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Helena sunk herself deeper into the rapidly cooling bathwater as she peered over the rim at Mercy, who was very nearly emptying out one of Helena’s trunks.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I think the wrong trunk must have been brought up—I cannot find the yellow gown,” the lady’s maid fretted.

“No matter. Any will do,” replied Helena, bringing her knees to her chest. The water sloshed around her.

She was acutely aware of the effort it had taken to bring the heavy cast-iron tub to the room, the water carefully heated and carried by the servants. She resolved to remain in it for as long as decency allowed, if only to honor their trouble.

“Oh dear. There doesn’t seem to be any gowns—just coats and spencers.” Mercy cast a worried glance toward her. “I must fetch the right one from the carriage.”

“Don’t trouble yourself by bringing in the entire trunk. Find any appropriate dress and bring it here.”

Mercy bobbed a quick curtsy. “Yes, Your Grace.” She disappeared behind a folding screen that hid Helena from the rest of the room.

Left alone, Helena sighed. Perhaps bathing this morning had been a mistake.

Despite Lowen’s assurances that there was no need to rush, the lengthy process of preparing the tub had already consumed a good part of the day.

She had scrubbed herself thoroughly, but now there was nothing to do but wait for Mercy to return.

Her fingers trailed idly through the soapy water as her thoughts wandered.

The tub was generously sized—large enough that, were Lowen to join her, they could share it comfortably.

The idea brought a heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bath.

It wasn’t the time to ask, of course, despite his newfound tenderness toward her.

Yet, she couldn’t help longing for him—not just the comfort of his arms around her, but the intimacy they’d shared.

Another frustrating symptom of her condition was this heightened desire, a constant, aching reminder of their separation.

During their time apart, she had tried to soothe herself in solitude, but it was never the same.

Her own hands lacked the warmth, the intent, that only Lowen could provide.

The thought lingered, vivid and insistent, stirring a restlessness within her.

Her gaze flicked toward the screen. Mercy would return soon, no doubt.

She had only a moment to indulge the idea of leaning back, letting her fingers wander beneath the water, and conjuring an image of Lowen—his hands, his lips, the way he could unravel her entirely.

Helena shook her head sharply, banishing the thought. Some desires would have to wait.

An indeterminate amount of time had passed, and Mercy still hadn’t returned.

The bathwater, now uncomfortably cold, urged Helena into action.

She rose from the tub, shivering as the chill air clung to her damp skin.

Her towel lay forgotten on the bed, far across the room, and she reluctantly decided to retrieve it herself.

Stepping over the rim of the tub, she misjudged her footing.

Her wet foot slid against the polished floor, and before she could right herself, she toppled forward with a startled gasp.

Helena landed hard, certain that the thud of the impact was heard in the room below, as cold water splattered everywhere.

Pain flared through her her knees and elbows, the sting sharp enough to make her grit her teeth.

She winced as she pushed herself up slowly, cursing herself for not waiting for Mercy.

Before she could fully gather herself, the sound of the door opening froze her in place.

“Helena!” Lowen rushed into the room, carelessly slamming the door behind him as he dropped to the floor, gathering her into his arms. “What in God’s name happened? Are you injured?”

She must have looked a sight—soaked, sprawled on the floor, her hair plastered to her face. “I’m fine,” she managed, though her breath caught as her wet breasts pressed against his waistcoat. “I slipped getting out of the tub. That’s all.”

Lowen was not so easily reassured. He cast a wild glance around the room. “Why were you alone? Where is Mercy? She should’ve been here to help! And what of the baby?”

“This was entirely my own fault. Please, me and the baby are completely fine,” she insisted, offering him a steady smile. “Albeit I am a little bruised.”

“Bruised?” Lowen’s expression darkened as he eased his grip. His gaze dipped, intent on examining her, before his eyes widened in realization.

He stiffened, suddenly and acutely aware of her nudity.

Helena wasn’t sure why she felt inclined to hide.

Lowen had seen every inch of her naked body countless times.

Yet, he hadn’t seen her body like this before.

Her waist had thickened with the ever-increasing swell of her belly, her breasts seemed to have nearly doubled in size, and what shocked her most was the way her nipples had darkened, like overripe cherries.

She was still coming to terms with these changes—and reckoning with the knowledge that her transformation wasn’t yet complete.

In a futile attempt at modesty, Helena pressed her thighs together and crossed her arms over her chest. It did little to conceal her—her breasts, obscenely large, only pressed together under the motion, making her effort feel more erotic than effective.

“The towel is on the bed,” she told him sheepishly.

Lowen seemed to startle at her words, his trance broken. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red. “Yes, of course,” he muttered, turning quickly.

He reached a long arm behind them, retrieving the towel from the counterpane, and carefully wrapped it around her trembling form. Without hesitation, he gathered her into his arms again, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, and carried her to the bed.

“Thank you,” Helena murmured, scooting herself back toward the bed frame, her face burning with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment.

“I’ll call for a doctor,” Lowen said firmly as he hovered over her.

“It’s really not necessary to call on a doctor for something as trivial as bruised knees,” Helena replied, extending her legs to reveal her knees, which were already beginning to discolor from the fall.

This did nothing to placate him, only deepening the furrow of his brow. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shin, his touch comforting despite its careful restraint. “I should have been here to help you.”

Helena tilted her head playfully. “To help me bathe? It sounds like you have ulterior motives.”

Lowen huffed a quiet laugh. “Perhaps, but given your knack for mishaps, I’d call them entirely necessary. Someone needs to keep you upright.”

“Upright? You think you can manage to keep me upright?” She replied wryly.

It took a moment to understand her meaning, but once he realized, another laugh escaped him, deeper than the first. “There’s no need to test my resolve, it’s as unshakable as it appears.”

“I find that hard to believe. It took you entirely too long to come to Lancashire.” Helena only meant to tease him but his smile quickly faded.

His reply was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Mercy entered at Helena’s bidding, but the moment she noticed the water pooled across the floor, she gasped in dismay. “Oh, Your Grace! I’m so sorry—please forgive me?—”

“Mercy, it’s quite all right,” Helena offered gently, but the maid was already hurrying to fetch towels, her apologies tumbling out with every step.

“The trunk was difficult to retrieve,” Mercy said, her voice wavering as she moved across the room.

“Then why didn’t you have a servant see to Her Grace in your place?” Lowen snapped.

Helena cast Mercy a sympathetic glance.

It was her fault that Lowen was on edge again, after reminding him of their separation. “Really, there’s no need for the fuss. Thank you for bringing the dress, Mercy.”

The lady's maid nodded in relief but eyed Lowen warily. He had never behaved like this with the staff before, and it seemed as curious to Helena as it did to Mercy.

“I shall take my leave, then, so you may ready yourself,” he said, giving her leg a parting squeeze, his hand lingering briefly to stroke her skin. He turned toward Mercy. “If there is anything you require for Her Grace, come to me directly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The lady’s maid bobbed a quick curtsy as Lowen strode from the room.

Mercy dressed her without her usual jovial chatter, uttering an apology with each article of clothing she added.

Truthfully, Helena’s knees did pain her but if she dare mention it.

If she did, Lowen would undoubtedly summon every doctor in the vicinity to soothe his own anxieties, delaying their journey back to Cornwall by hours, if not days.

So, as she climbed into the carriage, she stifled a wince.

Lowen trailed in after her, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching cautiously, still unconvinced of her wellbeing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as the carriage began to joggle with movement.

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

“No nausea today?”

Helena shook her head. “It doesn’t happen every day, thank goodness.

I feel mostly like myself today, though I often feel like I could fall asleep at any moment.

” The constant fatigue was such a bother, leaving her confined to bed on more days than she cared to admit. “It’s just one of my symptoms.”

He frowned. “Are there other symptoms I should know about?”

“A few,” she admitted, thinking of how she’d nearly pleasured herself in the bathtub. “Though some are more troublesome and noticeable than others…” She hesitated, biting her lip in thought.