As she watched her child nurse, a memory stirred. Martha had once read to her in the library — the lilting tones of a novel from her school years.Emmeline.Charlotte Smith's heroine. Graceful, courageous, resilient. A woman who had survived a world not built for her.
Abigail looked down again at her child — her first real look. This little life she had brought into the world alone, but not unloved.
"Emmeline," she whispered. The name left her lips without thought.
A small gasp. Her mother's hand closed over hers.
"Oh, my darling," she murmured. "I'm so glad you chose a name for her."
"Emmeline," Abigail said again, firmer now.
Martha's voice broke slightly. "It's a beautiful name. Perfect for her."
Abigail said nothing more. She simply held her daughter — her body aching, but for the first time in what felt like forever, her arms and her heart were full.
For the first time in months, her heart stirred. She was not alone anymore.
Chapter 21
The London Season had passed in a blur of letters and whispered updates. Grace and Nathaniel had written often to Philip and Sophia, who had taken residence in the city for the duration, and it was through these correspondences that Abigail's parents stayed informed of Lord Jasper's movements—or rather, his increasingly notable lack of them.
The first true surprise had come early: Jasper had appeared unannounced at Philip and Sophia's townhouse, only to be refused entry. That he had come calling at all—after everything—set off alarm bells. What could he have wanted? Had he realized Abigail was gone?
For at least a month after that visit, Jasper disappeared from London entirely. Upon his return, he remained in seclusion at his townhome, absent from the social sphere. Philip reported no sightings at the usual events—no balls, no dinners, not even at the gentleman’s club, save for one or two brief appearances. Whatever had brought him to Philip and Sophia’s door had clearly unsettled him.
Then, in May, a letter came from Grace.
Abigail had given birth a week earlier to a daughter named Emmeline. A small, perfect little girl. Grace wrote of Abigail's quiet transformation—how she had become a devoted mother, endlessly doting, her expression softening only for her child. Shestill did not speak often, and a haunted distance lingered in her eyes. But holding Emmeline, she was not entirely lost. That gave them all hope.
A miniature portrait was enclosed with the letter. Philip and Sophia studied the delicate rendering of the baby's face and agreed: she was as dainty and beautiful as Abigail herself.
Summer came and went. When the Season ended, they chose—despite their longing to see Abigail in person—to remain at Lyndhurst, keeping close watch on Roselawn instead. A trip to Bramblewick, while Jasper was still searching, felt too vulnerable. Too
dangerous. They might lead him straight to her.
Soon after arriving in London that spring, Philip had quietly visited every reputable investigator in the city, paying them handsomely to alert him should Lord Jasper begin making discreet inquiries into Lady Abigail’s whereabouts. He and Sophia both knew it was only a matter of time before Jasper discovered that Greystone Hollow stood empty. When no reply came regarding the funds meant to maintain it, he would be forced either to send someone or to go himself.
So Philip wasn't surprised when the message came: Jasper had indeed hired an investigator, along with a team of runners, and instructed them to keep the search quiet.
Philip had nearly gone to him then. He wanted to storm Jasper's house and demand answers. How dare he treat Abigail that way. The fury still burned in his chest at the thought. Philip wanted vengeance. He wanted to see Jasper squirm.
He remembered the night he finally saw him again—months into the Season. Jasper had turned up at the club alone, already several drinks in. Philip approached his table, heart pounding, and stood there as the man who had once been like a brother stared into his glass as though it held absolution.
"Where is my sister?" Philip had asked, voice low, eyes hard. "My parents are beginning to worry. We all are. If she's not found soon... my father, the Duke of Everly, may be forced to make formal inquiries."
He'd said nothing more. Let the silence stretch, long and taut. Let Jasper squirm in the same helpless dark Abigail had been left to endure.
To this day, Philip still couldn't understand it—how Jasper could marry her, bed her, and then abandon her. Leave her alone in a crumbling manor, with only silence and grief for company. It was betrayal twice over—not just of Abigail, but of Philip himself.
How could Jasper have ever believed him capable of what Charlotte claimed? That he would seduce his baby sister, make false promises of love and marriage, only to desert her and wed another?
No. The man Philip had once called brother was gone.
Now, standing at the window of Lyndhurst, Philip watched as a dark carriage wound its way up the long, tree-lined drive. His eyes narrowed as the crest came into view.
The Duke of Winterset.
Philip exhaled slowly.
