Page 31 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"Perhaps we could...If you're amenable... we could continue dining together. Despite the complications."

"I'd like that."

"Even though I'm depressing?"

"Especially because you're depressing. Someone needs to work on that."

"And you've appointed yourself to the task?"

"Someone has to. Your staff seems to have given up."

"They know better than to try to change me."

"Well," Arabella said, gathering Thistle's collar to lead him away, "I've never been accused of knowing better."

"No," he agreed. "Thank Heavens for that."

It wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs that she realized what he'd said, and by then it was too late to ask what he meant.

Chapter 7

The hip bath had been delivered and filled with warm water by the time Arabella reached her rooms. Thistle took one look at it and immediately tried to hide under the bed, which might have worked if he'd been considerably smaller or the bed considerably higher.

"Come on, you coward," Arabella coaxed, pulling at his back end while his front end remained firmly wedged under the bed frame. "You can't stay flour-covered forever."

What followed was a battle of wills that left Arabella nearly as wet as she'd been after the lake incident and Thistle only marginally cleaner. He did, however, smell less like a bakery and more like wet dog, which was arguably an improvement.

"You're impossible," she told him as he shook himself, sending water droplets across her newly assigned sitting room.

He wagged his tail, taking this as praise.

Jane arrived to help her prepare for bed, making disapproving sounds over the state of Arabella's wedding gown.

"Flour and dog water," she observed. "Not the usual stains for a wedding night."

"It's not a usual wedding night."

"No, my lady." Jane began unlacing the gown with practised efficiency. "His lordship seems... different than expected."

"Different how?"

"Well, they call him the Beast, but he doesn't seem particularly beastly. Melancholy, perhaps. Lonely, certainly. But not cruel."

"No," Arabella agreed, stepping out of the ruined gown. "Not cruel."

"Will you wear the nightgown Miss Finch gave you?"

Arabella looked at the scandalous confection of silk and lace that Jane had laid out on the bed. "Why would I? We have separate rooms."

"Still your wedding night, my lady."

"In name only."

Jane made that sound again, the one that suggested opinions she wouldn't voice. She helped Arabella into a much more modest nightgown and wrapper, then began taking down her hair.

"The staff likes you already," Jane said as she worked the brush through Arabella's tangles.

"How can you tell?"