Page 168 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

“Arabella...”

“You saved me,” she interrupted softly, her voice trembling somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You walked through fire for me, Lucien. You should have been running the other way, not charging into the flames like some sort of deranged knight.”

He gave a short, breathless laugh, brushing a smudge of soot from her cheek. “I’d walk through worse for you.”

Her lips curved faintly. “Same thing sometimes.”

They fell quiet again, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around them like safety, punctuated only by the baby’s soft breaths and the occasional clatter of distant tools as the household worked to rebuild what the fire had taken.

"You know," Arabella said as exhaustion finally claimed her, "we never did settle whether I fell or dived into that lake."

"You dived," Lucien said firmly. "Straight into my life."

"Fell," she corrected sleepily. "Fell in love."

"Both," he conceded. "Both is good."

"Both is perfect."

"Like us."

"Perfectly imperfect."

"With our perfectly imperfect daughter."

"And our criminal dog."

"And our collected family."

"And our scorched manor."

"Rising from the ashes."

"That's poetic."

"Morrison's influence."

They fell asleep like that, their daughter between them, Thistle at the door, while the household worked through the night to restore their home. The smoke damage would linger, the scars would remain, but they'd survived. More than survived—they'd thrived.

In the morning, when the sun broke through the smoke-stained windows, it found them exactly as they should be: together, slightly singed, completely in love, and ready for whatever chaos came next.

Because with them, there would always be more chaos.

It was, after all, their favorite thing.

Epilogue

3 months later

The christening took place three months later, in the newly restored chapel at Blackthorn Manor. Matilda Margaret Blackthorn, dressed in ancient lace that had somehow survived the fire, slept through the entire ceremony, which everyone agreed showed excellent judgment.

"She's already smarter than both of us," Arabella observed.

"She's sleeping through a social obligation. She's a genius," Lucien agreed.

The gathering was small but eclectic—Julian standing as godfather, Cordelia as godmother, Margaret there to represent Matilda's memory, even Lady Potts, who'd become an unexpected friend.

"No Cassandra?" Julian asked innocently.