Chapter 54
The Season had been full.
Since the first ball they attended together, invitations had poured in—musical evenings, private dinners, luncheons, gallery showings, and more balls than Jasper could count.
At first, the invitations had come out of curiosity.
Abigail's absence the previous Season had made her return notable; her arrival—beside her husband, the duke, and with their child in tow—doubly so.
There had been whispers, of course. Lingering stares and gossip hissed quietly behind fluttering fans.
But when no scandal emerged—when the Duke and Duchess of Winterset conducted themselves with quiet grace and unshakable civility—the speculation faded into polite interest. The invitations kept coming, but they no longer felt like tests.
And somewhere along the way, it all began to feel... real.
Not just a performance for society's sake, but a life—slowly and cautiously being rebuilt.
They spoke more easily now, laughed more freely.
Jasper had learned when to press and when to let Abigail take the reins.
She had grown used to the warmth of his hand on hers during carriage rides, to the way he offered his arm without hesitation, and to how he always lingered just a moment longer after saying goodnight—though she had not yet closed the distance between them.
She hadn't yet invited him into her bed. But she hadn't pulled away, either.
Today's garden party was different, though familiar.
Her parents' London estate opened its gates each summer for a grand gathering.
It was a tradition she'd once loved, before everything had unraveled.
Philip and Sophia had hosted the event last year while staying at the Everly townhouse for the Season—the estate's steward had helped Sophia manage the planning—but with her parents' return this Season, the event would be grander.
She adjusted the ribbon of her bonnet as their carriage turned onto the tree-lined drive, her gloves already warm from the sun.
Martha had insisted on staying behind with Emmeline and baby Frederick, whose nanny had been feeling under the weather.
This allowed Philip and Sophia to attend the party as well.
When they'd left, Emmeline had been absolutely giddy, peeking out the window in search of Philip and Sophia's carriage with her cousin.
Jasper sat across from her, watching with the quiet attentiveness that had become second nature to him.
"It looks the same," she said softly, taking in the manicured hedges, the white tent in the distance, the burst of florals crowding the drive.
"It does," Jasper agreed. "But I imagine it feels rather different this year."
She met his gaze briefly. "Everything does."
The carriage slowed to a stop. Footmen approached to open the doors.
Jasper stepped out first, then offered his hand.
Abigail took it.
The party was everything she remembered: elegantly dressed guests, perfectly manicured gardens, music floating above the laughter and the clink of crystal glasses. Abigail moved through the crowd with practiced ease, Jasper ever at her side.
They danced once, then again. Her parents beamed at the sight. Old friends greeted her warmly—some with genuine affection, others with the performative politeness the ton wore like jewelry. But none of it mattered much today.
Today felt light. And Abigail hadn't felt light in a long time.
Later, as the sun dipped lower and golden shadows stretched across the lawn, Abigail slipped away with her mother. They stood near a rose arbor, the distant strains of a waltz drifting through the garden.
"You and Jasper seem well," Grace said gently, her voice thoughtful, her gaze warm.
Abigail hesitated, then nodded. "We are. I think we are. He's been... patient. Kind. And I missed him more than I realized. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to fight what I still feel."
Grace touched her arm. "And what do you feel?"
Abigail gave a soft, helpless laugh. "That I love him. Still. That I want more. But is it foolish? After everything? Am I wrong to want him back? Would you think less of me?"
Grace's expression didn't falter. "Never."
She paused, then added, "No marriage is perfect, Abigail.
Even the happiest couples leave small wounds on one another with carelessness or pride.
Most of those wounds are healable—they fade with time and care.
What Jasper did... it caused a grievous wound.
But a wound, no matter how deep, can heal. And when it does, it leaves a scar."
She looked at her daughter with quiet tenderness.
"Scars don't vanish, Abigail—but they do soften. They fade. The memory remains, but the pain dulls. It becomes part of your story, not the whole of it."
Abigail swallowed hard, blinking fast against the sting in her eyes.
"Only you can decide," Grace continued softly, "whether to keep it raw and aching—or to allow him, with care and time, to help you heal. It won't be easy. But if you choose to let love in again—truly let it in—I believe it can become something stronger than what was lost."
Abigail breathed in slowly.
"Thank you, Mama."
Grace smiled, her voice tender. "You always had the most beautiful heart, Abigail. It hurt me so to see it wounded—but it's a joy to see it healing again."
They stood in silence for a moment longer, surrounded by roses, the music drifting behind them as the golden light settled over the gardens like a blessing.