He nearly groaned as they turned to move out onto the dance floor in front of their guests. He could only hope that his wife had suggested a reel for their first dance; something to keep him actively moving rather than slowly drifting towards her and away from her in regular intervals and patterns. Particularly since he had just promised her a cotillion later on.

There was no telling how a dance more sedate would affect him before he had a chance to put proper distance between them.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Something was dreadfully wrong.

It had to be.

She had never been unwell first thing in the morning in her entire life, but this morning, she had barely set her feet upon the floor before she had been running for her chamber pot.

After a night of dancing and playing the hostess rather splendidly, if she dared flatter herself, she ought to have been fatigued, perhaps even sore in her ankles and feet, but certainly never unwell. She had not taken in any strong spirits, had not eaten anything unappealing, and had not been feeling in any way imperfect.

Yet she had been kneeling on the floor over her chamber pot after being sick, wondering if she dared stand up again.

It had taken several minutes, but when it was clear there was nothing more to come, she had gradually pushed to her feet without any hint that any sickness had occurred. She had returned to her bed, taken her breakfast tray, and only consumed the dry toast and tea, after which she had felt perfectly well.

A little wobbly, but perfectly well.

Until she had realized that she ought to have had her monthly courses the week before and had no sign of them.

At all.

Once she had dressed, she had dashed to her drawing room for her diary and flipped back several days. She was not an exceptional journal keeper, but she had made it a habit to record brief details or plans for her days. If she was wrong on her calculations for her courses, her diary would correct her misapprehension.

Running was not a problem, did not agitate her stomach or her head, and did not make her feel the least bit wobbly. How could she have momentary moments of being unwell but generally be well and whole otherwise?

And what, if she were correct, could make her courses stop?

Her feet skidded to a halt as she reached her drawing room, her eyes going wide.

Her courses had stopped.

That could mean…

Her hands flew to her stomach, looking down at the flat surface as though a child would be waving up at her.

A child…