The party was over.
Abigail turned to Jasper beneath the ballroom's archway; her eyes lit with a quiet certainty.
"I believe I'm ready to retire," she said lightly. Then, with a flicker of mischief, she added, "Would you be so good as to escort me to my room, Your Grace?"
Jasper blinked, then offered his arm with perfect gravity. "It would be my honor."
They walked the halls together, their pace unhurried.
When they reached her door, Abigail slid her hand from the crook of his arm and took his hand in hers.
"Would you like to come in?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jasper stilled. "Are you certain?"
She nodded. "I am."
He kissed her hand, then reached past her to open the door—stepping closer, gently urging her backward into the room with just enough eagerness to make her laugh.
The door clicked shut behind them, her giggles echoing softly into the quiet hall.
.
Chapter 57
Morning sunlight streamed softly through the bedroom curtains, casting golden threads across the coverlet. Abigail stirred first, the hush of early day wrapping around her like a shawl. The air was already warm—a reminder that summer had settled over London—but a faint breeze stirred through the slightly open window.
She didn’t reach for the blanket.
Instead, she shifted slightly on the pillow, careful not to disturb Jasper who lay on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow, his breathing slow and even. In sleep, he looked younger—less burdened, less haunted. And more than that, he looked hers.
Abigail exhaled quietly, letting her head rest against her arm as she watched him.
For what felt like the first time in nearly two years, her thoughts weren’t clouded with fear or anger or pain. The wounds he had left her with hadn’t disappeared—but they no longer throbbed constantly. Some had scarred. Others were still healing. But all of them, in time, she was sure, would fade.
And she was beginning—truly beginning—to believe that she would be whole again. That they might be whole again.
She smiled faintly, her gaze drifting toward the window, where sunlight danced across the floorboards.
They needed space. Not from each other—but from London. From its ballrooms and gossip and scrutiny. From all that was past.
She would choose the seaside villa, she’d decided. The one Jasper had once intended for their honeymoon. It would be peaceful there. Gentle. Emmeline would love the sea air and the soft sand.
And after that... Roselawn. Her parents planned to travel to Lyndhurst once they left London and would remain there for the holidays, so it would be nice to be close to them
again. She knew she and Emmeline would miss them—so used to seeing them almost
daily since Bramblewick. She could already picture Emmeline running across the fields between the two estates, her laughter echoing through the meadow.
Yes. They could stay until spring, at least.
"She had taken the opportunity the previous day to speak with her mother—and with Mrs. Rigby, too. Martha had agreed, with misty eyes and a soft smile, to remain with them officially as Emmeline’s nanny."
All that remained was to tell him.
Abigail looked back at Jasper.
His eyes were just beginning to open. He adjusted his body to lie on his side when he noticed she was awake and facing him.
