Helena had barely enough time to bid her family farewell before departing that morning, leaving them understandably perplexed by her abrupt exit. Lowen, true to his nature, was ready early, eager to set off while the dawn sky still carried its faint blue hue.

He was silent as he helped her into the carriage, and for a moment, Helena thought he might join her inside. She was, however, sadly mistaken. Throughout the journey—marked by a brief stop to rest the horses before reaching their lodgings for the night—he kept his distance, choosing to ride alongside the carriages.

Unsure of how to approach him, she resolved to wait until they reached Cornwall. Today, she felt particularly unwell and could not summon the strength for a conversation, even if she had wished to try.

Upon reaching their inn for the evening, Helena longed for nothing more than a bath. Yet, the moment she entered the room, exhaustion claimed her. Too weary to even summon Mercy, she clumsily removed her gown and collapsed onto the bed, leaving the candles burning.

Lowen had mentioned he would join her shortly, but she was fast asleep by the time he entered the room.

The next morning, a sudden wave of powerful nausea jolted Helena awake. Panicked, she rolled off the bed with a thud, frantically reaching beneath it for the chamber pot.

"Helena?"

Lowen's sleep-roughened voice called out, but she couldn't respond. Her stomach churned violently, and to her dismay, her mouth filled with bile that splattered against the porcelain chamber pot.

"Helena!"

Realizing what was happening, Lowen was at her side in an instant, crouching behind her.

She tried to lift her head to reassure him, but another surge of bile forced her back down. Her hair slipped loose, falling in strands beside her face as she heaved into the chamber pot once more.

Tears welled in her eyes, as they always did from the burning pain in her throat, and between ragged breaths, she began to sob—partly from disgust, partly from the agony, and partly from sheer mortification.

"Sshhh," Lowen murmured softly beside her. Helena felt his touch as he brushed away the strands clinging to her face. Gathering her hair with care, he began tugging at it gently.

Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tilted her head just enough to glance at him. "Are you... braiding my hair?"

"Yes," he replied simply, working diligently at the task. "To keep it out of your face."

Before she could ask anything further, another wave of nausea overtook her. Shuddering, she leaned forward and retched into the chamber pot again.

"I'll be right back," Lowen said. She heard him cross the room and open the door to speak with someone briefly. Moments later, he returned, settling beside her once more and murmuring soft words of comfort.

Certain she was finished, Helena pushed the chamber pot back under the bed, unable to bear the sight or smell any longer. "I'm sorry," she croaked, turning away from him as she wiped at her lips. "It's just... a lovely benefit of my condition."

"There's no need to apologize," he said gently. "Here."

He pressed something into her limp hand—a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she murmured, cleaning her mouth with slow, shaky movements. Afterward, she looked down at the cloth, recognition struck her. "This... where did you get this?"

"From your room," he answered. Though she couldn't see his face, she knew his silver eyes were fixed on her, watching intently. "After you left, I found it there."

Helena flushed as the memory of that day resurfaced, a whirl of emotions roiling inside her, much like the sickness that had just left her body. "It was meant to be a present for you," she admitted quietly.

Lowen said nothing at first, only standing and extending a hand to help her up. "Here, lay down," he urged.

"But we need to prepare to leave," she protested weakly, wobbling as she tried to stand.

"There's no need to rush."

"But isn't Thomasin waiting for us?"

"She's being thoroughly distracted by some of our relations at the moment," he assured her, guiding her back to the bed and gently tucking the blankets over her. "We'll leave when you're feeling better."

A knock sounded at the door, and one of the inn's maids entered, carrying a tray. Lowen rose to take it from her, offering a quiet word of thanks before she left. He brought the tray to the bed, setting it down carefully before sitting beside Helena. Still in his nightshirt, the collar hung open, revealing a broad swath of skin dusted with dark curls. She liked him best like this—ruffled and at ease. It reminded her of the quiet mornings they'd shared in the privacy of his room, making love and savoring each other's company before preparing for the day.

Feeling the warmth rise to her cheeks, she quickly shifted her attention to the tray. It held a simple plate of bread and a warmed cup of milk. She wrinkled her nose at the sight.

"You need to eat," Lowen said in response to her grimace, as he began breaking off pieces of the bread.

Helena turned her head away with a groan. "I don't think I can manage it."

"You'll feel better. Here." He held a piece of bread out to her, but she shook her head.

"If I eat, I can't promise it will stay down." Though the smell of the fresh bread was undeniably tempting.

"Just try it," he coaxed.

"I don't know," she said, eyeing the piece of bread with uncertainty. Normally, the mornings she felt ill, she would have stayed in bed until her body regained enough strength to rise. But this time, she didn't have that luxury. They needed to return to Cornwall, and there was no time to wait for her to feel better.

Without warning, Lowen gathered her into his arms and shifted back against the headboard, his movements careful to avoid knocking over the tray.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, startled.

He loosened his grip as she squirmed in his arms, trying to find a comfortable position. Her body rested against his solid chest, and even though there wasn't a chill in the air, Helena rejoiced in the warmth of him.

"Eat," he insisted again, his voice kind yet firm. "Please, just one bite. For me."

Helena hesitated, then sighed. "Very well."

She opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her a small piece of bread. It was soft, warm, and delicious, and as she swallowed, she paused, waiting to see if the nausea would return.

"And?" he asked, watching her expectantly.

"I think I can manage another bite," she admitted sheepishly.

So, Lowen fed her another bite, and another, and another, until she'd finished nearly half of what he'd brought. When the milk was still warm, she managed a few cautious sips. Afterward, she nestled into his arms, enjoying this moment of closeness—at least for as long as she could before the inevitable distance returned.

"How are you feeling now?" Lowen asked, his chin grazing the top of her head as he spoke.

"Much better," she replied. "Thank you."

He exhaled deeply, as if relieved, and began to shift as if to release her. But Helena wasn't ready to let go.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, her fingers tightened around the fabric of his nightshirt. "I should have told you as soon as I knew."

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. It thudded strong and assured, so unlike her own, which fluttered like a rabbit's.

"I would have liked to rejoice with you," he said at last. "But nonetheless, I am still pleased." Gently, he pried her arms from around him and eased her back onto the bed. "We must prepare to depart."

"Of course," she murmured, instantly feeling a chill as Lowen released her. Drawing her bare feet under the blankets, she watched as he removed his nightshirt, leaving him clad only in his smallclothes. His back, broad at the shoulders and trim at the waist, appeared leaner. The muscles beneath his skin were more apparent than before, standing out as he moved. She wondered what he had been doing these past two months.

Clearly, something physical.

Helena's stomach lurched. Were there other women? Plenty of men in the ton took lovers and mistresses. Was Lowen no different? She bit her lip hard, as though the pain could keep the contents of her stomach from rising again.

"Helena."

Lowen's voice pierced her spiraling thoughts. She blinked and looked up.

He was fully dressed now, standing at the foot of the bed. "Is something the matter?"

His face was so sincere, so taut with worry. He would never take another woman to bed, she reassured herself.

"No, not at all," Helena replied, shaking her head.

"Good," he nodded, and the tenseness in his brow eased. "I'll be downstairs. I'll have a maid bring you fresh water so you may wash. Come down when you're ready."

Lowen left the room, and Helena's lady's maid, Mercy, entered. Helena wasn't eager to spend hours in the carriage again, so she cleaned herself carefully with the fresh water brought to her quarters. With Mercy's help, she dressed in a loose-fitting gown, one suitable for her condition and comfortable enough for travel.

Afterward, Helena met Lowen outside. It wasn't too late in the morning, and with fair weather and clear roads, they could still cover a great distance. She climbed into the carriage, expecting Mercy to follow, but instead, it was Lowen who entered and closed the door behind him.

"I assumed you'd ride alongside today," she said, reaching for a plush pillow and tucking it behind her back for comfort.

Lowen settled across from her. Even in the carriage, he maintained his impeccable posture. "If you're ill again, I'd like to be here to help."

Helena couldn't stop the blush that rose to her cheeks. "That's very kind of you."

He gave a small shrug. "Think nothing of it."

Impossible as that was, a small, deluded part of her wanted to believe he was here because he truly cared for her. But the memory of their last time together was quick to tarnish that fragile hope. There was the possibility she carried his heir—of course he'd see to her health.

The carriage began to sway, signifying the start of their journey. Lowen turned his head toward the window, watching the few people passing by, each surely preoccupied with their own troubles.

Despite the welcoming bright sky above, Helena reached for the curtain and drew it closed. Traveling had worsened the fatigue that accompanied her condition, and she knew sleep would claim her whether she wished it or not. Better to avoid the sun in her face.

"Would you like me to draw my curtain as well?" Lowen asked.

"Oh—no. That's not necessary," she answered quickly, but he did it anyway.

"I didn't mean to keep you from riding," she said, awkwardly. "You must find this terribly dull."

"I'd hardly call it dull. A reprieve from the saddle is welcome, and..." He hesitated. In the shadows, his eyes softened as they met hers. "I'd rather be here. With you. It seemed...appropriate to join you today."

Helena's cheeks warmed again. "I haven't been very good company lately," she admitted. "I've been sick most mornings, more tired than usual. It feels like I'm asleep more than I'm awake."

Lowen nodded in understanding. "I'm sure traveling doesn't help. Nonetheless, I'm here to ensure your comfort."

The carriage rocked gently as it rumbled down the road, lulling her like a babe in a cradle. Helena yawned and nestled against the brocade seat, seeking a more comfortable position.

"Do you need anything? More pillows, perhaps?" Lowen asked, holding one out to her.

She let out a small laugh. "That one's yours." She doubted he would use it, though—Lowen never spread himself over the seat the way Isaac would.

"I don't mind," he replied, but she shook her head.

The steady rhythm of the wheels, coupled with the ache of a changing body, began to weigh on her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she barely noticed when her head tilted to the side, sleep claiming her before she could stop it. Helena couldn't be certain if she was dreaming. She felt her weightless body moving without her doing. If it was a dream, she didn't mind. Her world went dark again.

The next time she stirred, the world felt different. Her cheek rested against something firm and warm, and a steady rise and fall beneath her told her she was no longer alone on her bench.

Groggy, she blinked slowly, her vision adjusting to see the lapels of Lowen's coat beneath her.

"Sorry," she slurred, barely lifting her head before her eyes threatened to close again.

"Don't be," Lowen said softly, and he tightened his hold on her.

Safe and cocooned in the warmth of his arms, Helena let herself drift back into sleep.

~

Habit compelled Lowen to take Helena in his arms as she slept, his body moving before his mind could protest. Every instinct screamed at him to keep his distance, to hold on to the resentment that had been festering for months. But his hands, like old memories, found their way to her without thought, drawing her closer. He resented how easily his instincts took over, how the feel of her, even through the fabric of their clothing, sent a jolt of excitement through him. I should be angry with her, he thought. But the feeling was fleeting, swept away the moment her supple body rested against his. She felt too right against him, and his body, still attuned to her presence, refused to let her go.

At least for the time being.

It was ten miles before the carriage stopped to change horses at a bustling coaching inn, and waking Helena from her slumber proved nearly difficult. Lowen almost felt guilty for disturbing her, but this was the perfect opportunity for a meal before setting off again.

With a bit of fuss, Lowen managed to rouse Helena enough for her to sit upright. She blinked rapidly against the light as the carriage door opened.

"Here." He held out his hand, and she obeyed wordlessly. "We've stopped to change horses, but we should stretch our legs and eat something."

Helena didn't respond at first, leaning against him for support as the noise and movement around them slowly drew her from her stupor.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, glancing down at her.

"Not particularly," she murmured, a hand rested on her belly.

Lowen frowned. Helena looked a little too peaky for his liking. "It's been hours since you last ate, and it wasn't very much to begin with."

"I'd much rather nap," she groaned, as he guided her inside the inn.

It was more boisterous than when last Lowen was here, merely days ago. The previous storm had kept many away from traveling, but now in the height of the summer sun, the traveling crowds emerged. From where he stood at the entrance, it was impossible to discern whether there was any space for either of them but thankfully, one of the barmaids recognized Lowen and pointed him to an empty table tucked near a stack of wine casks.

"The roast here is particularly delicious," Lowen said, helping Helena to her seat. "But if that's too much, I would recommend to you the bread and butter pudding."

At the mention of a dessert, she brightened slightly. "I do like pudding."

Lowen nearly smiled. "I'm not opposed to feeding you again if I must."

Helena let out a faint hum, resting her cheek against her hand. "Careful, or I might start expecting this kind of attention."

"And would that be so terrible?"

For the second time today, she laughed. There was still no sweeter sound.

"My stomach will be very round soon, you know. Your arm might have a hard time reaching over to feed me then."

His breeches tightened obscenely at the thought. "I'm sure I'll manage," he replied gruffly, trying to swat the image away before he became any more uncomfortable.

After Lowen ordered their food with the familiar barmaid, they sat in silence for a moment. Helena seemed to still be shaking off her daze—or perhaps she was simply pensive. Then, as if the thought had struck her out of nowhere, she asked softly, "Did you learn to braid because of Thomasin?"

He nodded. "Yes. As I mentioned once before, she was particularly fussy as a little girl. She outright refused to let any of the nursemaids touch her hair. To ease their frustrations—and her own—I learned to braid it myself."

As much as he loved his little sister, Thomasin had been something of a terror at times. Lowen—not even an adult himself—hadn't the faintest idea how to manage her. Of course, he could have left her entirely in the care of the nursemaids, but she was all he truly had left. The thought of her growing up even more alone than he had was simply unbearable.

"I suppose if we have a girl, we won't need a nursemaid, will we?" Helena teased, though her expression quickly sobered. "But—of course, I'll provide you with an heir."

"An heir, yes." He paused, his attention drifting over Helena's reddening face. He wondered what she might be thinking. "We'll see to that when the time comes."

Truthfully, he wasn't as concerned about heirs as he probably should be. Not now, at least—not while he was still navigating the uncertainty between him and Helena.

When the food arrived, they ate quickly, not wanting to waste any more precious daylight while traveling. Lowen watched Helena closely for any signs of illness, relieved when none appeared. She made a good effort with her pudding, managing to eat more than half. When they returned to the carriage, Helena rearranged the pillows like a little bird tending to her nest, burying herself in the cushions. This time, Lowen refrained from taking her in his arms, as much as the impulse urged him to, allowing her to spread out across the carriage as comfortably as she could.

Since their start to the day had been disrupted, they traveled well into the night, finally reaching the last inn when the moon was high in the sky. Lowen carried Helena inside, and the owners—an older husband and wife—seemed to rejoice in the gesture, clucking over how attentive and caring the usually taciturn duke was being with his wife.

"Oh, she's a looker, she is, Your Grace," the wife whispered to him as she escorted him to the room.

Once inside the room, Lowen gently set Helena down on the counterpane before waking her.

"I'll fetch Mercy to help you prepare for bed," he said softly.

Helena waved him off. "No, I can do it." She sat up and clumsily attempted to kick off her boots, but they wouldn't budge. "Perhaps... I do need help tonight," she added, peering up at him with half-closed eyes.

"Allow me." Lowen crouched and undid the laces to her boots, neatly setting them against the wall.

"Can you do the rest?" She asked sheepishly.

With great difficulty, Lowen managed to nod. His body already burned with desire before even touching her. Undressing her was no great task, but keeping himself from pulling her into his arms and smothering her with kisses was a monumental feat. In the quiet of the room, with only the soft rustle of Helena's clothing being discarded piece by piece, until her delicate chemise lay between them, he realized how much of his anger had been forgotten. He hadn't given Elias or the letters a single thought today, and even now, remembering his anger felt distant. He didn't want to be angry. Being with Helena again, despite the circumstances, felt more comfortable, more natural, than all the time he had spent alone before marrying her.

Lowen laid her down and covered her with the blanket. "Tomorrow, before we leave, may I please take a bath?" she murmured.

"Yes. Anything you want," he replied.

As Lowen prepared himself for bed, he glanced back at Helena, at the slow rise and fall of her chest. His own was restless; his heart kicked and ached for her. He had missed her terribly. He loved her terribly.