Page 8 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"Forgive the continued interruptions, my lady, but there appears to be a... situation in the kitchen."

"A situation?" Lady Honoria's voice suggested she'd had quite enough situations for one day.

"The dog, my lady. He has... that is to say, he appears to have... liberated a joint of beef that the Cook was preparing for tomorrow's dinner."

"Liberated," Arabella repeated, already rising. "You mean stolen."

"I prefer to think of it as a redistribution of resources," Jameson said with the faintest hint of a smile. "Though the Cook is using rather more colorful terminology."

The sounds now emanating from the kitchen seemed to support this assessment. Arabella could hear the Cook's voice rising in volume and creativity, punctuated by Thistle's enthusiastic barking.

"I shall handle it," she sighed, moving toward the door.

"The blue gown," her mother called after her. "And for heaven's sake, do something about that dog before tomorrow. The last thing we need is for him to steal something from Lord Blackthorn."

The kitchen, when Arabella arrived, resembled a battlefield where the casualties were primarily dignity and several pounds of excellent beef. Thistle sat in the corner, tail wagging despite the fact that he was clearly in disgrace, while the Cook stood in the center of the room wielding a rolling pin like a weapon of war.

"That beast," the Cook declared upon seeing Arabella, "is a threat to civilized society and decent kitchens everywhere."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Winters," Arabella said, though she had to suppress a smile at the sight of Thistle, who had somehow managed to get gravy on his ears. "He's had rather an exciting day."

"Exciting?" Cook's voice rose to new heights. "That's what we're calling theft and destruction now, is it? Exciting?"

"He did nearly drown," Arabella offered weakly.

"Pity he didn't," the Cook muttered, though Arabella knew she didn't mean it. Just last week, she'd seen the woman giving Thistle food when she thought no one was looking.

"I'll make it up to you," Arabella promised. "I'll help with tomorrow's dinner myself if necessary."

"You?" The Cook looked scandalized. "In my kitchen? After what happened the last time you tried to help?"

The last time had involved an incident with a soup that they'd all agreed never to discuss again.

"Fair point," Arabella conceded. "But I'll find some way to make amends. Perhaps I could go to the village tomorrow morning and..."

"You'll do no such thing," her mother's voice came from behind her. Apparently, the situation had warranted personal intervention from the general herself. "Tomorrow, you will do nothing that might generate additional gossip. You will stay home, you will prepare for Lord Blackthorn's visit, and you will not, under any circumstances, allow that dog anywhere near him."

Thistle, as if understanding he was being discussed, barked helpfully.

"He's expressing his opinions," Arabella said.

"His opinions are not required," her mother replied firmly. "Mrs. Winters, I apologise for the disruption. We'll manage with a simple roast fowl for tomorrow if necessary."

"No need, my lady," the Cook said, though she continued to eye Thistle with deep suspicion. "I've got a ham in the larder that will do nicely. Though I'll be locking it up tighter than the crown jewels."

The crisis was over, or at least postponed and Arabella was ushered back to the drawing room where her mother resumed her strategic planning.

"Now then," Lady Honoria said, consulting a list she'd apparently been composing. "Tomorrow's visit. We'll receive him in the morning room; it gets the best light and doesn't show the water damage quite as badly as the formal drawing room. Jameson will serve tea; the good china, not the set with the chipped saucers. You'll sit on the settee by the window, it's the most flattering angle, and I'll ensure the conversation remains appropriate."

"You're going to chaperone?"

"Of course I'm going to chaperone. An unchaperoned visit from Lord Blackthorn after today's events? We might as well announce your betrothal in the papers."

"Betrothal?" Arabella's voice rose to a pitch that would have impressed the Cook. "Mama, he's coming to inquire after my health, not propose marriage."

"Men like Lord Blackthorn don't make social calls, Arabella. He hasn't been seen in polite society for over a year. The fact that he's coming here, tomorrow, after what happened today... it means something."

"It means he feels guilty."