Page 16 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"Wait," Arabella called, and he paused, looking back at her. "Shouldn't we... that is, don't betrothed couples usually..."

"What? Spend time together? Hold hands? Gaze lovingly into each other's eyes?" His tone was dry as dust. "I think we can dispense with the usual courtship rituals, don't you? We're hardly a love match."

The words shouldn't have stung. They were nothing but truth. Yet Arabella felt them like small cuts.

"Of course," she said, lifting her chin. "How foolish of me."

Something shifted in his expression; a flicker of what might have been regret. "I'll call tomorrow to discuss the details. Good day, Lady March. Lady Arabella."

He bowed and was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of sandalwood and the echo of a life-altering conversation.

"Well," Lady Honoria said after a moment of profound silence, "that was certainly unexpected."

"Unexpected?" Arabella laughed, though it came out slightly hysterical. "Mama, I just agreed to marry a man I've spoken to exactly twice, once while drowning and once while negotiating terms like a shipping contract."

"You weren't drowning," her mother said automatically, then moved to sit beside her daughter, taking her hands. "Arabella, I know this isn't what you dreamed of..."

"I dreamed of love," Arabella interrupted. "Of someone who would see me and want me, not just tolerate me as a solution to a problem."

"Love can grow from the most unexpected soil."

"Can it grow from mutual inconvenience and a criminal dog?"

Her mother squeezed her hands. "Your father and I barely knew each other when we married. It was arranged by our parents, purely practical. I was terrified on my wedding day."

"But you loved each other."

"Eventually. Not at first. At first, we were strangers sharing a house, trying to navigate around each other's sharp edges. But we learned. We adapted. We built something together." She paused. "Lord Blackthorn is a good man, Arabella. His offer, however unromantic, comes from honour."

"Honour," Arabella repeated. "Indeed, I suppose being married for honour is better than being ruined for lack of it."

Before her mother could respond, a tremendous crash came from the direction of the kitchens, followed by enthusiastic barking and Cook's voice rising in operatic outrage.

"Thistle," they said in unison.

"I should go rescue him," Arabella said, standing. "Before Cook decides to turn him into soup."

"Arabella..."

"I'm fine, Mama. Truly. I just need... I need to think. And possibly prevent my future husband's new pet from destroying what's left of our kitchen."

She fled before her mother could respond, following the sounds of chaos toward their source. She found Thistle in the kitchen, tail wagging proudly, surrounded by the remains of what had been a tray of fresh bread. The Cook stood in the center of the destruction, rolling pin raised like a weapon of war.

"That beast," the Cook declared upon seeing Arabella, "is a threat to civilized society!"

"Yes," Arabella agreed, kneeling to grasp Thistle's collar. "But he's going to be the Earl of Blackthorn's threat now."

The Cook's expression shifted from outrage to shock. "The Earl of…..My lady, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Arabella replied, surprised to find her voice steady, "that you'd better start planning a wedding breakfast for three days hence. Something simple. Lord Blackthorn doesn't care for excess."

"A wedding breakfast," the Cook repeated faintly. "In three days."

"Yes."

"To the Earl of Blackthorn."

"Yes."