As a former debutante of perfect standing, Melody knew how to retain a hold on her emotions when faced with a troubling thought. The forced etiquette lessons emphasized how to maintain a neutral expression and keep her body language calm. She also learned the art of the redirect and the soft, polite smile. All of which Melody was silently grateful for as she distractedly listened to Ben's explanation.

Her course was late, and it was never — not once in the near decade since being blessed with it — late. It appeared every twenty-nine days like clockwork and was due a few days after her cancelled wedding. In fact, her menses were so dependable that Marianne Finch had taken it into consideration when negotiating the wedding date. For while a honeymoon baby would be delightful, the elder woman believed having an additional few weeks to adjust to becoming a wife would somehow aid Melody significantly. Eight days late. How had she not noticed it before now? Fuck.

Determined not to alarm him before she was certain of the news herself, Melody ensured the sudden panic she felt remained undetectable. After all, panic was what forced them into this mess in the first place. She couldn't allow it to dictate another course of action before she had the opportunity to think it out herself. A week (or month) without knowing wouldn't cause him harm. If anything, he would be better for it.

Which brought her back to the topic at hand. "I don't think I have any rings." She answered uneasily. "There's probably a brooch we can have a jeweler use the stones and gold from." Melody looked towards the corner of the room where her unpacked trunks (as she removed what was necessary but left the rest) resided before continuing, "is it worth the expense, though? The talk is going to exist regardless of how ornate my ring is. We're both aware that this wasn't because I'm pregnant, so shouldn't we save where we can?" And she wasn't pregnant. She refused to be.