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Planning a ball was proving far more difficult than Helena had anticipated. Time was short, the guest list endless, and lately, she had been plagued by spells of morning nausea followed by an unshakable fatigue.

At first, when her courses failed to arrive, she dismissed it—convinced she had miscounted. But now, there was no doubt. She was with child.

Thankfully, Lowen didn’t suspect a thing.

She hoped to surprise him with the news on the night of the ball, but lately, he had been more pensive than usual.

Most evenings, he spent locked away in his study, working late into the night, long after Helena had fallen asleep.

When they did speak, his eyes seemed distant, as if recalling far-off memories.

She had asked if something was troubling him, but he seemed surprised by her question and dismissed her concerns with a kiss.

It wasn’t until Helena had a quiet moment alone with Thomasin that she discovered the truth.

“He is always like this around the anniversary of Benjamin’s death,” Thomasin explained as the two women sat in the parlor, penning invitations.

“I didn’t know Benjamin passed around this time,” Helena frowned. “I wish there were something I could do to help.”

Thomasin gave a small shrug. “It will pass in a few days. In truth, he’s handling it better this year than he ever has.”

“Truly?”

“Before, he would speak to no one, as if struck mute, and wouldn’t touch a morsel of food. Perhaps now, with you here, it might grow easier—year by year.”

“I hope so,” Helena murmured. She longed to ease his pain, and prayed the news of their growing family might bring him some comfort in time.

Absentmindedly, her fingers drifted to her belly. She wondered when it would begin to swell. Her breasts had already started the process—much to her great annoyance.

“Blast,” Thomasin muttered, breaking Helena’s reverie. “I spelled Yarborough wrong.”

Helena chuckled and handed her a clean piece of parchment. “It doesn’t roll off the tongue easily, either. Is this your first ball?”

“No, I’ve attended a few assemblies in Cornwall, but I believe this one will be the grandest. Thank you for allowing me to attend.”

“You’re family, Thomasin. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out.”

“I know,” she said with a sheepish smile. “But Lowen thinks I’m too young for a London ball.”

“Oh, pish,” Helena said, waving a hand. “You’ll be properly chaperoned. And who knows—you might need the practice for your own season, if you decide to have one.”

“I haven’t quite decided,” Thomasin replied.

Apparently, the girl still had little interest in marking her debut or marrying.

When Helena had been her age, it was all she had dreamed of—dancing, courtship, love, and marriage. Things hadn’t unfolded quite as she imagined, but she was content with where life had brought her now.

“It’s no matter—just as long as you enjoy yourself,” Helena said, finishing the last of the invitations. “Thomasin, I want you to know I’ll support you, no matter what you decide. Marriage or not.”

Thomasin bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Even if I were involved in a scandal?”

“Oh—” Helena was caught off guard. To this day, she didn’t know what Lowen had told Thomasin about how they met or the circumstances of their marriage.

She struggled to find the right words. Her heart would never allow Thomasin to be trapped in an undesirable marriage, but she could not speak for Lowen.

“I would still give you the choice,” she said carefully.

“Not many women are allowed a choice,” Thomasin replied matter-of-factly.

Helena sighed. “Unfortunately not. But sometimes, it’s important to rebel where you can.”

“Goodness, don’t let my brother hear that,” Thomasin laughed.

“Hear what?” Lowen inquired, sauntering into the parlor, an ebony brow raised in suspicion.

“A bit of mischief not suitable for a man’s ears,” Helena said as Lowen knelt to kiss her forehead.

“I told you you’d be outnumbered in your own home,” Thomasin teased.

Lowen stood behind Helena, leaning against the back of her chair. She could hear the soft tap of his signet ring against the wood of the top rail. “Conspiring against me, are you?”

“No,” Helena said with a smile. “You just walked in at the wrong time.”

“Pardon me,” Lowen chuckled softly. “I didn’t realize my timing was off.” He turned toward the door, walking with exaggerated slowness, something dark flashing in his hands. “Though I thought it was always the perfect time for giving gifts.”

“A gift?” Thomasin asked, springing to her feet. “You have gifts? Why? From where?”

Lowen nodded toward the door. “Helena’s is here, but yours is waiting in your room.”

With a squeal of delight, Thomasin dashed off.

Helena’s eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “You couldn’t have brought hers here?”

“How else was I to get you alone?” He answered with an innocent shrug.

Unfortunately for Helena, a wave of nausea churned deep in her stomach. She pressed her lips together tightly, struggling to keep her smile in place.

She wavered, unsure if she wanted to tell Lowen yet—especially now, as he sat beside her, placing a small wooden box on the table.

“Open it,” he said, grinning. It was the first true happiness she’d seen from him in days.

With great care, Helena ran her fingers over the delicately carved rosewood and undid the latch. Inside, nestled on a bed of glossy satin, lay a rope of pearls, accompanied by matching earrings.

She swallowed hard before replying, her throat burning. “It’s beautiful, Lowen. Thank you.”

Apparently, her discomfort wasn’t as well hidden as she’d hoped. Lowen’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you well, Helena?”

“A little under the weather today,” she replied, and grimly added to herself, and for the next eight months.

Lowen’s brows furrowed in concern. “Shall I call for a doctor?”

That won’t be necessary,” she assured him, caressing the side of his face in an attempt to ease his worry—but it was no use.

“Are you certain?” he insisted. “I can stay home this evening.”

“Nonsense. I’ll survive. I can’t say the same about the House of Lords.

” Helena was touched by his dedication. If Lowen could heal her with nothing but sheer will, she was certain he would.

It only made it harder to keep this surprise from him.

But what better time to reveal it than at the end of the season, at their first ball hosted in their home after so many years?

He laid his hand over hers, where it rested on his cheek, and brought it to his lips. “Parliament is nowhere near as important to me as you are.” His lips brushed over her knuckles, leaving a trail of sparks across her skin as he kissed his way down to the inside of her wrist.

If there was a cure for nausea, this was certainly it. She trembled in response to his touch, allowing him to pull her into his lap.

“I’m staying home this evening,” he said firmly. “It’s clear to me you’re very ill, and your health could falter without your husband around to see to it.”

Helena grinned, resting her head on his shoulder. “Very well, but you’ll have to help me tie ribbons to the dance cards.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Later that evening, she sat in the same parlor with Lowen, amused to find he had been quite sincere in helping her tie ribbons to the dance cards. She couldn’t help but admire his efficiency—and the way his long, graceful fingers looped the ribbons with care.

“You’re quite good at this,” she commented.

A slight smile played on Lowen’s lips. “You may thank Thomasin for that. As a little girl, she only ever found amusement with me, and I would spend hours in her nursery playing dolls. Naturally, I insisted my doll have the very best ribbons in her hair.” He looked up at Helena with a wink.

“Thankfully, she outgrew dolls soon enough, and I was then made to indulge her love of painting.”

Helena’s chest tightened—not from sickness, which had mercifully subsided, but from emotion. “You’re a wonderful brother.”

“And Isaac?”

She chuckled, blinking past the sudden warmth in her eyes. “He had far fewer responsibilities. Still, he’s a good brother—though he was a menace as a child.”

“And what about you? Were you a menace?”

“Of course not.”

“Something tells me you’re lying. I shall have to consult a more reliable source,” Lowen teased, picking up another ribbon. He worked with practiced ease, his stack of finished dance cards growing faster than hers.

“You dare doubt your own wife?” she asked, feigning shock.

“My wife is a known mischief-maker. I’d be a fool not to keep my wits about me.”

“Well, your wits are always going missing, aren’t they?”

Lowen threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Only because of you.”

“Because of me? I can’t decide whether I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” he answered. “I’m so thoroughly besotted with my dear wife that I can scarcely think straight.”

Helena eyed him wryly, unaware she was fumbling with the ribbon in her hands. “After accusing me of lying, I suspect you’re only saying that because you want to be in my good graces tonight.”

“I’m in your good graces every night,” he said smoothly, plucking the ribbon from her hands and tying it onto a card with ease.

Indeed, he was in her good graces every night. If she hadn’t conceived from their very first coupling, she certainly would have by now.

Helena hadn’t slept in her own bed for weeks, visiting her room only to dress or bathe—as she did now, after dinner.

She and Lowen had completed the dance cards earlier, much to her relief; her back ached from hours spent bent over those small preparations for the ball.

Because of this, she lingered in the bath longer than usual before dressing for bed, while Lowen and his sister remained downstairs in the drawing room, playing chess.

While still marginally awake, she sat at her writing desk, finishing a letter to Felicity she’d started earlier in the day.

Her eyes drifted to a disordered stack of papers in the corner—unsent letters to Elias.

Helena skimmed the frantic lines of apology and pleading, scarcely believing she had written them.

It felt like another life. Or some banal nightmare.

She was relieved to have had the good sense, even at her lowest, never to send them.

Each page read like the words of a woman in need of rescue, and she had no doubt Elias would have interpreted them that way.

She pushed the letters aside, ashamed of the things she’d said about Lowen.

It would be better to burn them altogether, but the warmth of recent days had left the upstairs hearths unlit.

Too suspicious, she thought. Another time.

Soon, she would toss the bad memories away for good.

Everything was different now. She and Lowen were happy—expecting their first child. The season would soon come to a close, and afterward, they would retreat to Cornwall, alone at last, free to watch her belly swell and feel the peace they’d both long been denied.

And she was falling in love with him.

The thought came easily, unforced, rising without shame or hesitation.

Even if she hadn’t yet spoken the words aloud, she knew she would one day—and without needing courage to do it.

For now, she let her actions speak: her touch, her tenderness, the warmth she gave when they lay tangled together at night.

She tucked herself into his bed—their bed—and when he entered the room hours later, she stirred at the feel of him settling around her.

It was as he said: he was in her good graces every night.