Mrs. Rigby stood and smoothed her skirts. "That's a thoughtful gift, Your Grace. Leave it with me—I'll make sure it's done and done well. And you—just keep showing her who you are. Be patient. Love her. Love Emmeline. Things may never return to what they were... but I believe you'll find your way forward, together."
Jasper didn't speak, but the tension in his shoulders softened.
Mrs. Rigby offered a final, gentle smile. "The Duchess may still be guarded—but she trusts you with Emmeline. That means more than you know. I won't pretend the past didn't happen, but it warms my heart to see them both not just safe—but happy and blossoming."
Chapter 53
The morning sun filtered gently through the warm haze, casting a golden sheen over the city as if trying to soften its edges. London, always bustling, felt momentarily unhurried.
Emmeline had been spirited off to Sophia and Philip's townhouse, chattering excitedly about holding baby Frederick again. Grace had arranged it with barely a pretense of subtlety—Mrs. Rigby along to supervise, of course—but she had simply smiled at Abigail and said, "You both deserve a day to yourselves."
And so, for the first time since arriving in London that Season, Abigail found herself alone in the park with Jasper.
They walked side by side through Hyde Park, the gravel crunching beneath their feet, the leaves rustling high above. The quiet between them was not heavy. It was warm, filled with the soft cadence of shared breath and the occasional laughter of a passing child or distant carriage. A gentle breeze tugged at the loose strands of hair at Abigail's temple, and she reached out, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
"It's strange," she murmured, breaking the quiet, "how familiar everything feels—and how foreign."
Jasper nodded, his hand gently tightening over hers where it rested on his arm.
"It's the same city," he said. "But we aren't the same people."
No further words were needed. Both of them seemed to quietly acknowledge the truth of it, their silence companionable.
They strolled without direction, past clusters of trees and flower beds full of bright blooms. A young couple passed with a picnic basket between them, their chaperone walking closely behind. Somewhere nearby, someone played a violin poorly. Abigail smiled at the discordant notes.
They paused near a low iron bench, shaded by an elm, and Jasper gestured for her to sit.
"Thank you," she said, smoothing her skirts. "My shoulder still aches if I walk too long."
"Does it trouble you often?"
"Less each week."
He sat beside her—not too close, not too far—but noticed when Abigail quietly shifted nearer.
They spoke in soft tones, easy and meandering. About the upcoming Winterset Estate’s Ball she'd planned at their townhouse. It had not been held the previous year, for obvious reasons, and her guest list had grown quickly with eager replies. They spoke of Emmeline's new habit of running everywhere, tripping over her own feet more often than not. Of how fiercely she adored baby Frederick—and how, according to Mrs. Rigby, she'd begun asking during her nighttime prayers if she might have a baby brother of her own.
The mention of Emmeline's wish brought a pause to the conversation—subtle, but perceptible.
Jasper looked down at his hands, then out at the quiet path ahead.
"I don't know if anyone told you,” he started, "but last Season... I believe my staff spent most of it hiding from me. I was a bear to deal with."
She turned slightly toward him, studying his profile in the dappled light.
"There were things I knew I could never undo," he said quietly. "But I could be certain of what I did next. I want you to know I never—" he paused, then said it plainly, "—I never touched another woman. Not in all the time we were apart. I couldn't. I didn't want to."
Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady.
"Thank you for telling me. It would have been well within your rights... but I'm grateful you didn't."
"I don't say it to earn something, Abigail. Only to be honest with you. You were never out of my heart—not even in the worst of it."
The breeze picked up again, ruffling the hem of her gown. She pulled it closer around her ankles, even as she looked at him and said,
"I don't know what happens next, Jasper. But I'd like to keep moving forward. Slowly. I hope we can one day rebuild what was lost—and raise our daughter in a home filled with love, not civility or quiet distance."
He turned toward her more fully, something aching and reverent in his gaze.
