Page 7 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"Was he ever really in the question?" Arabella asked. "He's perfectly pleasant, but he seems to believe that discussing the weather constitutes intellectual discourse."

"He has four thousand a year and a lovely estate in Kent."

"He also has a mother who believes that vegetables cause moral decay and insists on reading improving sermons aloud after dinner."

"You could have reformed him," her mother suggested without much conviction.

"I could have died of boredom first."

A knock at the door interrupted what was promising to become a familiar argument. Their butler, Jameson, entered bearing a silver salver.

"A letter has arrived, my lady," he announced with the gravity of one delivering news from the battlefield. "From Blackthorn Manor."

The words hung in the air like an accusation. Or possibly a promise. Arabella couldn't quite decide which.

Her mother snatched the letter with a speed that suggested she'd been expecting it, though her expression indicated she hadn't quite decided whether it was salvation or damnation. The seal, black wax with an elaborate 'B', broke with a crack that sounded unnecessarily ominous.

"Well?" Arabella demanded when her mother had been silent for several seconds too long.

"He's coming to call," Lady Honoria said faintly. "Tomorrow. At three o'clock."

"That's... good, isn't it?"

"I honestly haven't the faintest idea." Her mother handed her the letter with the air of one passing along a potentially explosive device. "His handwriting is appalling."

The Earl's script was indeed difficult; bold slashes of ink that suggested the writer had been in a considerable hurry or possibly a temper. But the message itself was brief and formally correct:

Lady March,

I trust Lady Arabella has suffered no ill effects from today’s unfortunate incident. With your permission, I shall call tomorrow at three o'clock to assure myself of her continued good health.

Blackthorn

"It's perfectly proper," Arabella observed, though something about the curt phrasing made her suspect the Earl had written it through gritted teeth.

"Perfectly proper and perfectly vague," her mother corrected. "Is he calling out of duty? Guilt? Or..." She paused, clearly wrestling with a thought too dangerous to voice.

"Or what, Mama?"

"Nothing. It's impossible." But Lady Honoria was looking at her daughter with that calculating expression again, the one that suggested she was revising battle plans in light of new intelligence.

"Mama," Arabella said in a warning tone. "Whatever you're thinking..."

"I'm thinking that the Earl of Blackthorn is unmarried, wealthy, and has just compromised you in front of half the county."

"He rescued me!"

"The distinction, I fear, will be lost on the gossips." Her mother stood, decision apparently made. "Tomorrow, you will wear your blue morning gown. It brings out your eyes and suggests innocence without appearing to try too hard."

"I rather think that ship has sailed," Arabella muttered. "Possibly drowned."

"Nonsense. We shall be perfectly charming, perfectly proper, and perfectly vague about the entire incident. If Lord Blackthorn mentions it, we shall be grateful for his assistance. If he doesn't, we shall discuss the weather."

"The weather," Arabella repeated flatly.

"The weather is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation. Safe, neutral, and unlikely to result in anyone throwing themselves into any bodies of water."

Before Arabella could formulate a response to this piece of maternal wisdom, another knock came at the door. Jameson reappeared, this time bearing an expression of deep disapproval.