"I would never force her," Jasper said quickly, almost sharply. "I only want... to be near. To show her she's safe. That she's loved. I pray for the chance to be what we once were—what we might be again."
Nathaniel studied him for a long moment, then gave a single nod. "For now," he said, "we proceed gently. But she'll need to be told soon. That will be... something."
Jasper gave a humorless smile. "Yes. It will."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Nathaniel said, though not unkindly. "There's a long road yet to travel." He paused, then added, "Is the nursery in your London townhouse prepared for Emmeline?"
"It is being prepared as we speak." Jasper stated.
"Good. I recommend you speak to Mrs. Rigby as well—ask if she will travel with you as Emmeline's nurse. Her presence in your household would go a long way toward helping both Abigail and Emmeline feel more at ease. You may not know, but she lost her husband and children in a fire years ago—one that broke out while she was away from home. Since caring for Abigailat Greystone, I believe she's come to think of both her and Emmeline as if they were her own."
Jasper bowed his head. "I am grateful for her—and for you."
Nathaniel poured two modest brandies, sliding one across.
"There is much yet to mend," he said, lifting his glass, "but let us be thankful for the first steps."
Jasper met his gaze. "To earning forgiveness."
"To earning it," Nathaniel echoed, and the glasses chimed softly in the quiet study.
Chapter 36
Abigail stood by the window in the morning light, Jasper's latest letter open in her hand. He had given it to her as he was leaving after visiting for breakfast that morning, passing it to her without a word. She hadn't meant to read it—not right away—but her curiosity had betrayed her.
Despite never writing him back or speaking of their contents, Jasper kept sending letters. If she had to guess, there were at least twenty by now. She couldn't be certain. She usually opened them in passing, scanning over the contents and then quickly setting them aside wherever she was, as if to prove how little she cared for whatever love, admiration, repentance, or other musings he had poured into each one.
Now, as the final lines blurred on the page, her fingers tightened around the paper. She could still hear his words from earlier that morning.
They would be leaving for London in a week.
Not she and Emmeline with her parents, as she had assumed when her father first mentioned they'd be traveling to London for the Season. No. Jasper. Emmeline. Herself. Together. In the same house.
Her jaw clenched.
Jasper had delivered the news with infuriating calm, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He'd waited until theend of breakfast, after Emmeline had been carried off with Mrs. Rigby, before quietly informing Abigail of the plan.
"You, Emmeline, and I will be leaving for London next week for the Season," he had said. "We'll all be living together in my townhouse there. Nothing else is acceptable."
She had stared at him, dumbstruck. Then the protests came.
Emmeline would miss her grandparents.
They would need to hire a nurse.
Surely the townhouse wasn't ready for a child.
And she—she wasn't prepared to go.
He had listened to each objection without interruption, his expression unreadable. Then he answered them all—gently, efficiently.
He'd begun preparing the nursery a month ago.
He'd asked Mrs. Rigby weeks prior to accompany them as Emmeline's nurse, and she had agreed without hesitation.
Her father had approved the arrangement. He and her mother would be nearby, living in their own townhouse.
She had run out of objections—at least the ones she dared voice. Because the truth, the real reason, she could not say aloud. Not to him.
