Chapter 38
When the carriage arrived at Jasper's London townhouse, Abigail was greeted formally by the steward.
Upon entering the home, Mr. Holling inquired if he might show Mrs. Rigby and Emmeline to the nursery and adjoining rooms. Once they'd gone, Jasper stood beside Abigail, calmly introducing her to the assembled staff as they welcomed her with quiet deference.
Afterward, he turned to her and said gently, "Allow me to show you to your rooms. I'll return in an hour to collect you—plenty of time to freshen up after our journey."
Abigail gave a slight nod and followed him upstairs.
The rooms prepared for her were elegant and spacious, with an adjoining door that—she was certain—led to Jasper's chambers. She tried the handle and quietly turned the lock, unwilling to offer even the appearance of invitation.
True to his word, Jasper returned precisely an hour later. He offered his arm. She rested her fingers lightly on it.
"Let's check on Emmeline," he said with a smile. "I'm sure she's quite eager to see you."
He led her up a second flight of stairs to the nursery.
Inside, Mrs. Rigby sat on a plush rug, surrounded by a pile of wooden blocks and cloth dolls. Emmeline looked up and cried with delight, "Mama!"
Then, spotting Jasper behind her, she added cheerfully, "Papa!"
Jasper's expression softened into a radiant smile, warm enough to fill the room.
Abigail's heart tugged. It was still difficult to share her daughter—still strange.
For most of Emmeline's life, it had been just the two of them.
When her little girl had begun calling Jasper "Papa" in February, Abigail had told herself to be content that he brought Emmeline joy.
That joy, she reminded herself, was what mattered most.
"I'm taking your Mama on a little tour. Are you having fun with Mrs. Rigby, my darling?" Jasper asked, crouching in front of her.
Emmeline lifted her arms in silent request. He picked her up with ease, settling her against his hip.
Abigail turned away, choosing instead to study the nursery.
From memory, she noticed the changes immediately.
Jasper had said he'd refurbished it after learning about Emmeline.
The wallpaper was new—a delicate floral design replacing the faded print she recalled from visiting Charlotte as a girl.
A soft rug now covered the floor, and the furniture had been restored or replaced.
Jasper crossed the room to a painted toy chest and opened it. "These were Papa's toys when he was a boy," he told Emmeline, naming each item as she pointed in delight.
Abigail moved toward Mrs. Rigby, who was just rising from the floor.
"How are you finding everything? Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?" she asked in quick succession.
"I am quite comfortable, please don't worry over me, Your Grace," Mrs. Rigby replied with a soft smile, patting Abigail's cheek.
"Thank you for coming with us. Your presence means more than I can say," Abigail said, placing her hand over Mrs. Rigby's.
"I wouldn't wish to be anywhere else, Abigail."
Abigail smiled, gratitude swelling in her chest. Mrs. Rigby stepped forward and gently took Emmeline from Jasper's arms.
"Time for Mama and Papa's tour, little Dove," she whispered, using the endearment she'd used since Emmeline's birth.
Jasper offered his arm again. Abigail cast a final glance at her daughter before taking it and following him out.
Despite her quiet reminders that she'd visited the townhouse many times—whether as Charlotte's guest, for one of their parents' dinner parties, or while Jasper was courting her—Jasper insisted on showing her every room.
He pointed out improvements, upcoming renovations, and shared distant memories.
When they returned to her chambers, a new ladies' maid awaited to help her dress for dinner.
The young woman helped her into a pale blue silk gown trimmed in ivory lace. Her hair was styled in a soft chignon, with curled tendrils framing her face.
Just as the last pearl pin was placed, a knock sounded at the door.
Jasper stood there in a deep navy evening coat, his cravat perfectly tied.
"You look beautiful," he said simply. "Shall we collect our daughter?"
"Yes, please," she replied, managing a faint but genuine smile.
Dinner was warm and lively. Emmeline chattered between bites, occasionally reaching for Jasper's hand or tugging on Abigail's sleeve. A footstool and cushion had been arranged so she could sit comfortably at the table.
When the meal ended, Mrs. Rigby returned to collect her for her bath and bedtime.
"I love you, my sweet girl," Abigail whispered, kissing her cheeks.
"Love Mama," Emmeline murmured sleepily. Jasper followed with a kiss of his own.
After she'd gone, Jasper gestured toward the hall.
"Would you care to join me for a glass of wine? The Blue Salon is quite comfortable. I thought it might be a pleasant way to end the evening."
Abigail hesitated.
"Please," he added softly. "We need to speak about a few things. Now seems as good a time as any."
At last, she nodded. "Very well. A glass of wine, then."
He called for wine and a tray of fruit and cheese. The moment they sat, the refreshments arrived—too quickly, she thought. He'd planned this.
She perched at the edge of the sofa, untouched wine in hand. Jasper took the nearby chair. Silence stretched between them.
"Please," he said finally. "Relax, Abigail. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I shall try," she replied, flatly—and with no such intention.
He let the title slide. "I've scheduled an appointment tomorrow with Madame Mercier—London's finest modiste. You and Emmeline will need new wardrobes for the Season. Afterward, I thought we might enjoy a picnic in the park."
Abigail's eyes narrowed. He wasn't asking. He was informing her.
"You do realize what will happen if we're seen in the park with Emmeline?" she asked.
He began to reply, but she continued, her voice low and tight.
"The gossip. The speculation. Why was the duke’s new bride absent last Season? Why did he attend alone if she was expecting—or had just given birth? Why didn't he stay with her during her confinement? Was there a scandal? Did she do something to be cast aside?"
She regretted saying so much. She'd promised herself—bare minimum. No feelings. Nothing that could be turned against her. It was bad enough he could take their child, make decisions without her, hold all the power.
"Abigail," he said gently, "if anything, they'll think poorly of me for leaving my wife. No one knows the truth. All the world knows is that we courted two Seasons ago—and then married."
She placed her glass down and stood. Fine, she thought. I'll start again tomorrow. One-word answers from now on.
"If that is what you believe, Your Grace, very well. We shall follow your lead."
For a breath, she nearly held her tongue—the resolve of moments past warring with the rising tide of fury.
Then the dam broke.
Her words poured out, voice low at first, but rising with each deliberate beat:
"You decided you liked me. You pursued me. You proposed to me. Married me.
Then you changed your mind.
You exiled me. Punished me.
Because you chose to.
Then—when you finally learn the truth—you decide you want me again.
So you force me into your home. Parade our daughter around as if she'd always been wanted.
But you never even considered the possibility of a child after our wedding night.
I am nothing more than a plaything to you. Yours to discard. Yours to reclaim.
That is the truth you do not want to face."
"Abigail," he said, his voice thick with regret, "I was hoping we could spend this Season finding our way back to each other. That we might begin again. That we could still build the life we once dreamed of—before I ruined it."
"Well, if that is what you want, I'm sure it will happen," she retorted.
"Because as for what I want? What I truly want?
I wish you had never found us at Bramblewick.
That I'd never had to set eyes on you again."
She drew a breath, steady but cold. "If it pleases Your Grace, I'd like to retire. I have a headache."
"I don't want you to feel forced into anything," he said quietly. "I only hoped to show you—through my actions—how sorry I am. How much I love you. Of course, you may go to bed. Would you like an escort?"
"I'm sure I'll manage. Good night, Your Grace."
She turned for the door.
"I love you, Abigail," he said behind her. "All I want is to show you—with my words and actions. I know I broke something precious. But I need the chance to prove I can mend it. Not just for me. For Emmeline. For you."
He paused. "You deserve more than an apology. You deserve to feel whole again. And if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make that happen."
She said nothing.
But her fingers tightened on the doorknob before she slipped into the corridor.
Upstairs, she let her maid undress her in silence. She dismissed the girl early, changed into her nightgown, and padded barefoot to the window.
The stars over London were fewer than in the country, but they were still there— distant and cool.
She stared up at them for a long time, replaying Jasper's words in her mind.
She still didn't have an answer.
But for the first time in a long while, she found herself wanting one.