Chapter 21
The next twenty-four hours were a blur of activity. Lucien turned Blackthorn Manor into a fortress, posting guards, checking every entrance, and interrogating every servant about strangers in the area.
"You're being paranoid," Arabella told him, though she was grateful for his caution.
"I'm being protective."
"Same thing with you."
"Different things entirely. Paranoid is irrational. This is extremely rational."
"Having Morrison patrol with a fire poker?"
"Morrison volunteered. He's quite attached to you."
"He's quite attached to order. I represent chaos."
"You represent family. We all protect family."
It was true that the entire household had rallied. Mrs. Fielding organized the maids into a watch system, Cookie kept enormous pots of water ready "just in case," and even Cordelia had taken to carrying a rather sharp letter opener.
"Where did you get that?" Arabella asked.
"Your desk."
"That's theft."
"That's borrowing for protective purposes."
"Thistle's influence?"
"Common sense. If someone's threatening you, I want to be armed."
"With a letter opener?"
"It's very sharp. I've been practising."
Julian, meanwhile, had been investigating with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before.
"What exactly did you do before becoming Lucien's conscience?" Arabella asked him.
"Various things."
"Illegal things?"
"Interesting things."
"Julian."
"Some light espionage, perhaps. Nothing treasonous."
"Light espionage?"
"Very light. Mostly just gossip with international implications."
"That's not light!"
"It's lighter than heavy espionage."
"What's heavy espionage?"
"The kind that gets you shot."
"Julian!"
"What? I'm retired now. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Well, this situation requires certain skills..."
"What have you found?"
"Harrington didn't work alone. Someone here helped with the stable fire."
"Who?"
"Still determining that. But I have suspicions."
"Such as?"
"There's a new groom. Started two weeks ago."
"We were at the house gathering two weeks ago."
"Exactly. Very convenient timing."
"Have you confronted him?"
"Not yet. I'm watching. Waiting."
"For what?"
"For him to make a mistake. They always do."
That night, despite exhaustion, no one slept well. Arabella dozed fitfully, waking every time she heard a noise. Lucien didn't sleep at all, sitting by the window, watching the grounds.
"Come to bed," she urged around midnight.
"I can't sleep."
"Neither can I, but at least we can not sleep together."
"That's illogical."
"That's marriage."
He came to bed but remained tense, alert to every sound.
"This is my fault," he said quietly.
"How is this possibly your fault?"
"My past, my choices, my connections."
"Our past, our choices, our connections. We're married, remember? Everything is shared."
"Including danger?"
"Especially danger. It's more interesting than domestic bliss."
"You're insane."
"You married me."
"Best insane decision I ever made."
"See? Insanity has benefits."
They were quiet for a moment, then Arabella said, "what if something happens? To me or the baby?"
"Nothing will happen."
"You can't guarantee that."
"Watch me."
"You can't protect us from everything."
"I can try."
"That's not realistic."
"Realism is overrated."
They were kissing when the second fire started.
The alarm bells rang just after two in the morning. This time, it was the east wing—empty but still dangerous.
"That's deliberate," Lucien said, pulling on clothes. "Someone's inside."
"I'm coming..."
"You're staying here."
"Lucien..."
"Arabella, please. You're pregnant. Stay safe."
"But..."
"Please."
The please, rare from him, made her pause. "Be careful."
"Always."
He was gone before she could argue further. Arabella paced their chambers, Thistle whining anxiously beside her.
"I know, boy. I hate waiting too."
Cordelia appeared, fully dressed and carrying her letter opener.
"You should be safe in your room," Arabella told her.
"You should be too, but here we are."
"Fair point."
"What do we do?"
"We wait."
"I hate waiting."
"I hate it as well."
They waited together, listening to shouts and running feet. The smell of smoke grew stronger, then gradually faded.
"They've got it controlled," Cordelia said with relief.
But Arabella was frowning. "This is too easy."
"Easy? There have been two fires!"
"Exactly. Two obvious fires. What if they're distractions?"
"From what?"
"I don't know. That's what worries me."
As if in answer to her fears, they heard a crash from downstairs. Not the chaos of firefighting, but something deliberate. Breaking glass.
"Someone's inside," Arabella breathed.
"The guards?"
"Are all dealing with the fire."
They looked at each other, then at Thistle, who was growling low in his throat.
"We should hide," Cordelia whispered.
"We should investigate."
"That's dangerous!"
"Everything's dangerous. At least if we know what we're facing..."
She was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Slow, deliberate footsteps that definitely didn't belong to anyone in the household.
"Hide," Arabella hissed, pushing Cordelia toward the dressing room.
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have a conversation."
"Arabella..."
"Go!"
Cordelia went, taking Thistle despite his protests. Arabella positioned herself by the fireplace, poker in hand, and waited.
The door opened slowly. Harrington stood there, disheveled and smelling of smoke.
"Lady Blackthorn. How lovely."
"Mr. Harrington. How criminal."
"Such harsh words."
"For a harsh man. Breaking and entering? Arson? What's next, murder?"
"Hopefully not. That would be messy."
"What do you want?"
"Justice."
"For Matilda? She was your cousin."
"She was my meal ticket. We were going to start over in Italy. She had money, connections. Then your husband ruined everything."
"He didn't even know she was leaving."
"Exactly! She died for nothing. Burned for a man who didn't even care enough to know she was miserable."
"That's not his fault."
"Isn't it? He trapped her in a betrothal she didn't want."
"She could have left anytime."
"Not without scandal. Not without losing everything."
"So instead she lost her life."
"Because of him. And Cassandra. And that whole poisonous world you all inhabit."
"And burning down our house helps how?"
"It's poetic justice. He couldn't save Matilda from fire. Let's see if he can save you."
"That's insane."
"That's fair."
"I'm pregnant."
"I know. More poetry. Matilda might have been pregnant too."
"What?"
"She was late. Worried. Part of why she was leaving."
"Whose..."
"No one's. False alarm, as it turned out. But the fear was real."
"That doesn't justify this."
"Nothing justifies anything. But revenge feels good."
"Does it? You look miserable."
"I look determined."
"You look desperate."
"Same thing sometimes."
"No. Determination has purpose. Desperation has only pain."
"Philosophical for someone being threatened."
"I'm not threatened. I'm annoyed."
"You should be terrified."
"Of you? You're a gambling addict with delusions of grandeur."
"I'm a man with nothing to lose."
"That does make you dangerous," she admitted. "But also predictable."
"How..."
He was interrupted by Thistle, who had apparently escaped Cordelia and launched himself at Harrington's legs with all the fury of a small, hairy guardian angel.
Harrington stumbled, cursing. Arabella seized the moment, swinging the poker with more force than accuracy. She missed his head but caught his shoulder, sending him spinning.
"You little..."
Whatever insult he planned was cut off by Julian appearing in the doorway, pistol drawn.
"Now, now," Julian said pleasantly. "Language. There are ladies present."
"Where did you come from?"
"I've been following you since you entered. Wanted to see what you'd do."
"And you let him threaten Arabella?" Lucien's voice from behind Julian was deadly.
"She seemed to have it handled. Poker, dog, general violence. Very impressive."
"I'm going to kill you," Lucien told Julian conversationally.
"After we deal with him?" Julian suggested, gesturing at Harrington.
"Fine. But then you're dead."
"Fair enough."
Harrington tried to run, but Thistle was still attached to his leg, and the combined weight of dog and bad decisions sent him crashing to the floor.
"Good boy," everyone said simultaneously.
"I've created monsters," Lucien muttered, but he was looking at Arabella with a mixture of pride and terror.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, crossing to her.
"I'm fine."
"You confronted a madman with a poker."
"And Thistle."
"That's not better!"
"It worked."
"That's not the point!"
"What is the point?"
"The point is you could have been hurt!"
"But I wasn't."
"But you could have been!"
"But I wasn't!"
"Stop saying that!"
"Stop yelling!"
"I'm not yelling!"
"You're definitely yelling."
"Because you nearly died!"
"I nearly hit him with a poker. There's a difference."
"Not to me!"
They were interrupted by the magistrate arriving with several constables. Apparently, Julian had sent word earlier.
"Planning ahead?" Arabella asked him.
"I had suspicions about tonight."
"And didn't share them?"
"Would you have stayed hidden if you'd known?"
"No."
"Exactly."
"You used me as bait!"
"I used you as a deterrent. Slight difference."
"Julian!"
"It worked, didn't it?"
"That's not the point!"
"Why does everyone keep saying that tonight?" Julian wondered.
Harrington was arrested, still cursing and threatening. The fires were fully extinguished, the household was safe, and dawn was breaking.
"It's over," Lucien said, pulling Arabella close.
"Is it?"
"Cassandra's banished, Harrington's arrested, the truth is known. Yes, it's over."
"Then why don't I feel relieved?"
"Adrenaline. It'll pass."
"Or maternal instinct saying something's still wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Lucien..."
"Arabella, please. Can we just have five minutes of peace?"
"Fine. Five minutes."
They sat together on their bed, still fully dressed, still smelling of smoke, while the household slowly returned to normal around them.
"I love you," Lucien said suddenly.
"I love you too."
"You terrify me."
"You married me."
They both looked at the dog, who was being fed an entire ham by Cookie as reward for his heroics.
"We've created a monster," Lucien observed.
"We've created a hero."
"A criminal hero."
"The best kind."
They were interrupted by Morrison appearing with yet another crisis.
"My Lord, we have a situation."
"Another fire?" Lucien asked wearily.
"No, my Lord. A visitor."
"At dawn? Who?"
"She says she's Matilda's sister."
The room went silent.
"Matilda didn't have a sister," Lucien said slowly.
"Apparently she did, my Lord. A half-sister. From her father's first marriage."
"And she's here now?"
"Yes, my Lord. With documents. And a rather large grievance."
"Of course she is," Arabella sighed. "Because why should our lives be simple?"
"Show her to the morning room," Lucien told Morrison. "We'll be down shortly."
After Morrison left, they looked at each other.
"So much for boring," Arabella observed.
"So much for over."
"Together?"
"Always together."
"Even for mysterious sisters?"
"Especially for mysterious sisters."
"This is exhausting."
"This is our life."
"Our chaotic, criminal, fire-threatened life."
They descended to find the morning room occupied by a woman who looked nothing like Matilda. Where Matilda had been blonde and delicate, this woman was dark-haired and sturdy, with the kind of face that suggested she'd never met a fight she'd backed down from.
"Lord Blackthorn," she said, rising. "I'm Margaret Wilde. Matilda's half-sister."