Philip's voice dropped. "He needs to answer for this."
Nathaniel met his son's gaze. "And he will. But for now, we watch and see what he does when he realizes she is no longer where he thinks she is. Remember, he only provided enough funds to support the manor until mid-spring. What will happen when he writes or visits at that time with the next part of his plan?"
Chapter 18
Jasper had arrived in London weeks ahead of the official start of the Season, though society's anticipated revelries barely registered. He had left Abigail at Greystone Hollow the day after their wedding, and since that late-summer morning, he'd drifted restlessly from one estate to the next, never lingering long. Clearwood felt too hollow. The Hunting Lodge, too untamed. And Roselawn... Roselawn was still too steeped in memory to face without bleeding.
Not even the Christmas visit with his sister had grounded him. Charlotte had been quiet—not merely subdued, but sullen in a way that suggested the world had wronged her. She played the part of the wounded innocent, meek and docile, yet there was something performative in her submission, something he didn't trust. Jasper had seen the spark behind her downcast eyes—the calculating gleam that surfaced when she asked if she might join him in London for the season. He had refused her, firmly and without remorse. Not until her future was secured.
The Viscount of Braxton had piqued Jasper's interest during his travels. A recent widower with two young children, he struck Jasper as a practical, kind man seeking stability, not romance. The kind of man who might offer Charlotte a dignified second chance. Jasper had carefully broached the idea of an arrangement, offering a sympathetic, if incomplete, portrait ofhis sister: a young woman taken advantage of by a gentleman they had both trusted, then shunned and disgraced when he abandoned her for another. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was close enough.
As for his own entanglements, they remained as murky and unresolved as ever. That morning, he sat at the writing desk in his townhouse, finishing a second letter to Greystone Hollow. Weeks had passed since he sent the first, inquiring about the cost to maintain the estate through to autumn. He'd received no reply. Perhaps it had been lost or delayed he was unsure, but he knew they would be low or out of funds soon and would need more to sustain the household for further months.
He'd noticed the Duke and Duchess of Everly had yet to arrive in London. But just the day before, from across Grosvenor Square, he'd seen Philip and Sophia descend from their family's carriage. They'd returned, then. He had kept his distance. He wasn't sure what he would do—what he might say—should their paths cross.
He didn't have to wonder for long.
Two evenings later, at Lady Elridge's glittering ball, fate ensured their paths crossed—just as Jasper had suspected it might when he returned to London for the season. Beneath the sweeping chandeliers and across the gleaming floors, Philip and Sophia strolled past, unbothered and smug as ever. The sight of them together—Philip's broken promise to Charlotte made flesh—ignited Jasper's fury. He didn't hesitate. Stepping forward, he blocked their path and forced the confrontation.
"I had wondered when I might see you," Philip said casually.
Jasper didn't offer a greeting. "You have no right to speak to me."
Philip blinked, half-smiling. "I beg your pardon?"
"You should beg Charlotte's instead," Jasper said, voice low and firm. "You seduced her. Promised her a future. And thendiscarded her like rubbish. She lost your child." His voice broke. "She nearly lost herself."
Sophia's polite smile vanished, her mouth tightening. "That's not how it happened."
"I don't give a damn what story you tell yourselves," Jasper hissed. "I sent her to our great-aunt's estate in Norfolk so she might recover in peace—away from the shame and ruin you brought on her. I want nothing to do with either of you for the duration of this season. No letters. No pleasantries. No acknowledgement of any kind."
Philip said nothing, his gaze blank.
Sophia, however, smiled coldly. "It must be hard, having such a mean-spirited sister Jasper. Charlotte didn't get what she wanted, so she pressed Philip's hand and lied to try to force the outcome she desired."
Jasper recoiled as if struck.
"And what of your duchess?" Sophia asked, her voice smooth, yet cutting, like a blade sliding in. "Where is Lady Abigail Finch? Where is my sister-in-law, Your Grace? We were so concerned when we heard she was ill and couldn't attend our wedding. And no one had heard from you two since. Why isn't she here, at your side? We've missed her dearly."
Jasper's jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened. "Where my wife is, is none of your concern," he growled, his voice low with simmering anger. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked off, his blood boiling, heart pounding in his chest.
***
At Bramblewick Estate, Abigail hadn't spoken more than a dozen words on any given day in months. The estate had grown quiet, hushed with worry. Nathaniel and Grace often sat together in the parlor, watching their daughter through the window as she sat, motionless, in the garden now that springhad come. She was aware of her pregnancy—she ate, bathed, even asked for tea—but her soul remained adrift.
She neither laughed nor cried. She simply endured.
Grace had imagined her first grandchild arriving amid joy and excitement, not through heartbreak and abandonment. But even as grief clung to Abigail like a second skin, they made preparations. A nursery had been readied, nurses hired. Every necessity was arranged — and more still, in quiet contingency, should Abigail remain adrift in that fog once the child arrived.
Mrs. Martha Rigby—former caretaker of Greystone Hollow—had accepted a new position with the Browning's when Abigail was brought from that cold, forgotten manor to Bramblewick. Since then, she had become Abigail's constant, gently guiding her through each day. That afternoon, she stood a few paces away from where Abigail sat, pointing out a patch of crocuses and speaking animatedly. Abigail didn't respond, but she didn't turn away either.
It was something.
A week earlier, Nathaniel had written to Philip and Sophia, asking discreetly for any news of Jasper—whether he had returned to London, whether he had spoken of Abigail, whether there was even the faintest sign of regret. That morning, a courier had arrived with their response.
Jasper is in London. He confronted us. When asked about Abigail, he became defensive. He clearly believes she is still at Greystone Hollow.
Grace read the letter twice, then slowly folded it in her lap.
