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Helena felt her heart writhe in pleasure and anguish. She hesitated, and glanced down to their joined hands. “Lowen,” she began softly, “I need to apologize, too.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For the letters,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “For what I wrote in them—calling you unlovable. I was angry, but it was cruel.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Lowen exhaled slowly, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “Helena, you don’t owe me any apologies.”

“You are quite lovable,” she said shyly, her face warming. “It’s very obvious in the way you’ve cared for Thomasin and the garden. You planted all of those flowers…those blue flowers. My favorite color.”

“I’d uproot that entire garden here and now if you told me you preferred yellow.”

Helena laughed, her fingers curling into Lowen’s as she leaned closer to him; he even smelled like a garden. She’d always liked that about him, since the very first moment they met.

The words—three of them— I love you —played on the edge of her tongue, but fear held her back. She was afraid of her own foolishness, afraid that maybe he still did not feel the same. She couldn’t find the courage to say them, not yet.

Instead, she squeezed his hand gently, as though her emotions might reach him through the simple act of touch. Lowen didn’t press her. He only looked at her with that steady, unyielding expression she was still learning to understand.

“Hm, are you certain you cannot help but indulge me? I like the color yellow, as well.”

Lowen glanced at her with mock severity, his lips twitching as he fought back a smile. “I’ll begin preparations right away.”

Helena laughed again. She knew he would take her seriously if she didn’t clarify. “I jest—but if you can indulge me on one thing…”

“What is it?”

“I would like to choose our child’s name.”

“Oh—of course. Have you made a decision?” He shifted in his seat, as though bracing himself for her answer.

Helena hesitated. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt with deliberate care, stalling for just a moment. “No,” she lied. “Not yet.”

It wasn’t that she wanted to deceive him, but the thought of finality—especially with the uncertainty surrounding childbirth—unnerved her. She decided she would rather wait until the child was healthy and safe in her arms before surprising Lowen with her choice.

“Well, whatever you decide, I shall like it,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before rising. He offered his hand to help Helena to her feet. “The physician will be arriving shortly.”

“Will you stay with me while he tends to me?” she asked.

“Of course—as long as you’re comfortable.”

Helena nodded. “I want you there.”

Lowen smiled softly at her. “Then I shall stay with you.”

The physician’s visit had provided the reassurance Lowen desperately needed after their long journey from Lancashire. The weight on his chest, ever present since they departed, had eased considerably. Both he and Helena seemed lighter, their spirits noticeably lifted.

According to the doctor, Helena was in impressive health, even with her occasional bouts of illness.

He assured them it was normal and should subside with time.

Still, Lowen’s resolve remained steadfast—if anything changed, if Helena’s health so much as wavered, he would ride to the doctor’s home himself without hesitation.

With that ordeal behind them, dinner tasted all the more savory, and dessert sweeter still. Their first meal together at Penhollow—and, he silently vowed, far from their last. Not for many years.

Lowen was overjoyed. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel this full—not just from the food, though it was excellent, but from sheer, uncontainable happiness.

If his heart decided to burst from it, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He could practically feel the urge to topple over, though not before covering Helena in kisses.

He almost felt foolish for it—for the way his joy threatened to spill over, unchecked—but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Happiness wasn’t foolish. Loving Helena wasn’t foolish.

But did she love him?

Once, the question would have gnawed at him, pricked at his pride, even. Now, it no longer mattered. The love he held for her—it was enough for both of them.

In time, perhaps she could love him, too. And if not, he would still love her with everything he had. They had the rest of their lives ahead of them, and for Lowen, that was more than enough.

After dinner, Thomasin whisked Helena away once more, this time to her studio to proudly display her most recent paintings. Lowen smiled to himself; his sister’s talent was blossoming. Her work adorned several walls throughout Penhollow and even in London, a testament to her growth.

Perhaps, once the baby was born, he would commission Thomasin to paint their family—a new portrait to mark this next chapter of their lives.

Later, in his study, Lowen’s gaze settled on the portrait of Benjamin. It hung in its familiar place, a quiet reminder of the past. He imagined the family portrait hanging beside it, the two paintings side by side. They would all be together then—in one way or another.

Lowen sat at his desk, rifling through letters and ledgers. His steward, ever reliable, had managed the work well in his absence—a relief, considering the mounting demands. If only he could send the man to Parliament in his place.

The thought drew a sigh from him. Come November, he would need to return to London and remain until at least June. The prospect of travel pressed on his thoughts, especially with Helena’s condition advancing. The physician had estimated she was due to give birth in February—only a few months away.

Lowen tapped his fingers absently against the polished wood of the desk, deep in thought.

Taking Helena to London seemed unwise, given the strain it might place on her.

But even if she were willing to endure the journey, would she truly wish to give birth there, so far from her family in Lancashire?

“Even in a house this grand, I always know where to find you,” Helena’s bright voice carried through the quiet room, nearly causing Lowen to start. She moved with a delicate silence, barefoot, he realized as he looked up at her.

“Now that you’re here, I imagine I won’t spend so much time in this room anymore,” he replied, standing to greet her with a small smile.

“Yes, because you’ll be spending time in my room,” she quipped, her tone lilting with a playful purr. She held out her hand, beckoning him with a wriggle of her fingers.

“Yes, I do believe I have some work to do in there as well,” Lowen teased.

“Work?” Helena raised a brow. “Surely, I am not such a task.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Providing you with pleasure is never a task. But I must make up for our time apart.” He leaned in slightly, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I do hope you’re not tired.”

Helena giggled, her hands trailing up to the lapels of his coat. “Of course not. It’s you who must tire me out.” She pulled him closer, her smile turning wicked as she brought her lips to his.

The two of them hurried to Helena’s room, whispering and touching each other eagerly, their anticipation palpable.

They made love slowly, tenderly. Lowen’s hands were urgent yet gentle, caressing Helena’s soft skin.

His lips explored every inch of her, kissing every crevice, every freckle, as though committing them all to memory.

He savored her like never before, holding her tightly afterward as she rested against his chest, her back pressed to him.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, though she was already fast asleep.