“Let Wiggins know that I’ll need the carriage at half one. My sisters and I will be going out this afternoon for a charitable endeavor.” Fancy’s shop would be opening this evening with a grand party. They couldn’t attend that, naturally, but Fancy had invited them to a private celebration with her family before the main event. It was unlikely they’d be seen by anyone they knew—other than Trewlove family members, of course.

With her brow furrowed and her hands clasped in front of her, her maid came to stand at the foot of the bed. “I don’t know that they’ll be up to it, Your Grace. The girls are having their monthly unwellness.”

Selena went still, so still, it was a wonder she continued to draw in breath. As incredible as it seemed, she and her sisters had always been on the same schedule when it came to the curse. They were like well-tuned clockwork, a vicious headache coming upon them before the painful cramps arrived. They always spent the first day or so abed, bemoaning God’s punishment upon them. “When did their menses begin?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“All three of them?”

“Yes, ma’am. As always. I prepared some rags for you, though mayhap you won’t be needin’ them?”

The last two words were spoken in a high pitch as though her maid feared that even a hint of her possibly carrying the heir would prevent it from being true. Although her servant knew when her last menses had ended, still the innocent woman held out hope that even though his health had been failing, the duke had managed to rise to the challenge and do his duty one last time. It was that absurd belief that Selena had planned to exploit if she managed to get herself with child.

The possibility now loomed and yet—

She could think of a hundred reasons why her sisters were presently suffering and she wasn’t. The stress of becoming a widow, of mourning, had blocked her flow. She wasn’t spending as much time with her sisters, and so they’d fallen out of their rhythm. She was so occupied, fairly obsessed with her time with Aiden, that she’d somehow conveyed to her body that it should do nothing to prevent her from seeing him every night—and that included any hint of a monthly bleeding.

Or she could be with child.

His child. Aiden’s.

She closed her eyes, fought back tears for everything it would mean. The joy that his babe might be growing inside her. Dark-haired, dark-eyed. Strong-jawed. Tiny hands and feet that would grow into larger ones.

Sadness because Aiden wouldn’t be with her when the child was born. That his moments with his progeny would be short and infrequent.