Chapter 42
Today was Emmeline's first birthday.
In the soft light of the nursery, Abigail knelt beside her daughter, fastening the last tiny pearl button on the back of a delicate white lawn gown—fine muslin edged in embroidery and finished with a beautiful aquamarine silk sash that matched her eyes.
The gown had been a gift from her mother and father, along with a pair of ivory kid slippers and a silver rattle Emmeline had already tossed beneath the settee.
Abigail smiled faintly as she ran a gentle hand over her daughter's golden curls.
In the past few weeks, they'd begun to take shape—soft honey-blonde ringlets that sprang free no matter how carefully she tried to tame them.
Today, she'd tied a small ribbon to one side, just enough to keep them from falling in her eyes.
When Abigail straightened, Emmeline caught her finger and tugged insistently. She had begun walking just days ago and seemed determined to walk everywhere now—never mind how slowly or unsteadily.
"All right," Abigail said softly, letting the little girl lead her as far as the nursery stairs.
At the top step, Emmeline paused, looked down, then lifted her arms with perfect trust. Abigail gathered her up and kissed her warm cheek, breathing in the scent of lavender and something uniquely Emmeline.
They descended together, Abigail's hand firm on the railing, her daughter tucked close. At the landing, Abigail let Emmeline down again, watching her toddle toward the next flight of stairs with bright, eager eyes. Then she carried her the rest of the way to the ground floor.
The Winterset townhouse had awakened early for the occasion. The staff had been bustling since dawn, and the scent of sugared buns and lemon cakes drifted in from the kitchens. Emmeline's laughter echoed softly through the corridor.
The ballroom hadn't seen a celebration since the Winterset Season's End Ball held during Abigail's debut Season.
Jasper had danced every set with her. He had proposed the very next day.
Now, the same polished floors gleamed once more beneath silken slippers and tiny feet.
Garlands of pale spring flowers were strung along the corniced archways, sunlight pouring through the tall windows to touch the crystal with gold.
Jasper was waiting just before the ballroom doors.
Abigail adjusted Emmeline in her arms, the baby's soft curls brushing her cheek as she nestled closer.
Jasper offered his arm. Abigail took it without hesitation, and together they entered—his Duchess and their daughter, stepping forward as a family.
And at the heart of it all—Emmeline. Their daughter.
Friends and family had gathered to celebrate the first birthday of Lady Emmeline Finch.
They moved slowly through the room at first, greeting well-wishers and introducing Emmeline to a few familiar faces—friends of Jasper's, Abigail's, and their parents'.
Though she could not possibly understand the significance of the day, Emmeline accepted each new greeting with delight, waving and babbling as if she had been born to it.
Abigail's parents, the Duke and Duchess of Everly, had arrived earlier and now stood near the far end of the ballroom.
Jasper's great-aunt, Lady Eugenia, had made the journey down from Norfolk and would remain with them for another two days. She'd declared Emmeline to be "the image of a Finch," and then had promptly stolen her away for a long cuddle beneath the rose-draped garlands.
Abigail's mother, too, took Emmeline for a time, chatting fondly with Mrs. Rigby and occasionally pausing to speak with friends and family who approached. The little girl basked in it all, tugging on whatever ribbon or ruffle caught her eye.
Music drifted from a trio in the corner—a soft waltz, then a lively country reel. Jasper had engaged a small ensemble for the day, not to fill the room with sound, but to make it feel alive.
When Emmeline was happily distracted, Jasper turned to Abigail. "Will you dance with me?"
She hesitated just long enough to feel the echo of old heartbreak, then nodded. "Yes."
He held her lightly, carefully—but she felt every place their bodies touched. As the music swelled, he guided her through the steps of the same dance they'd shared at her debut.
"You still remember it," she said.
"I couldn't forget if I tried."
They moved together through the crowd—not quite the center of attention, but not unnoticed either. A few older ladies whispered behind fans. The younger ones watched with thinly veiled envy. But Jasper's gaze never left her face.
When the dance ended, he bent low, brushing a kiss over the back of her gloved hand.
"I'm glad you remember," he said softly. "The memory of that dance has kept me warm on colder days than I care to admit. And I'm glad it meant something to you too."