"Whatever you're willing to give," he said, "I'll meet it. Even if it's just this."
He opened his hand where it rested on the narrow space between them.
She looked at it for a moment, then placed her hand gently on his. Their fingers curled, slow and natural, the gesture so simple it ached.
"This," she whispered, "I promise you, is not nothing."
They sat like that, in the hush of the morning—two people broken not by malice, but by the actions of one deeply ill woman and the poor choices he had made—slowly fitting the pieces back together.
They stayed on the bench for a long while, the conversation turning light again. They spoke of childhood holidays spent together, favorite novels, the absurdities of society gossip, and the time Emmeline had tried to feed a goose by the lake a strawberry tart during their last picnic—only to shriek and flee when it honked indignantly at her.
Laughter came more easily than either expected. Genuine. Shared.
And when the park began to fill with afternoon strollers and flower-sellers, Jasper purchased a small nosegay of roses and lavender in Abigail's favorite soft blush tones.
He handed it to her without a word, and she accepted it just as quietly, brushing the petals with her fingertips before lifting the bouquet to her face to inhale its fragrance.
As the city carried on around them, Abigail leaned her head gently against his shoulder.
They sat like that until the shadows began to stretch long, and the moment—however quiet—began to feel like the start of something whole.
Chapter 54
The Season had been full.
Since the first ball they attended together, invitations had poured in—musical evenings, private dinners, luncheons, gallery showings, and more balls than Jasper could count. At first, the invitations had come out of curiosity. Abigail's absence the previous Season had made her return notable; her arrival—beside her husband, the duke, and with their child in tow—doubly so.
There had been whispers, of course. Lingering stares and gossip hissed quietly behind fluttering fans. But when no scandal emerged—when the Duke and Duchess of Winterset conducted themselves with quiet grace and unshakable civility—the speculation faded into polite interest. The invitations kept coming, but they no longer felt like tests.
And somewhere along the way, it all began to feel... real.
Not just a performance for society's sake, but a life—slowly and cautiously being rebuilt. They spoke more easily now, laughed more freely. Jasper had learned when to press and when to let Abigail take the reins. She had grown used to the warmth of his hand on hers during carriage rides, to the way he offered his arm without hesitation, and to how he always lingered just a moment longer after saying goodnight—though she had not yet closed the distance between them.
She hadn't yet invited him into her bed. But she hadn't pulled away, either.
Today's garden party was different, though familiar. Her parents' London estate opened its gates each summer for a grand gathering. It was a tradition she'd once loved, before everything had unraveled. Philip and Sophia had hosted the event last year while staying at the Everly townhouse for the Season—the estate's steward had helped Sophia manage the planning—but with her parents' return this Season, the event would be grander.
She adjusted the ribbon of her bonnet as their carriage turned onto the tree-lined drive, her gloves already warm from the sun. Martha had insisted on staying behind with Emmeline and baby Frederick, whose nanny had been feeling under the weather. This allowed Philip and Sophia to attend the party as well. When they'd left, Emmeline had been absolutely giddy, peeking out the window in search of Philip and Sophia's carriage with her cousin.
Jasper sat across from her, watching with the quiet attentiveness that had become second nature to him.
"It looks the same," she said softly, taking in the manicured hedges, the white tent in the distance, the burst of florals crowding the drive.
"It does," Jasper agreed. "But I imagine it feels rather different this year."
She met his gaze briefly. "Everything does."
The carriage slowed to a stop. Footmen approached to open the doors.
Jasper stepped out first, then offered his hand.
Abigail took it.
The party was everything she remembered: elegantly dressed guests, perfectly manicured gardens, music floating above thelaughter and the clink of crystal glasses. Abigail moved through the crowd with practiced ease, Jasper ever at her side.
They danced once, then again. Her parents beamed at the sight. Old friends greeted her warmly—some with genuine affection, others with the performative politeness thetonwore like jewelry. But none of it mattered much today.
Today felt light. And Abigail hadn't felt light in a long time.
