They talked with the kind of familiarity only long-shared history allows.
It was warm. Familiar. It felt like a life that had once been theirs—and might be again.
When the clock chimed the hour, Jasper rose and offered his hand. She took it.
He walked her to her chambers, his presence beside her quiet and comforting. At her door, he turned as he always did,meaning to kiss her cheek. And as he leaned in, she moved—just slightly. Just enough.
His lips brushed hers. Something she hadn't felt in nearly two years.
It was a soft kiss. Barely more than a breath. But it was real.
He pulled back, surprised, as if uncertain what to say. Abigail felt warmth bloom in her cheeks.
"I'm not sure what possessed me," she said softly, her heart unsteady, "but that was... quite lovely."
He smiled—gentle, aching, full of something unspoken.
She held his gaze a moment longer, then slipped inside her room and closed the door.
A single candle on the bedside table cast a soft glow over the darkened space. And there—hanging from the screen near her wardrobe—was the gown.
At first glance, she recognized it. Pale blue silk, just a shade deeper than the dress she had worn to her debut. The neckline had been updated into a subtle sweetheart curve—modest, but graceful. The sleeves were capped with sheer netting embroidered in fine silver thread, and the skirt was full without being heavy, the hem stitched with delicate needlework that shimmered in the firelight.
It wasn't an exact copy. But it was close enough to stir something deep.
Her breath caught.
Resting at the base of the screen was a folded sheet of paper. Her name was written across the front in Jasper's unmistakable hand.
She reached for it slowly and opened it with care.
My dearest Abigail,
You once wore a dress like this and changed the course of my life.
I remember how the candlelight caught the blue of your eyes, how you looked up at me without guile or artifice, and how—just for a moment— the weight of being a Duke felt bearable. Because I saw you. And in that moment, I understood what it meant to want more than duty.
I saw the possibility of a true partner—not just a bride taken out of obligation, or chosen for title, but someone who might walk beside me. Someone who could share both the burdens and the joys.
That night, I fell in love with you. Completely. Silently. And perhaps, fatefully.
This gown is not a replica of the one you wore then. It is something new—just as you are. Made in your color. Designed for the woman you've become.
A woman who has endured more than she ever should have. A woman who still moves with grace, still speaks with kindness, and whose strength humbles me more each day.
It is a tribute to the girl I once failed—and a gift for the woman I still love beyond measure. Only now with deeper reverence. With truer understanding.
If the past few years have taught me anything, it is that nothing in life is guaranteed. And yet, each day I spend with you now—even in silence, even at a distance—feels like something rare and undeserved.
The young woman I fell in love with is still within you, but she has grown into someone even more extraordinary. And I love who you are now, just as I loved who you were then.
Perhaps more.
Because now, I know what it is to nearly lose you.
Whatever you choose, wherever your heart leads, I will honor it. But I hope—fiercely, quietly, endlessly—that we might still find our way back to each other.
Yours—always, if you'll have me,
