—that she deserved the full truth.
Jasper began with how Charlotte had stayed behind in London with friends from seminary school after the season ended, while he and Abigail had retired to the country to prepare for their engagement party and wedding.
At the same time, Philip had traveled to Bromwell House to be near his fiancée, Sophia, and her father, the Earl of Blackwell.
Charlotte had returned to the country in time for the engagement party.
However the day after the party, she came to Jasper, claiming she and Philip had been intimate during her time in London.
That Philip loved her, had promised to break off his engagement to Sophia, and wanted to marry her instead.
That she was currently pregnant with Philip's child.
Jasper had been stunned. Confused.
He went immediately to their father Nathaniel, and to Philip.
Philip, baffled, denied everything. He insisted he hadn't seen Charlotte at all during her time in London—certainly not privately.
He declared his love for Sophia and his complete devotion to their future together.
He reminded Jasper of Charlotte's temperament—how she could twist words, how she used people to suit her needs.
Jasper had believed him. At first.
He told Charlotte that Philip denied it all—that he believed Philip—and reminded her she would have another Season to find the man who was truly meant for her.
But the day before Jasper's wedding, Charlotte collapsed in sobs, screaming in pain and cried that she was bleeding. She claimed to have lost the baby. She said it was Philip's rejection—and Jasper's betrayal—that caused her such distress. She no longer wished to live.
Jasper confronted Philip again. And though Philip continued to deny everything, all Jasper could see was his sister's devastation. Her wild eyes. Her trembling hands. Her cries of anguish for the child she said she'd lost.
Philip had remained unmoved. Cold. Detached.
And that—more than anything—was the wound Jasper could not reconcile.
"I wanted him to suffer for what I thought he did to her," Jasper said, voice cracking. "He refused to be accountable, so I made you pay the price instead."
She remembered those days only in fragments now—like glimpses through a shattered mirror. She hadn't understood his sudden change. How the man who had once claimed to love her so deeply could turn on her so completely.
She had thought he'd come back.
He hadn't.
Jasper's voice broke the silence again.
"By the following spring, I visited Charlotte again," he said. "And the truth came out. She confessed her lie: she had never been pregnant. She had tried to manipulate Philip into marrying her because she believed she was entitled to him. That it was her right.
"I wanted to return to you so many times," Jasper whispered, "but I kept imagining our parents' disappointed faces if I dared to love the sister of the man I believed had destroyed their daughter."
He shook his head.
"Once Charlotte admitted everything, I left at once. I rode to Graystone Hollow to beg your forgiveness."
He paused.
"But when I arrived, it was empty. Deserted. You were gone."
And thus he returned to the first truth he had confessed—that he had hired an investigator to aid him in his search.
He had moved into Roselawn, trusting that proximity to Lyndhurst—and to Philip and Sophia—might grant him some glimpse of Abigail or her parents.
Some clue as to where she had gone. Then just before Christmas, he saw Philip and Sophia's carriage leave late at night and, desperate, had it followed.
Now he stood slowly, crossing the room to kneel at her feet.
He looked at Emmeline, who was chewing on the hem of her doll's dress. His eyes filled with tears.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, voice breaking.
Emme reached toward him, baby-curious, and Abigail tensed instinctively—but didn't pull her away.
Jasper extended a finger, and Emmeline wrapped her drool-covered hand around it. Jasper smiled through his tears, looking at his daughter.
"I'm so sorry, Abigail," he said, turning his gaze to her. "When I saw you at your debut, I knew you were my forever. And still, I believed a lie. I left you. Pregnant. Alone. I deserve to be on my knees until the end of my days."
She said nothing.
"My sister is not well," he added after a moment.
"She's violent, manipulative... unpredictable.
She behaves almost childlike—demanding things with the voice of a toddler and expecting the world to give in.
She's kept under constant care now. Specialty nurses.
Maids. All under our great-aunt's roof."
He looked into Abigail's eyes.
"I thought I was honoring my duty to her. But I see now—I only shamed my duty to you. My parents would have been horrified at what I did."
His voice dropped.
"I don't expect forgiveness. But I needed to tell you the truth. You deserved that much. And I beg you... please don't send me away."
Abigail looked past him. She had listened, but not all the words had stayed. Some drifted past her like wind.
She stood slowly, adjusting Emmeline in her arms. The baby let go of Jasper's finger without protest.
"It's time for Emme's lunch," Abigail said, announcing it to the room flatly. "We'll retire to my room."
Jasper remained kneeling.
She paused at the door. "Good day, Your Grace," she added, not turning to look at him—her voice distant.
As she walked out, she passed a servant in the hall and asked for porridge with fruit to be brought to her room for Emme's lunch.
Outside her door, Mrs. Rigby waited, her eyes full of concern. Abigail said nothing, brushing past into the quiet sanctuary of her room. She sat silently until Martha arrived with the tray.
Emmeline reached eagerly for Martha, and Abigail relinquished her—reluctantly. The older woman settled the baby easily and began feeding her, smiling and murmuring something silly that made Emme giggle.
Abigail turned toward the window.
The winter sun shone bright in the otherwise clear sky. No clouds. No snow. Just sharp light—harsh and brilliant.
Behind her, Emmeline laughed, soft and content. Martha responded with cheerful nonsense.
And Abigail sat still. Staring.
Her daughter was safe. Nearby. Loved.
But she—she did not know what to feel. Not yet. Not fully. Everything Jasper had said pressed against her, heavy and unrelenting. Guilt. Truth. Betrayal. Regret.
And so, she did the only thing she could.
She shut the door of her mind. Quietly. Carefully.
Her eyes grew unfocused. Her thoughts less sharp.
Until eventually, she receded into the safety of her own mind.