Page 169 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"She's in Italy," Lucien said. "Permanently."

"How do you know?"

"I may have provided her with funds to stay there."

"Blackmail?"

"Incentive."

"Same thing."

"Different thing, but equally effective."

"And Harrington?"

"Transportation to Australia. The judge was very understanding about attempted murder and arson."

"How understanding?"

"Seven years' understanding."

"That seems light."

"It seems like seven years we don't have to think about him."

"Fair point."

The ceremony ended as peacefully as any event in the Blackthorn household ever could; which was to say, not entirely without chaos. The guests had barely finished applauding when a triumphant bark rang out, and Thistle came charging down the aisle with the ceremonial cushion clenched proudly in his teeth.

Cordelia sighed in amusement, folding her arms. “You know, I think he’s actually getting predictable. I can almost tell what he’ll steal next.”

Lucien shot her a warning look. “Don’t say that out loud. He’ll take it as a challenge.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Thistle returned, tail wagging furiously, carrying something decidedly more alarming, something that looked suspiciously like the vicar’s wig.

The vicar blinked. “I don’t wear a wig.”

Arabella turned slowly, scanning the crowd until her gaze landed on Morrison, who was looking peculiarly self-conscious and a good deal barer about the head. “Morrison,” she said, fighting back a laugh, “is there something you’d like to tell us?”

The butler cleared his throat. “It’s for special occasions, my lady.”

Arabella raised a brow. “And Thistle, naturally, thought it needed liberating?”

Morrison inclined his head gravely. “Apparently so, my lady.”

Lucien crouched down, retrieving the offending object from Thistle. “Good dog,” Lucien said with great seriousness.

Arabella blinked at him. “You’re praising theft now?”

Lucien straightened up, unrepentant. “I’m praising consistency. He steals from everyone equally. It’s a rather democratic approach to mischief.”

Arabella gave him a look of mock disbelief. “That’s not democracy, Lucien.”

“In a dog, it’s talent,” he replied cheerfully.

“In our dog.”

She shifted the baby in her arms, trying not to smile. “And what exactly do you imagine he’s going to teach our daughter?”