"You may read it yourself. It arrived despite it not being properly posted.... It was addressed to 'The Duke and Duchess of Browning, Lyndhurst.' I dismissed it. But Grace did not."
Jasper unfolded the letter and read:
Your Graces, the Duke and Duchess Browning,
My name is Mrs. Martha Rigby. I am the caretaker of Graystone Hollow Manor near Bournemouth, on the southern coast.
I do not wish to speak ill of my employer, Lord Jasper Finch. But I feel I must tell you: your daughter, Lady Abigail, was left here nearly three months ago. She was dropped off with her belongings and then... he drove away.
Since that day, she has scarcely moved or spoken. At first, she wept constantly, gazing out the windows like she expected him to return. Then even that stopped. She began staring at the nothing. Not eating. Barely sleeping.
I have been the one to bathe her, dress her, brush and braid her hair. She only responds when prompted. Her tears now fall silently. She does not see, does not hear, does not live.
And now she is sick. She vomits frequently, has lost weight, and I fear she may be with child.
The funds provided to sustain the household were meant to last until spring. But no address was left to request more—or to seek counsel. I am afraid to call a doctor and deplete our coin too soon, but I cannot sit by and do nothing.
The staff at the house are certain you are not aware that your daughter is here. I cannot imagine anyone leaving their child here if they knew, Your Graces.
Please come for her. Take her home. If she is expecting, she will need her mother's care.
She will need you.
—Mrs. Martha Rigby
Jasper lowered the letter with shaking hands. "Dear God..." he whispered. "Is she—? Is Abigail— Is she all right?"
Nathaniel's eyes were hard. "No. She Isn't. Not for a long time."
Grace looked away, tears in her eyes.
"When we received the letter, we went immediately," Nathaniel said. "And found our daughter wasting away, pregnant, and completely silent. You had left her at a remote estate after bedding her and vanishing without any means of contact. Did it not occur to you, Jasper, that such a night could result in a child?"
Jasper's throat closed. His entire body felt like it was breaking apart from the inside out.
"We brought her home. We nursed her. We waited. For months, she did not speak, did not smile. She did not acknowledge us."
He paused, then added quietly, "And then, in the fifth month of her pregnancy, something shifted. She began to eat again. She began to dress herself. She began to cradle her stomach."
Grace continued softly, "We were still unsure of what would happen after the babe was born. But after laboring, your daughter was put on her chest and Abigail watched her nurse and then spoke... she named her."
Nathaniel's voice was like flint striking stone. "That was the first real word she'd said in nearly six months. 'Emmeline.'"
Jasper closed his eyes as pain overwhelmed him. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted in his lap.
"She keeps Emmeline with her at all times," Grace added. "We have a nurse, but she barely allows the child out of her arms. It's as though she fears the baby will vanish too."
Jasper tried to speak, but nothing came. No defense. No excuse. Only shame.
"She will be in shortly," Nathaniel said. "She knows you're here. But she likely won't speak to you. She may not even look at you."
"She may not let you near the baby," Grace said gently. "So do not expect it."
Jasper nodded, his throat burning. "I deserve nothing."
"No," said Nathaniel. "You don't."
He sat there, silent, the rag doll still hidden in his jacket. And in that moment, Jasper knew with painful clarity:
