Page 171 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

Lucien tilted his head, squinting. “It is not.”

“That’s judgment,” Arabella countered immediately, her tone firm.

Lucien arched an eyebrow. “From our daughter who was born during a fire?”

Arabella adjusted the blanket and kissed the baby’s head with exaggerated solemnity. “Exactly. She has high standards. Comes with the territory of dramatic entrances.”

“She has criminal influences,” Lucien said, glancing pointedly toward the corner of the room.

Both of them turned in unison to where Thistle was proudly adding the collection plate to his growing pile of “treasures” on the floor: a silver spoon, a pair of gloves, and what might have been a half-eaten tart.

“We should stop him,” Arabella said after a long pause, though she didn’t sound particularly motivated.

Lucien nodded gravely. “We should.”

Neither of them made the slightest move to intervene.

After a moment, Arabella sighed and leaned her head back against the chair. “We’re terrible parents,” she observed, though her tone was affectionate rather than remorseful.

Lucien sank into the seat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re interesting parents,” he corrected, flashing her a crooked smile.

Arabella laughed softly, the sound blending with the baby’s small gurgle. “She’ll be fine,” she said, tracing a gentle finger over the infant’s cheek.

Lucien’s gaze softened as he looked at the tiny face between them. “She’ll be chaos,” he said with something like pride.

Arabella smiled, eyes bright. “Our favourite thing.”

Lucien leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Forever our favourite thing.”

The sun broke through the clouds then, streaming through the restored windows, painting everything golden. It was, Arabella thought, rather like that first day at the lake—bright, full of possibility, slightly chaotic.

And as if in agreement, Matilda laughed for the first time; a bright, perfect sound that made everyone stop and smile.

"She laughs like you," Lucien said softly.

"She scowls like you."

"Perfect combination."

"Perfectly imperfect."

"Like everything about us."

"Wouldn't change a thing."

And life, Arabella thought as she watched her husband, her daughter and Thistle, was absolutely perfect in its imperfection.

Just the way it should be.

Just the way it would always be.

Chaos, crime, and all.

***

The weeks following the christening settled into a rhythm that was, for the Blackthorn household, remarkably peaceful. Which should have been everyone's first warning.

"It's too quiet," Arabella said one morning, nursing Matilda while Lucien read correspondence.