The tension in the room was suffocating. I tried to focus on Helena Pembroke's gentle chattering beside me, but my stomach churned uncomfortably—whether from the early signs of pregnancy or the stifling atmosphere of the noblewomen's gathering, I couldn't tell.
"Isabella, are you feeling well? You've gone rather pale," Helena whispered, concern etching her kind features.
I forced a smile. "Just a little tired. These social obligations are more draining than I remember."
In truth, I'd been feeling unwell for days now, but hadn't yet breathed a word to Alaric. The possibility that I might be carrying his child both thrilled and terrified me. After months of marriage, the pressure to produce an heir had become an unspoken weight between us.
"Lady Thorne!" Viscountess Noelle Prescott's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp as a blade. "How lovely to see you participating in social events again. We'd begun to worry you might be following in your sister's reclusive footsteps."
