Jasper said nothing.
Philip looked to his father. "Why is he here?"
Nathaniel answered calmly. "To confess. Or perhaps to beg."
Philip turned back to Jasper. His voice rose with every word. "Whatever you came here hoping to find—you won't. Not absolution. Not acceptance. And certainly not my sister's forgiveness."
A sharp cry rang out in the hallway, breaking the silence that followed Philip's words.
Abigail and Emmeline were just outside—Philip's raised voice must have startled the baby, setting her off.
A knock followed, brisk and uncertain.
"Father? Is everything alright?" Abigail's voice came through, slightly muffled by the door. Emmeline's cries grew louderbehind her. "Mr. Jeffries said no one was to enter but Philip... but I hear yelling?"
Nathaniel turned to Philip and spoke in a low voice.
"Go see to your sister—and be sure to keep her on the second floor. Distract her for a bit, long enough for the duke to take his leave without upsetting her."
Philip hesitated only a moment before giving a sharp nod. He stepped to the door, opened it, and quietly slipped out into the hall, pulling it closed behind him.
Faintly, Nathaniel could hear his son's low, calming voice:
"All is well, Abigail. Come, let's take Emmeline to see if Sophia has woken from her nap."
A soft whimper from the baby followed, then the gentle creak of footsteps retreating down the corridor.
Inside the study, silence settled like dust.
"Abigail..." Jasper whispered, the name breaking on his breath like a prayer.
Nathaniel's gaze snapped to him. "There will be time for that," he said quietly but firmly. "We all need to speak—but not at this moment. Agreed?"
Jasper nodded, his expression worn and hollow. "Agreed."
"Then you need to leave before Abigail returns." Nathaniel rose from behind the desk. "Have you found lodging nearby?"
"I... yes. I leased a small house not far from here," Jasper said. "I wasn't sure how long I would be in the area."
"Then give me the address," Nathaniel replied, reaching for a sheet of paper and a pen. "And be off. Quietly."
Chapter 26
The tavern was quiet, the evening crowd not yet gathered. A few local men played cards near the hearth, their laughter low and infrequent. The windows, fogged by sea air, let in little light, and the scent of salt lingered everywhere—in the beams, the ale, even his coat.
Jasper sat alone, nursing the same glass of brandy he had ordered over an hour ago. The liquor bit less than he'd expected—but then again, nothing could dull the ache in his chest.
He had done it. He had seen Nathaniel and Philip. And he had heard her.
Abigail's voice. Faint, but real. So close.
She was alive.
The chair beside him scraped softly against the wooden floor. Jasper didn't look up.
"Lord Jasper, sir?"
He turned slowly. A young man, no older than twenty-five, had taken the seat beside him. Wind-tossed brown hair, an ink-stained waistcoat, and the alert, exhausted eyes of someone accustomed to watching from the shadows.
