Chapter 18
The journey home the next morning was delayed by Cordelia's nervous preparations and Lady Agatha's last-minute attempts to prevent her daughter's departure.
"You're making a terrible mistake," Lady Agatha hissed at Cordelia while servants loaded trunks.
"The only mistake," Lucien said coldly, "would be staying here."
"She has obligations."
"She had obligations. Now she has opportunities."
"You're filling her head with nonsense."
"We're filling her head with the radical idea that she matters."
"Of course she matters. She's my daughter."
"She's your commodity," Arabella corrected, joining them despite Lucien's attempts to make her rest. "There's a difference."
"How dare you?"
"I dare because someone needs to. Mary didn't have anyone to dare for her. Cordelia does."
"Mary's situation was entirely different."
"Was it? An inconvenient pregnancy, a quick solution, a broken daughter. Sounds familiar."
Lady Agatha's face went purple. "You know nothing about it."
"I know Mary hasn't smiled since. I know she writes to Cordelia begging for news of a child she'll never see. I know you sleep perfectly well despite destroying your own daughter."
"I saved her reputation!"
"You saved your reputation. Mary was just collateral damage."
Before Lady Agatha could respond, the Duchess appeared, looking serene and slightly amused.
"Such drama so early in the morning. Lady Agatha, surely you're pleased that dear Cordelia will have such illustrious sponsors for her season?"
"This is kidnapping," Lady Agatha said through gritted teeth.
"This is opportunity," the Duchess corrected. "Something you denied your other daughters. How fortunate that Lord and Lady Blackthorn are so generous."
"Generous?"
"Oh yes. Taking in a relation, sponsoring her season, providing a dowry..."
"Dowry?" Cordelia squeaked.
"Of course," Arabella said smoothly. "You can't have a proper season without a proper dowry."
"I won't take charity."
"It's not charity," Lucien said. "It's family supporting family."
"But..."
"No arguments. Arabella has decided, and I've learned not to fight her decisions."
"That's because my decisions are excellent," Arabella said.
"That's because your decisions are unstoppable."
"Same thing."
"Different thing, but equally true."
Lady Agatha made an angry sound. "This is ridiculous. Cordelia, I forbid..."
"Forbid all you like," the Duchess interrupted. "But perhaps remember that I know quite a lot about your family's... difficulties. That unfortunate incident with your husband's gambling debts, for instance."
"That was years ago."
"But still so interesting. Especially the part about selling your daughter Mary to pay them off."
"I didn't sell her!"
"No? A hasty marriage to a wealthy merchant who coincidentally paid off the exact amount owed? How fortuitous."
Lady Agatha looked between them all—the Duchess serene and deadly, Lucien protective and immovable, Arabella fierce despite her pallor, and Cordelia hopeful for the first time in years.
"Fine," she spat. "Take her. But when she ruins you with scandal..."
"The only scandal," Lucien said, "is how you've treated your daughters."
They left Lady Agatha sputtering on the steps, the Duchess waving cheerfully as their carriage pulled away.
"Is she really going to let me go?" Cordelia asked, still disbelieving.
"She doesn't have a choice," Arabella assured her. "The Duchess has too much information, and we have too much influence."
"But what if she comes after me?"
"Then she'll meet Thistle," Lucien said dryly. "He doesn't take kindly to threats to family."
"I'm family?"
"You defended him when everyone else called him a criminal. That makes you family in his eyes."
"And yours?"
"You're my cousin. You were always family. Now you're just family we actually like."
Cordelia burst into tears again, and Arabella pulled her close, shooting Lucien a look that said 'be nicer.'
"Happy tears," Cordelia managed. "I promise, happy tears."
"Good. Because if you're sad, I'll have to turn this carriage around and push your mother into the Duchess's ornamental pond."
"The one with the carp?"
"The very same."
"That would be wonderful to see."
The journey took several hours, with two stops for Arabella to be violently ill. The second time, Cordelia stayed with her while Lucien paced anxiously beside the carriage.
"This is normal," Cordelia assured him. "My sister was sick for months."
"Months?"
"Well, weeks. But it felt like months."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's realistic."
"I prefer optimistic lies."
"She'll be fine," Cordelia said firmly. "Women have been having babies since the beginning of time."
"Not my woman. Not my baby."
"Your woman is tougher than you think."
"My woman dived into a lake to save a dog. I'm well aware she's tough. That doesn't mean I won't worry."
"Good. Worrying means you care."
"I do nothing but care. It's exhausting."
"But worth it?"
He looked at Arabella, pale but determined, arguing with the coachman about continuing despite her illness.
"Worth everything," he said quietly.
They reached Blackthorn Manor as the sun was setting, painting the stone walls gold. The entire household had assembled to welcome them back, and Thistle rushed out, having apparently picked the lock on whatever door they'd used to contain him.
"How does he do that?" Lucien muttered.
"Natural talent," Arabella said.
"And we're having a baby," she announced suddenly, to all the staff.
The household erupted. Mrs. Fielding actually squealed—a sound none of them had thought her capable of making. Cookie began crying. Morrison's expression shifted from disapproval to something that might have been joy.
"A baby!" Mrs. Fielding exclaimed. "Oh, my lady, how wonderful!"
"When?" Cookie demanded. "Do you need special foods? I can make anything. My grandmother's recipe for morning sickness..."
"Please," Arabella said desperately. "Anything to help with the sickness."
"And this is Cordelia," Lucien interrupted before the household could completely overwhelm his wife. "My cousin. She'll be staying with us indefinitely."
"The nice one?" Mrs. Fielding asked, then colored. "That is, I mean..."
"Yes," Cordelia said with a smile. "The nice one. As opposed to my mother and sisters."
"We'll prepare a suite," Mrs. Fielding said, recovering her composure. "It's near your chambers, my lady, but private enough."
"Perfect," Arabella said, then swayed slightly.
Lucien caught her immediately. "Bed. Now."
"But dinner?"
"Can wait."
"Cordelia?"
"Can manage. Can't you?"
"Of course," Cordelia said quickly. "Please, Arabella, rest. You've done enough for one day."
"I've done nothing but be sick in bushes."
"You've rescued me from my mother and announced an heir to Blackthorn. That's quite enough excitement."
Lucien carried Arabella upstairs despite her protests, Thistle following with an air of guard dog authority that was somewhat undermined by the fact that he was carrying one of Morrison's gloves.
"Again?" Morrison sighed.
"At least he brings them back now," Mrs. Fielding observed. "That's progress."
"That's criminal behaviour with a return policy."
"Still progress."
Upstairs, Lucien settled Arabella into bed, helping her out of her travel clothes with gentle efficiency.
"I can manage," she protested.
"I know you can. I want to help anyway."
"Why?"
"Because you're my wife, you're carrying my child, and you spent the morning defending my cousin from my dragon of an aunt."
"She needed defending."
"You need rest."
"I need food, actually. Now that the sickness has passed, I'm starving."
"I'll have something sent up."
He kissed her forehead. "Rest. I'll check on Cordelia and have dinner sent up for both of us."
"You don't have to stay with me."
"Where else would I be?"
"Literally anywhere that doesn't involve watching me be pitiful."
"You're never pitiful. Occasionally dramatic, frequently chaotic, sometimes impossible, but never pitiful."
"That's oddly romantic."
"I'm getting better at it."
"You are. It's disturbing."
"Why disturbing?"
"Because I fell in love with a beast, not a poet."
"I'm hardly a poet."
"You're becoming alarmingly articulate about feelings."
"That is your fault."
"How?"
"You make me feel things. Lots of things. They require words."
"Use fewer words. You're making me emotional."
"Pregnancy is making you emotional."
"You're making it worse."
"Good."
"How is that good?"
"Because if you're emotional about me, you're not worried about other things."
"I'm not worried about anything."
"You're worried about everything. The baby, Cordelia, Cassandra's next move, whether Thistle will teach our child to pick locks..."
"Can he pick locks?"
"Probably. He escapes from everywhere."
"We're doomed."
"Completely."
"Our child will be a criminal mastermind."
"With excellent taste in stolen goods."
"This isn't funny."
"It's a little funny."
They were laughing when dinner arrived, brought by a beaming Cookie who'd apparently decided that feeding a pregnant countess was her life's new mission.
"Broth," she announced. "And bread, but good bread, not too heavy. And ginger tea for the sickness. And..."
"Cookie," Lucien interrupted gently. "Thank you."
"I'll make whatever you need, my lady. Day or night. The baby must eat!"
"The baby is the size of a pea," Arabella pointed out.
"A pea that needs nourishment!"
After Cookie left, they ate quietly, Arabella managing more than she had in days.
"Feeling better?"
"Much. The evening seems easier than mornings."
"Good to know."
He set aside their dinner trays and pulled her against him, his mouth finding hers with three days of pent-up need. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, and for several minutes, there was nothing but the taste and feel of each other.
"Missed this," he murmured against her throat.
"It's been three days."
"Three very long days."
"You're insatiable."
"Where you're concerned, yes."
"The physician said..."
"The physician said you're healthy and the baby is fine."
"But..."
"Arabella, I will be incredibly gentle and stop the moment you're uncomfortable. But I need to touch you. I need to feel you. I need to know you're really here and really mine and really carrying our child."
"I'm all of those things."
"Then let me appreciate them."
What followed was indeed incredibly gentle, achingly tender, and left them both breathless and satiated. They lay tangled together afterward, Lucien's hand resting on her stomach.
"Do you think it's a boy or girl?"
"I don't care," he said honestly. "As long as you're both healthy."
"You need an heir."
"I need you. Everything else is secondary."
"That's impractical."
"That's love."
A knock interrupted them. "My lord?" Morrison's voice, carefully neutral.
"What is it?"
"Miss Cordelia is requesting Lady Blackthorn's presence. She seems... distressed."
Arabella was already reaching for her wrapper. "What's wrong?"
"A letter arrived, my lady. From Lady Agatha."
"Of course it did." Lucien grabbed his own robe. "We'll be right down."
They found Cordelia in the small sitting room, tears streaming down her face.
"What did she say?" Arabella demanded, moving to comfort the girl.
"She's... she's disowned me. Cut me off completely. She says I'm dead to her."
"Good riddance," Lucien said coldly.
"But she's my mother!"
"No," Arabella said firmly. "Mothers love their children. She saw you as property. There's a difference."
"But what if she's right? What if I disappoint you? What if I'm not worth saving?"
"Cordelia," Lucien said, moving to kneel before his cousin. "You're already worth saving. You don't have to earn it."
"But..."
"No buts. You're family. Our family. And we don't abandon family."
"Even if they steal things?" she asked with a watery smile.
"That's practically a requirement. Ask Thistle."
As if summoned, the dog appeared, carrying what looked like Lady Agatha's letter. He'd apparently stolen it from Cordelia and was now returning it with an air of great pride.
"See?" Arabella said. "Even Thistle knows that letter is rubbish."
"Literally, in his case," Lucien observed as Thistle began methodically shredding the paper.
"Should we stop him?" Cordelia asked.
"Absolutely not. He's providing a valuable service."
They watched the dog destroy Lady Agatha's cruel words, and Cordelia's tears slowly turned to laughter.
"I'm free," she said wonderingly. "I'm actually free."
"You are," Arabella confirmed. "Free to make your own choices, your own mistakes, your own happiness."
"I don't know how."
"That's the best part. You get to learn."
"Will you teach me?"
"We'll teach each other," Arabella promised. "That's what family does."