Jasper left soon after.
As he walked back through the gardens between their two estates, his thoughts churned.
Had he ever truly known Philip? Or the Browning family?
He had a duty to Charlotte, whether she deserved it or not. As her guardian, he must think of her future, her well-being, her name.
And if Philip had truly wronged her and thought he could walk away untouched — then he was gravely mistaken.
He would be at the chapel, yes — smiling, devoted, the picture of a besotted groom.
But the future Abigail dreamed of? That future was already dead.
Just like the trust he'd once had in her brother.
The honeymoon she imagined, the life she envisioned — it would all look very different now.
Because if Philip thought he could ruin his sister without consequence... then Jasper could return the favor.
And Abigail, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing between their families, would never see it coming.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte did not attend the wedding.
When she pouted and made murmurs of regret, Jasper silenced her with a firmness she had not expected.
"I will not subject you to that family again, Charlotte. Once I have done what I must, we will speak further. About your future. And what steps we'll take next."
Charlotte blinked, affecting wet lashes and a trembling lip. "Do you think... do you think Philip will see reason then?"
Jasper said nothing. He merely pressed a kiss to her temple and turned away, his voice low. "Rest. We'll speak again in a few days."
Once the sound of Jasper's carriage wheels had faded into the distance, the mask slipped from Charlotte's face. She waited for the last echo of his departure before sitting up in bed, stretching languidly. The dull ache in her lower abdomen reminded her that her courses had arrived, and she felt a wave of discomfort. Jasper had been thoughtful enough to call for pain relief before he left, and she'd taken the prescribed medicine gladly. It offered some relief, though not as much as she'd hoped.
A smug smile curled at the corners of her lips as she rose and moved to her vanity. She picked up her brush and, with practiced ease, began drawing it through her hair, savoring the satisfaction of her quick thinking and perfect timing.
"Well done," she whispered to her reflection. "Quick thinking. Practical timing. You always were the clever one."
***
The chapel looked beautiful—just as he imagined it must have when their parents, luminous and full of promise, had stood here decades before.
Now, it was their turn.
Jasper stood at the altar, dressed with precise elegance, every button fastened, every line of his coat sharp. He was the very image of a devoted bridegroom. A man in love.
And when the chapel doors opened and Abigail stepped inside on her father's arm, bathed first in the golden light of day and then in the jeweled hues of the stained glass, her gaze fixed on Jasper as though the very sun rose and set upon his shoulders—he felt something twist deep within him.
Fool, he thought.She loves you.
And for a brief, maddening moment, he forgot his purpose. He imagined—foolishly, dangerously—what it might be to walk into a future with her not as an instrument of vengeance, but as they had once planned in earnest, shaped by truth and tender hope.
Then he remembered Charlotte's face. Her tears. Her crumpled body in bed. The whispered confession of loss. And Philip had not once flinched.
Jasper stiffened, retreating behind his mask. He could not allow himself to feel.
The ceremony was beautiful. Vows spoken, hands joined, a kiss exchanged. There was applause, and the reception followed, filled with laughter and toasts and the clinking of crystal. Abigail was radiant, never straying far from Jasper's side, glowing with the promise of new beginnings.
