A visitor calling on them today was, most certainly, unexpected.
Chapter 24
The morning after Boxing Day was quiet—the sort of hush that settles on a household after too much food, too many emotions, and not enough sleep. The fire crackled in the hearth of the Duke of Everly's study, casting flickering shadows on walls lined with books and memories. Nathaniel Browning sat alone behind his heavy oak desk, a ledger open before him, untouched.
Everyone else had retired for rest. Abigail had taken Emmeline upstairs after breakfast, retreating before the dishes were even cleared. Philip and Sophia had gone to their rooms—Sophia's pregnancy had left her more tired than usual. Grace, he knew, was curled up in their chambers with a novel she had been enjoying.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. A footman entered, pale-faced.
"Your Grace... the Duke of Winterset is here."
Nathaniel had known this moment would come—he just hadn't known when. Once Jasper realized Abigail was no longer confined to Greystone Hollow, it wouldn't take long for him to guess where she'd gone. Jasper knew Nathaniel. He knew Grace. He knew they would cross oceans for their children if need be—and if they had learned that Abigail had been abandoned in a crumbling manor, left behind by the very man who had vowed to cherish her, he'd know they wouldn't rest until she was home.
Nathaniel had wondered, ever since Philip and Sophia arrived from Lyndhurst, whether someone had seen them. Whether Jasper might have followed. And now, here he was—at Bramblewick—where his daughter was still recovering from the trauma he had inflicted.
With his child, no less.
A child Jasper still knew nothing about.
Nathaniel didn't move. He had expected this. Dreaded it. Prepared for it.
"Bring him in," he said. "And make certain no one knows he's here. Only Lord Philip may enter, should he come. No others."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Moments later, Jasper Finch entered the study. He looked... older. Thinner. His once-bright blue eyes—eyes Nathaniel remembered well from Abigail's wedding day—were sunken, hollowed by sleeplessness or guilt. There was no joy in them. No light. Nathaniel remained seated.
He didn't rise.
Instead, he gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Jasper obeyed.
Silence stretched.
Nathaniel finally leaned forward. "You'll forgive me if I don't greet you as I once might have."
Jasper's voice was hoarse. "Of course."
Nathaniel stood and crossed to the sideboard, pouring two glasses of whisky. He returned, setting one before Jasper before reclaiming his seat.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Jasper whispered.
The fire popped. Wind howled beyond the windows.
Then Jasper spoke.
"Please. Tell me she's here. Tell me Abigail is with you."
Nathaniel said nothing.
"I assume she is," Jasper pressed, voice rough. "I know why you haven't returned to Lyndhurst. I know you and Grace. You wouldn't leave her. Not after—"
Still, Nathaniel did not speak. He only tilted his head.
"Why," he said at last, voice low and deliberate, "would my daughter—yourwife—be here? Forgive my ignorance, Jasper. You married her over a year ago. I recall you telling me you were taking her to a surprise destination for your honeymoon. Then, a month later, I receive a letter—brief, impersonal—saying she's unwell and that the two of you won't be attending her brother's wedding. Your childhood friend's wedding. And after that... silence. That was the last I heard from you."
Jasper flinched. He stood.
