Page 66 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"No, but it matters to hostesses. The Desclaires won't allow anything too scandalous to happen to a countess in her home. It would reflect badly on her."

"How reassuring."

The Desclaire estate was ablaze with lights, carriages lined up to discharge their elegantly dressed occupants. Through the windows, Arabella could see figures moving in what looked like a golden fairy tale.

"Ready?" Lucien asked.

"No."

"Good. Neither am I. We shall not be ready together."

"That's the spirit," Julian said cheerfully. "Mutual terror is the foundation of all good marriages."

Their arrival caused the expected stir. Conversations paused, heads turned, and Arabella felt the weight of dozens of eyes as they were announced.

"The Earl and Countess of Blackthorn."

The words rang through the ballroom like a bell, and for a moment, complete silence fell. Then the whispers started, rippling outward like waves from a stone dropped in still water.

"Chin up," Lucien murmured. "We're magnificent, remember?"

They descended into the ballroom with Julian flanking them like a particularly well-dressed guard. Lady Desclaire, a woman who seemed to be composed entirely of silk and disapproval, glided toward them.

"Lord Blackthorn," she said, her tone suggesting she wasn't entirely pleased by their presence. "How... unexpected to see you in society again."

"My wife was eager to meet our neighbours," Lucien replied smoothly. "I could hardly deny her."

The hostess’s gaze shifted to Arabella, taking in every detail of her appearance with the efficiency of an accountant reviewing ledgers. "Lady Blackthorn. What a... striking gown."

"Thank you. Madame Phillipe created it."

"Ah yes, she has such a way with... dramatic statements."

Before Arabella could decide if that was an insult, Cassandra appeared, resplendent in ice-pink silk that made her look like a particularly venomous confection.

"Darling!" she exclaimed, air-kissing Lady Desclaire. "Isn't this wonderful? Everyone's been simply dying to meet the new Countess."

Her tone suggested everyone had actually been eager to witness a spectacular disaster.

"Lady Velott," Lucien said coldly. "I wasn't aware you were co-hosting."

"Oh, I'm not. But dear Lady Desclaire asked for my assistance with the guest list. After all, I know everyone who matters." Her gaze flicked to Arabella. "And some who don't."

"How fortunate," Arabella said, "that my husband matters enough to warrant an invitation to celebrate our marriage."

"Yes, your marriage." Cassandra's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Five days, wasn't it? From meeting to matrimony? It must be some sort of record."

"When you know, you know," Julian interjected smoothly. "Rather like when you knew Lord Ashby wasn't going to leave his wife for you. Quick decisions all around."

Cassandra's perfect complexion flushed. "Julian. I didn't realise you were still playing nursemaid to Lucien."

"Not nursemaid. More like witness to happiness. It's quite touching, really. They can barely keep their hands off each other."

As if to prove his point, Lucien's arm slid around Arabella's waist, pulling her against his side with casual possessiveness.

"The dancing is about to begin," Lady Desclaire announced, clearly eager to defuse the tension. "Lord and Lady Blackthorn, would you honour us by opening the ball?"

Arabella felt Lucien tense beside her. They'd practised, yes, but opening the ball meant every eye would be on them.