Chapter 19
The next few weeks passed in a blur of adjustment. Cordelia bloomed under their care, losing the haunted look she'd worn around her mother and developing a wicked sense of humor that surprised everyone, especially Lucien.
"She's actually funny," he told Arabella one evening after Cordelia had reduced the dinner table to helpless laughter with her impression of Lady Agatha discovering Thistle's latest crime.
"You sound shocked."
"I am shocked. I thought that entire branch of the family was humor-impaired."
"Perhaps they just needed the right environment."
"Or the right criminal dog. She and Thistle have become conspirators."
"I know. I caught them in the library yesterday, and I swear they were planning something."
"Planning what?"
"I don't know, but Thistle had that look."
"What look?"
"The one he gets before he commits grand larceny."
"So, his normal look?"
"His extra criminal look."
"I'm concerned."
"You should be."
But despite their jesting, both were delighted with how well Cordelia had settled in. She'd taken over some of the household management from Arabella as the pregnancy progressed and the morning sickness worsened, handling everything with quiet efficiency.
"She's a treasure," Mrs. Fielding declared one morning. "Got the accounts sorted that Mr. Morrison's been struggling with for months."
"Morrison struggles with accounts?" Lucien asked, surprised.
"Only since his spectacles broke. Too proud to admit he needs new ones."
"And Cordelia figured this out?"
"Bought him new ones. Told him they were a gift for all his help."
"Clever girl."
"Takes after her cousin-in-law, I'd say."
It was true that Cordelia seemed to have absorbed Arabella's approach to problem-solving; direct action with a touch of kindness. She'd also absorbed some of Arabella's more unconventional ideas.
"She wants to learn to invest," Lucien told Arabella one evening, finding her in their bed surrounded by correspondence.
"Good for her."
"She wants you to teach her."
"I know nothing about investing."
"That's not what she says. Apparently, you've been corresponding with bankers?"
"Just a few questions."
"About?"
"Investments in general."
"Since when are you interested?"
"Since I started reading your financial papers."
"Those are boring."
"Those are fascinating."
"Are they?"
"According to Mr. Potts."
"You're corresponding with Potts about investments?"
"He owns several businesses. He's quite knowledgeable."
"My pregnant wife is secretly becoming a financial genius."
"Hardly. But I thought if Cordelia's going to have a dowry, it should grow."
"You're investing her dowry?"
"With her permission. She's very excited about it."
"Of course she is. You've corrupted another innocent."
"I've educated another woman. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Education is power."
"Corruption is more fun."
"That too."
He took the papers from her, setting them aside. "Speaking of corruption..."
"I'm working."
"It's nine o'clock at night."
"This pregnant countess has plans."
"What plans?"
"Investment plans. Social plans. Baby plans."
"Too many plans."
"Never too many plans."
"What happened to my impulsive wife who dived into lakes?"
"She got pregnant and practical."
"I want her back."
"Too late. You're stuck with responsible me."
"Responsible you is still writing to bankers in bed while wearing my shirt."
His hand moved to her stomach, still flat but somehow different. "Our little grape."
"Our future criminal mastermind."
"Don't say that."
"Thistle's influence is inevitable."
"We could lock him out."
"He'd pick the lock."
"True." He kissed her, slow and deep. "No more investment talk tonight."
"But..."
"No arguments. You need rest."
"I need..."
Whatever she needed was lost as he kissed her again, and all thoughts of business fled.
Later, as they lay tangled together, a letter arrived that would change everything.
Morrison knocked apologetically. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but this just arrived by express messenger."
Lucien took the letter, frowning at the unfamiliar seal. As he read, his expression darkened.
"What is it?" Arabella asked.
"It's from France. From the magistrate who investigated the fire."
"After all this time?"
"He says there's new information. Someone has come forward."
"Who?"
"He doesn't say. But he wants me to come to France immediately."
"Then we'll go."
"You're not travelling to France while pregnant."
"I'm not letting you go alone."
"Arabella..."
"No arguments. We're partners. We face things together."
"This could be dangerous."
"Everything with us is dangerous."
"This is different. This is about Matilda, about the fire. Someone's been hiding something for two years."
"All the more reason for me to come."
"Arabella..."
"Lucien, I'm coming. Either with your agreement or following you secretly, but I'm coming."
He studied her determined expression and sighed. "You're impossible."
"You mentioned that earlier."
"It bears repeating."
"So I can come?"
"As if I could stop you."
"You could try."
"I'd fail."
"Probably."
"Definitely."
A knock interrupted them again. Cordelia peered around the door, looking concerned.
"Is everything all right? Morrison looked worried."
"We need to go to France," Arabella said.
"When?"
"Tomorrow, probably."
"I'll pack for you. And for myself."
"Cordelia, you don't have to."
"You're family. Family helps." She paused. "Should I pack for Thistle too?"
"Heavens no," Lucien said immediately.
"Actually..." Arabella began.
"No."
"But..."
"We are not taking the dog to France."
"He'd be upset if we left him."
"He'll survive."
"He'll destroy the house."
"That's Mrs. Fielding's problem."
"Lucien..."
"Arabella, I draw the line at international dog crime."
"That's very narrow-minded of you."
"That's very sensible of me."
"Sensible is boring."
"Boring is safe."
"Since when do we do safe?"
"Since you got pregnant."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair."
"You're being beastly."
"I'm being protective."
"Same thing sometimes."
"Different thing always."
Cordelia watched them argue with barely concealed amusement. "Should I pack for the dog or not?"
"Not," Lucien said firmly.
"Yes," Arabella countered.
"We'll compromise," Cordelia suggested. "I'll pack his things, and you can decide tomorrow."
"Diplomatic," Lucien observed.
"I'm learning from the best," Cordelia said, glancing at Arabella.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Arabella told her.
"I'm counting on it."
***
The next morning brought more chaos than usual. Arabella's morning sickness was particularly violent, Thistle had somehow gotten into the travel trunks and redistributed their belongings throughout the house, and a second letter arrived that made Lucien go pale.
"What now?" Arabella asked, still looking green.
"It's from Cassandra."
"Of course it is."
"She's in France."
"What?"
"She says she has information about the fire. She wants to meet."
"It's a trap."
"Obviously."
"We're not going."
"We have to go."
"Lucien..."
"If she knows something about Matilda's death..."
"She's lying."
"Probably. But what if she's not?"
Arabella studied him, seeing the old guilt surface. Two years of believing he'd failed to save his betrothed, had left scars deeper than the physical ones.
"Then we go," she said simply. "But we go prepared."
"For what?"
"For Cassandra being Cassandra. She wants something."
"She wants me."
"She can't have you."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
He pulled her close. "Arabella, you're carrying my child. You've turned my house into a home, my isolation into connection. You've saved me in every way a person can be saved. Cassandra could offer me the world and it wouldn't matter."
"The world is overrated anyway."
"Exactly. I prefer our chaos."
"Our criminal dog?"
"Even that."
"Our rescued cousin?"
"Especially that."
"Our grape baby?"
"Most especially that."
They kissed, long and sweet, until Morrison's discrete cough interrupted.
"The carriage is ready, my Lord."
"We're bringing the dog, aren't we?" Lucien sighed.
"Obviously."
"I'm going to regret this."
"Probably."
"International incident?"
"Almost certainly."
"Perfect."
They made their way downstairs where Cordelia was supervising the loading of trunks with military efficiency. Thistle sat beside her, looking angelic, which immediately made Lucien suspicious.
"What has he done?"
"Nothing," Cordelia said innocently.
"He's never done nothing."
"First time for everything."
"Cordelia..."
"He may have helped me pack a few extra items."
"What items?"
"Just some things that might be useful."
"Cordelia..."
"Extra blankets for Arabella, those biscuits she can actually keep down, that tonic that helps with travel sickness..."
"Oh," Lucien said, deflating. "That's actually thoughtful."
"Thistle is very thoughtful."
"Thistle is a criminal."
"A thoughtful criminal."
As if to prove the point, Thistle trotted over with Morrison's travel gloves in his mouth, depositing them at the butler's feet.
"See?" Cordelia said. "Helpful."
"Those aren't my travel gloves," Morrison said slowly. "Those are my best evening gloves."
"Ah," Cordelia said. "Less helpful."
"Still criminal," Lucien muttered.
The journey to Dover was relatively uneventful, if one didn't count Arabella being sick twice, Thistle escaping the carriage at a posting inn and causing a scene with the local chickens, and Cordelia accidentally revealing she'd been teaching him new tricks.
"New tricks?" Lucien asked suspiciously.
"Just a few."
"Such as?"
"Opening doors."
"He already does that."
"All doors."
"What do you mean, all doors?"
"Including locked ones."
"Cordelia!"
"It's a useful skill!"
"For criminals!"
"For emergencies!"
"What emergencies require a lock-picking dog?"
"We don't know yet. That's what makes them emergencies."
Arabella, despite her nausea, was laughing. "She has a point."
"She doesn't have a point. She has a criminal training program."
"That's very dramatic."
"It's very accurate."
They argued pleasantly for the rest of the journey, arriving at Dover as the sun set. The packet boat to Calais wouldn't leave until morning, so they took rooms at an inn, where Thistle immediately made friends with the innkeeper's cat by not eating it.
"Progress," Arabella observed.
"Low standards," Lucien countered.
"Still progress."
That night, as they lay in the unfamiliar inn bed, Arabella said quietly, "are you prepared for whatever we find in France?"
"No."
"Good."
"How is that good?"
"Because if you were prepared, it would mean you'd already decided what to believe. This way, you're open to truth."
"What if the truth is worse than what I believed?"
"Then we face it together."
"You shouldn't have to face my past."
"Your past is part of you. I love all of you, including your history."
"Even the ugly parts?"
"Especially those. They made you who you are."
"Scarred and difficult?"
"Strong and careful. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Always."
He kissed her, soft and grateful. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"You pulled me from a lake."
"You dived into that lake."
"Fell."
"Dived."
"This argument is our entire relationship."
"This argument is perfect."
"We're perfect."
"We're chaos."
"Perfect chaos."
"That's us."
They fell asleep holding each other, Thistle snoring at their feet, while somewhere in France, Cassandra waited with information that would either free Lucien from his guilt or destroy him entirely.
Either way, they'd face it together.
Because that's what family did.