Chapter 17
The afternoon passed slowly. Lucien checked on Arabella every hour, finding her sleeping peacefully with Thistle, who'd somehow escaped the servants' hall, curled at her feet. The dog looked up each time, tail wagging, as if to say he was on guard.
"Good boy," Lucien murmured, and Thistle's tail wagged harder.
It was a measure of how much his life had changed that he was now praising the criminal dog who'd started all this chaos.
Around four, Arabella woke, looking much better.
"I'm starving," she announced.
"That's new."
"Apparently, once the morning sickness passes, I'm ravenous."
"I'll have food sent up."
"No, I want to go down. Show Cassandra I'm not defeated."
"Cassandra is gone."
"Already?"
"The Duchess was quite firm."
"Good. But I still want to go down. We can't hide all week."
"We can try."
"Lucien."
"Fine. But if you feel faint again..."
"I'll swoon dramatically into your arms."
"This isn't funny."
"It's a little funny."
"You could have fallen from your horse."
"But I didn't."
"You could have hurt yourself. Or the baby."
The word hung between them, still new, still impossible.
"The baby," she repeated softly. "We're having a baby."
"We are."
"You're going to be a father."
"Terrifying thought."
"You'll be wonderful."
"I'll be overprotective and paranoid."
"So, normal for you."
"This isn't normal. None of this is normal."
"No," she agreed. "It's better."
They dressed for dinner, Arabella in a soft blue gown that made her skin glow, Lucien in his usual black, and made their way downstairs. The dining room was full, conversation flowing, but it stopped when they entered.
"Lady Blackthorn!" The Duchess rose. "How wonderful to see you recovered."
"Thank you, Your Grace. I apologise for the drama this morning."
"Nonsense. Drama makes house gatherings interesting. Besides, you put Lady Velott in her place quite brilliantly."
"Where is Lady Velott?" someone asked.
"Gone," the Duchess said cheerfully. "Urgent business elsewhere."
"And Mr. Harrington?"
"Also gone. Apparently, his creditors discovered his location."
"How unfortunate," Arabella said innocently.
"Yes. Quite mysterious how they found him."
"These things happen."
"Indeed they do."
Dinner was pleasant, with carefully neutral conversation and no mention of the morning's events. But Lucien noticed Arabella pushing food around her plate more than eating, and her color was still pale.
"You should rest," he murmured.
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted."
"I'm with child."
"Same thing, apparently."
"I need to talk to Cordelia."
"Why?"
"I am shocked from what you mentioned about your cousin Mary. And Cordelia knows about her sister and about what your aunt did."
"That's not our business."
"It could be Cordelia next."
"Again, not our business."
"Lucien."
He sighed. "You're going to make it our business, aren't you?"
"Obviously."
"Even though you should be resting?"
"Especially because I should be resting. If I don't do it now, you'll prevent me later."
"I'm preventing you now."
"No, you're objecting. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Preventing requires action. Objecting is just words."
"I could carry you upstairs."
"You could. But that would cause a scene."
"I don't care about scenes."
"You do when they upset me. And being carried from the dining room would definitely upset me."
"You're manipulative."
"I'm strategic."
"Same thing."
"If it was the same thing, you wouldn't love me."
"I'd love you regardless."
"Even if I was manipulative?"
"Especially then. It would mean you were thinking."
"I'm always thinking."
"No, sometimes you're feeling. Like now."
"I'm thinking about feeling."
"That doesn't count."
Their quiet bickering was interrupted by Lady Agatha's sharp voice.
"Cordelia, stop daydreaming and pay attention."
They looked over to see Cordelia staring out the window while her mother lectured her about something. The girl looked miserable.
"We're inviting her to stay," Arabella said firmly.
"We're discussing it."
"We're inviting her. Tonight."
"Arabella..."
"She helped with Thistle. That makes her family."
"She's already family. She's my cousin."
"Our cousin. And she needs help."
"You can't save everyone."
"No, but I can save her."
"This is how we end up with a house full of people in need."
"This is how we end up with a house full of family."
The distinction hit him unexpectedly hard. Family. Not the cold, formal relationships he'd grown up with, but something warmer. Chaotic, indeed, but warm.
"Fine," he said. "But you're telling Aunt Agatha."
"We'll tell her together."
"She's going to be furious."
"Good. Her fury is entertaining."
"You're a very strange woman."
"That's romantic."
"Everything is romantic to you now."
"It's the baby. Apparently, pregnancy makes me sentimental."
"You were sentimental before."
"Now I'm extra sentimental."
"Heaven help us all."
After dinner, they cornered Cordelia in the music room where she was hiding from her mother.
"Cordelia," Arabella said gently. "We'd like to talk to you."
"Have I done something wrong?"
"No. We want to invite you to stay with us."
"Stay? At Blackthorn Manor?"
"For as long as you like."
"But Mother..."
"We'll handle your mother," Lucien said.
"She won't allow it."
"She will if the alternative is scandal."
"What scandal?"
"The one where we publicly discuss what happened to your sister Mary."
Cordelia went white.
"I didn't mean….I shouldn't have..."
"You should have," Arabella said firmly. "And someone should have helped Mary."
"No one could. Mother had already arranged everything."
"Well, she hasn't arranged anything for you yet. And we're offering an alternative."
"Why?"
"Because you deserve better than being sold to save someone's estate."
Cordelia's eyes filled with tears. "You'd really take me in?"
"We'd really make you family."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," Lucien suggested. "It'll annoy your mother tremendously."
"That's not a good reason."
"It's an excellent reason. But there are others. You'll have a season in London, meet people your mother doesn't control, and make your own choices."
"My own choices," Cordelia repeated, as if the words were foreign.
"Novel concept, I know," Arabella said. "But you might enjoy it."
"When?"
"We'll leave tomorrow. You can follow when you're ready."
"Tomorrow? But the house gathering..."
"I'm not feeling well enough for the full week," Arabella said. "And Lucien is looking for any excuse to escape."
"Both true," Lucien confirmed.
"I... yes. Yes, I'd love to come."
"Excellent." Arabella hugged her, surprising the girl. "We'll speak to your mother tonight."
***
Lady Agatha, when cornered, was predictably furious.
"Absolutely not."
"It's not a request," Lucien said calmly.
"She's my daughter."
"And she's over twenty. She can make her own choices."
"Not while she lives under my roof."
"Then she'll live under ours."
"I'll cut her off."
"We don't need your money."
"She'll be ruined."
"She'll be sponsored by the Earl and Countess of Blackthorn. That's hardly ruin."
"It's kidnapping."
"It's rescue," Arabella corrected. "And if you fight us, I'll make sure everyone knows what happened to Mary."
Lady Agatha went white. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
"That's blackmail."
"That's negotiation. Cordelia comes with us, lives her own life, makes her own choices. Or everyone learns that you forced your daughter to give up a child."
"It was for the best."
"For whose best? Mary's? She's miserable. The baby? Who knows where it is. You? Definitely. Your reputation remained intact."
"You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly. You value appearance over your daughters' happiness. But Cordelia deserves better."
"And you think you can give her better?"
"I think we can give her choices."
Lady Agatha looked between them, her face twisted with rage and something else—fear, perhaps, that her carefully constructed world was crumbling.
"Fine," she spat. "Take her. But don't come crying to me when she disappoints you."
"The only disappointment," Lucien said coldly, "would be leaving her here."
They left her sputtering and went to find Cordelia, who was pacing anxiously in her room.
"Well?" she asked.
"Pack your things," Arabella said. "You're coming home with us."
The girl burst into tears and threw herself at Arabella, who caught her, laughing.
"None of that. We're family now. Family doesn't cry."
"Family cries all the time," Lucien corrected. "But happy tears are acceptable."
"These are definitely happy tears," Cordelia managed.
Later, in their own chambers, as they prepared for bed, Lucien watched Arabella brush her hair and felt his chest tight with emotion.
"You're staring again," she observed.
"I'm appreciating."
"What?"
"You. This. Everything."
She set down the brush and came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Everything is rather a lot."
"A wife, a baby, a criminal dog, and now a rescued cousin."
"Don't forget the household staff who've all been corrupted by Thistle."
"How could I forget?"
"It's quite a collection."
"It's quite a family."
She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Family. I like that."
"Even though it's chaos?"
"Especially because it's chaos. Organised families are boring."
"Ours will never be boring."
"Good."
He kissed her then, deep and thorough, his hands sliding through her hair. She melted against him, and he forgot about everything except the taste of her, the feel of her, the miracle of her in his arms.
"Bed?" she suggested breathlessly.
"Bed," he agreed.
They made love slowly, carefully, aware of the new life growing between them. Afterward, they lay tangled together, Arabella's head on his chest, his hand on her still-flat stomach.
"Are you really happy about the baby?" she asked.
"Terrified but happy."
"What are you terrified of?"
"Everything. Being a terrible father. Something happening to you. Something happening to the baby. The dog teaching it bad habits."
"Thistle will be an excellent influence."
"Thistle is a criminal."
"A reformed criminal."
"I love your inability to see the bad in anyone except those who deserve it"
"And I love you, my reformed beast."
They fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, their child growing between them, their criminal dog snoring at their feet, and their rescued cousin probably crying happy tears down the hall.
It was, Arabella thought as she drifted off, a perfect evening.
Not because it had gone according to plan, nothing in their life ever did, but because it had gone according to their lack of plan, which was even better.
Tomorrow they'd return to Blackthorn Manor with their expanded family. There would be more chaos, more challenges, more opportunities for Thistle to commit crimes.
But tonight, they were together, they were happy, and they were about to become parents.
Life, she decided, was absolutely perfect in its imperfection.