Epilogue I
The sea air tasted of salt and calm. Abigail stood on the porch of the villa, the wind teasing strands of hair loose from her braid, and thought—with quiet certainty—that she had made the right choice in coming here.
Life felt slower, gentler, as though the very waves had washed away some of the weight she'd carried for so long.
There were still scars. Sometimes, when the house was quiet and Jasper had stepped away, she could feel the echo of that old ache—the one he had caused, the one that had nearly broken her. But those days were fewer now, fleeting things that passed like clouds across a brightening sky.
Earlier that afternoon, a letter had arrived from her parents.
She smiled as she recalled its words, full of excitement for the visit to come.
In just a few short weeks, they would travel to Roselawn to spend the holidays with her family—their family now.
Abigail knew her parents bore scars of their own from what Jasper had done, but his visible remorse and all the ways he had made amends since finding her and Emmeline at Bramblewick last Christmas had gone a long way toward healing those wounds.
When they had left London, her father had clasped Jasper's hand firmly, her mother had kissed his cheek, and Philip had offered a handshake and quiet words of truce before bidding them farewell.
After their evening meal, they had walked the shoreline together, Emmeline darting ahead of them with shrieks of delight as she ran barefoot across the damp sand, stooping to gather tiny shells and smooth stones, holding each up as if it were treasure before racing on.
Abigail and Jasper had followed at an easy pace, hands entwined, watching as their daughter's laughter mingled with the crash of the waves.
Later, when sleep finally claimed her, one small fist remained curled protectively around a piece of sea glass she had refused to let go of.
Abigail rested her hand on the porch railing and glanced at Jasper, who sat on the steps below, eyes fixed on the horizon. When he noticed her presence, he looked over his shoulder at her, his smile soft and content—the kind that still made her heart ache in the sweetest way.
She thought back to a quiet evening the week before, when they'd lingered over dessert wine on the villa's terrace.
The sea had been calm, the lanternlight soft, and she had finally asked about Charlotte.
Jasper's answer had been gentle but heavy: he had arranged for his sister to be placed in a private asylum in Surrey, where the doctors claimed she was making slow progress.
Abigail hadn't known what to feel in that moment—pity, sorrow, relief.
Charlotte had once been her friend, before bitterness and lies had poisoned everything between them.
She knew Jasper carried his own grief for his sister, but neither of them felt guilt anymore.
That chapter, too, had finally been set down.
Abigail stepped from the porch, the cool sand shifting beneath her feet as she crossed to where Jasper sat. He reached for her hand, threading his fingers with hers as the sea whispered against the shore. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes breathing in his familiar scent.
This was peace. There was nothing to fight for, nothing to run from. Just this. Just them.
And as the sun dipped low over the water, she looked at Jasper from the cradle of his shoulder and knew, with unwavering certainty, that all the wonderful hopes and dreams they had once spoken of during their engagement—having a large family, traveling, growing old together—were finally within reach.