But the nausea surged before she could form the words.
She turned away sharply, one hand rising to her mouth as the room seemed to drop beneath her. Cissie steadied her at once, Jane calling for assistance again, the quiet order of the shop dissolving into a low, contained urgency.
Covington’s voice returned, closer still. “Easy,” he said. “There is no need to distress yourself further. You are not alone in this. You will not be left to manage it.”
The words pressed against her without meaning. She had no strength to question them, no clarity to object. They existed only as sound—something to endure until the moment passed.
And at last, it did.
He inclined his head as though nothing of consequence had occurred. It was almost convincing.
Arabella did not look back.
That, more than anything, told her she was finished with him.
The quiet that followed felt different. Not relief—something firmer. As though the world had shifted half an inch and settled there.
She would not see him again.
By the time the carriage door closed behind her, the worst of it had subsided, though the weakness remained. Jane and Cissie sat on either side, their concern quiet but unwavering, the earlier ease of their outing replaced with something far more careful.
“You must see a physician,” Jane said once they were underway. “We cannot simply assume it is nothing.”
“It is likely the heat,” Arabella replied, though she did not sound convinced.
“Perhaps,” Cissie said. “But we shall not rely upon perhaps.”
Arabella did not argue.
The journey home passed in a blur of muted conversation and measured breathing. By the time they reached the townhouse, the familiar sight of it brought a sense of relief she had not expected.
The physician arrived within the hour.
He was an older man, composed in the manner of one who had seen every variety of distress and was not easily unsettled by any of them. He asked his questions with quiet efficiency, his tone neither overly concerned nor dismissive, as though the matter would reveal itself in due course.
Arabella answered as best she could, though her thoughts felt oddly distant, as though she were observing the exchange rather than participating in it.
When he was finished, he did not hesitate.
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head, “there is nothing to be alarmed by. You are with child.”
The words settled into the room with a weight that felt disproportionate to their simplicity.
Jane drew in a breath, her hand lifting instinctively toward Arabella’s. Cissie went very still beside her, her gaze searching Arabella’s face for understanding.
Arabella said nothing.
She nodded because it was expected. Because there was nothing else to do.
Arrangements were made. Instructions given. The physician took his leave with assurances that all would proceed as it ought.
And then, at last, she was alone.
Poppet found her almost immediately, leaping into her lap as though nothing at all had changed. Arabella’s hands came to rest against the soft weight of her, the steady rhythm of the cat’s breathing grounding her in a way nothing else had managed.
Pregnant.
The word did not settle easily.
