A Winter Scandal (12 page)

“You make me sound like a most despicable man. I really am not such a lecher, you know. I don’t make it a habit to go about seducing innocent maidens.”

“Then what do you call kissing me?” Thea shot back.

“I call that an unexpected delight.” A slow smile curved his lips, his eyes lighting with an unmistakable warmth. “One I wouldn’t mind experiencing again. But, trust me, it was not a seduction.”

Whatever thoughts Thea had had in her head immediately fled. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her lips tingled. She was aware that she should give him a sharp setdown, but all she could think of was the heat that blossomed deep in her abdomen at his words. What would a seduction by Gabriel Morecombe be like?

Thea looked away, afraid of what he might read in her face. She cleared her throat. “This is scarcely a suitable topic of conversation.”

“I know. Fun, isn’t it?”

Thea closed her mouth on a gurgle of laughter. She would have liked to have retorted an unequivocal no, but she was not given to lying. In truth it
was
fun to be bandying words back and forth about such an illicit subject. It was exciting, even just a bit dangerous, and just beneath the surface bubbled the remembered heat and temptation of Gabriel’s kiss—that slow turn of heat and desire, the hunger and ache that opened within her, the messy, tumultuous mix of emotions.

He bent his head a little, craning to see her face. “Have I offended you, Miss Bainbridge?”

“Your words would offend any decent woman.”

“A curiously ambiguous reply.”

Thea could hear the smile in Gabriel’s tone. Try as she might, she could not keep from shooting a quick, challenging glance at him. “Well. Then I suppose you will just have to discover what I mean.”

Seven

T
he wife of the inn’s
owner was a short, slender woman who looked as if she had never indulged in eating her own rich cooking. Possessed of a seemingly unending well of energy, she drove her family and staff to perform with the same tireless perfection she achieved. The quality of her meals and the cleanliness and comfort of the inn’s rooms were indisputable, and it was said that some went out of their way to spend a night at the Blue Boar.

She bustled forward to greet Thea, bobbing a curtsy and saying, “Miss Bainbridge, ’tis a pleasure to see you. Can I help you?” She cast a brief, curious glance toward Lord Morecombe. “My lord.”

“Mrs. Hornsby.” Gabriel nodded to her politely. “Perhaps we could have a cold collation in one of the private rooms. And if you would be so good as to join us …”

The woman’s brows rose with each statement, but she only nodded and led them to the best private dining room before hurrying off to see to their meal. Thea turned to face Gabriel, crossing her arms and regarding him coolly. “A cold collation? I thought we were here to ask questions, not eat.”

“I was feeling a mite peckish, and quite frankly, Mrs. Hornsby’s food surpasses my cook’s. Though pray don’t let that get back to Mrs. Cutledge or my bread will be soggier and the soup colder than ever. Besides, I have found that people are more apt to give one information if one has remunerated them in some way.”

A serving girl entered the room, bearing a tray of food, followed by Mrs. Hornsby with a smaller tray containing cups and pitchers. The first few minutes were occupied in arranging the collection of cold meats, cheeses, and breads on the table before them, with a tureen of soup as the centerpiece.

“Now, then, my lord, how can I help you?” Mrs. Hornsby asked, pouring wine.

“I am looking for someone who might have stayed here in the past few days. Probably a woman, maybe a man or a couple. They would have had a baby with them.”

“A baby?” The innkeeper’s wife set down her pitcher and looked sharply at Thea. “Are you talking about that babe you found in the manger, miss?”

“You know about him?” Lord Morecombe paused in lifting his glass. “Was he here?”

The middle-aged woman shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord, I just heard about it. A miracle, that’s what Liza Cooper says—little Lord Jesus himself appearing.”

“Well, I don’t think Matthew is our Lord and Savior,” Thea replied. “Just a baby abandoned in a place where they knew he would be warm and soon found.”

“That’s what I said.” Mrs. Hornsby nodded. “A miracle for the baby, though, you coming on it right away. Even inside like that, it can get powerful cold at night without a fire.”

“The thing is,” Thea went on, “we are trying to find out who left the baby there.”

“I see.” Mrs. Hornsby nodded, though she stole another curious glance at Lord Morecombe. “Well, there wasn’t anyone with a babe spending the night here, miss. I can’t remember last time someone came through with a wee one, must have been weeks.”

“Do you think it’s possible the child belongs to someone who lives around here?” Thea asked.

“I can’t see how. Hard to keep a secret like that in Chesley. There’s been a few babies born here the past year—how old is it, do you think?”

“Mrs. Brewster said she thought he was probably six or seven months old. So he would have been born in the late spring or early summer, I suppose.”

Mrs. Hornsby nodded. “The Johnsons’ wee one died right after it was born, you know. The Stouts’ baby passed on two months ago. And Dora Potts would cut off her right arm rather than give up that child of hers.”

“I have never seen the baby before. I can’t believe that he is from Chesley.”

“Another town maybe,” Mrs. Hornsby suggested. “Bynford or Nyebourne. Or it could have been a stranger just passing through—left the baby and kept on walking.”

“What if the person did not stay at your inn?” Morecombe asked. “Could they have rented a cottage? Or a room in someone’s home?”

“Not so as I’ve heard.” Mrs. Hornsby paused, considering. “I can ask around, get the mister to ask in the tavern. Mayhap somebody saw them on the road going or coming.”

“I would appreciate it,” Gabriel told her, and smiled.

Mrs. Hornsby smiled back, ducking her head, and bobbed another curtsy before she left the room.

Gabriel settled back with a sigh and tore a piece from the loaf of bread. “Doesn’t sound promising, does it?” He looked at Thea. “Is she right? Is there nowhere else for someone to stay?”

“I suppose the mother could be staying at a local house. I haven’t heard of anyone having visitors. Now and then I’ve heard of someone renting a room out, but not lately.” Thea paused. “We can visit Mrs. Williams after this if you’d like. She’s the greatest gossip in town. If anyone would know whether there has been a stranger staying in town, it would be she.”

Mrs. Hornsby returned a few minutes later with the news that no one in the inn or tavern had seen anyone with a baby either in town or on the road. Nor had anyone noticed a stranger (or an unknown carriage) in town, except for the two people who had stayed at the inn the night before, who had not, she was certain, had a baby with them. She assured them, however, that she would continue to ask.

With their meal finished and having gathered all the information they could, Thea and Gabriel left the inn and started toward Mrs. Williams’s cottage. As they walked, Thea said, “I was surprised, watching you talk with Mrs. Hornsby.”

“Why?” He looked at Thea curiously.

“You were at ease with her. Quite nice.”

“Did you expect me not to be?”

“I wasn’t sure. You said you wanted me along to help you with her. I thought perhaps you were unused to talking to ordinary people. And I thought you might act …”

“Like an arrogant aristocrat?” he suggested.

“Let’s just say, more like the man at the Squire’s party.”

“I must have been a terrible guest that night.”

“No, not terrible. You just seemed very much the lord of the manor. Like my cousin.”

“Ian? Oh, he’s a good enough fellow. He is not fond of rural pastimes.”

“It seems strange he would be here then.”

“I think it’s more a matter of avoiding Fenstone Park.” Gabriel gave her a quick, rueful grin. “Pray ignore that remark. As for my behavior, I have little excuse. I am often bored by such events. Had I known that you were there to provide more scintillating conversation, perhaps I would have paid more attention. But, as I recall, when Mrs. Cliffe introduced you to me, she had already run the gauntlet of every eligible—or slightly eligible—female in the surrounding countryside, beginning with her own four giggling daughters. When I met you, I was doubtless numb with boredom.”

His words surprised a laugh out of Thea, and she covered it with her hand. “You are a terrible man.”

“Because I made you laugh? You should do it more often. You have a charming laugh—your eyes light up and your nose crinkles just so.”

“Oh!” She let out a little wail, clapping her hand over her nose. “Do not say so! I have always hated that. I look like a rabbit.”

“What is wrong with that? I have it on the best authority that rabbits are adorable.”

“What nonsense you talk.”

“Nonsense makes the most agreeable conversation, I find.”

She could not help but chuckle again and shake her head. “I shall have to stop talking; it is only encouraging you.”

They fell silent for a moment as Thea turned down the narrow lane leading to Mrs. Williams’s cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Morecombe glance at her and then away. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat.

Finally he said, “I do apologize most earnestly for not recognizing you that night. It was not that I had forgotten you—or at least, the memory was still there, just pushed to the back of my mind. I recalled it quite clearly when you mentioned it. I confess that I had forgotten your name or that you were Ian’s cousin. But it had been ten years or more since that night.”

“Of course. It’s perfectly understandable.”

“I would not have wounded your feelings for the world. I am not that careless or callous a man, I hope.”

“I can see that you are not.” Thea turned her face up to look at him, and she smiled. “I do not hold it against you.” She realized with some surprise that she actually meant the words. Somehow the sting of his not remembering her had faded over the last day. “However,” she added rather saucily, “that does not excuse your forgetting me a week later.”

“Ah!” He laid a hand on his chest, wincing with mock pain. “A fair hit, Miss Bainbridge. But even you must admit that there were extenuating circumstances. I saw you only briefly at the party.” He held up one hand, ticking off the excuses finger by finger. “I would never have expected you to show up in my house, taking me to task. You were not wearing your spectacles. And your hair was tumbled most delectably about your face. Not to mention the fact that you were carrying a baby. And swooping down on me like a Fury.”

Thea rolled her eyes. “You exaggerate.”

They had reached a neat little cottage, its warm stone almost completely covered with ivy. Thea turned up the walk, with Gabriel on her heels. She had barely had time to knock when the door was opened by a plump, white-haired matron, beaming at them.

“Come in. Come in.” Mrs. Williams practically pulled Thea into the room while managing to give a little curtsy to Lord Morecombe at the same time. She ushered them into the tidy main room of the house, offering them luncheon—and when that was politely refused, tea and cakes.

Thea did not have to worry how to subtly bring up the topic of Matthew, for the older woman immediately began to ply Thea with questions about the child.

“Is it true that you found him in the manger, miss?” Mrs. Williams shook her head in wonder. “Can you imagine that? Is it a little boy? I heard he was beautiful as an angel.”

“Yes, he is a handsome young man.” Thea could not keep from smiling as she thought of Matthew.

The old woman nodded. “I thought as much. Only fitting, really, him being found in the church and all.” She cast a glance over at Gabriel, as she had all through their visit. “It’s very good of you, my lord, to be helping Miss Bainbridge look for the mother.”

“It seemed the least I could do.”

“I hear there was a bit of a stir at the Priory yesterday after Miss Bainbridge found him,” Mrs. Williams went on, watching Gabriel brightly.

“Um, well …” He glanced over at Thea, obviously at a loss for words.

She suppressed a smile and came to his rescue. “The vicar and I hoped that Lord Morecombe or one of his friends might have some knowledge of the child, being new to town themselves.” Her reasoning, she knew, made little sense, and she doubted that Mrs. Williams believed a bit of it. But for politeness’ sake, she would have little choice but to accept Thea’s explanation. “I was certain that if anyone knew whether someone who was visiting in Chesley had brought a baby with them, it would be you.”

Mrs. Williams took the bait, straightening and beaming with pride. “Indeed I would, miss, you can be sure of that. But the truth is, I have been racking my brain since I heard the news, trying to think who the babe might be. The fact is, I don’t know of anyone with a lad that age in Chesley, except, of course, for the Potts, and the poor wee thing couldn’t be him.”

“No. It’s not.”

“There’s no visitors with one, either. Old Mr. Jonas’s daughter and her family are here with him, but that babe is a newborn.” Mrs. Williams chattered on about every family she could think of that had children, rejecting each of them in turn. Clearly, she had nothing to add to their store of knowledge.

After a few more minutes of polite conversation and sometimes less than polite questioning from Mrs. Williams, Thea and Gabriel extricated themselves from the conversation and started back toward the vicarage. Gabriel, walking alongside Thea, shook his head and let out a short laugh.

“How the devil could she know all about that child already?” he wondered. “I am surprised she did not describe the brooch you showed me.”

Thea smiled. “I told you, she knows everything about everyone. Between her husband’s family and hers, she is related to half the people in the village by blood or marriage, and she spent much of her life in the apothecary’s shop with her husband, chatting to everyone who came in. She would have made an excellent spy if there were anything worth discovering in Chesley.” Thea paused. “I apologize for causing a scene yesterday at the Priory. I should have thought about the gossip it would start, but, frankly, I was too incensed at that time to care whether I set tongues to wagging about you.”

Gabriel shrugged. “People talk. It makes little difference to me.”

“That must be a pleasant way to live.”

He glanced over at her. “If people whisper about me, I don’t hear it. It does not hurt me.”

“Mm. It’s different for a woman, I fear. What people whisper means a great deal—especially when you are the vicar’s sister.”

“Ah. So now we are talking about duty. You have a duty to live a blameless life or it will reflect badly on your brother.”

“Yes, of course.” She sighed unconsciously.

“I know a bit about duty.”

“You do?”

He laughed. “You needn’t look quite so surprised. I am not entirely lazy and self-indulgent.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Thea flushed.

“Now, Miss Bainbridge, don’t start telling me bouncers. I rely on your candor.”

“Very well. I have seen little in your actions to indicate otherwise. Well, I mean until now.”

“You mean your opinion of me has changed?” he asked wryly.

She gave him a stern look. “Not entirely. But I do see that you are concerned about Matthew, that you have a sense of duty toward your nephew … and your sister.”

“I love Jocelyn,” he replied with simple honesty. “How could I not try to find her? Help her?”

“There are some who would turn their backs on someone who caused scandal to their name.”

“My name means little to me compared to my sister.” He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “I remember when she was born. My governess told me I had a baby sister, and later the nurse took me in to see her in her cradle.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “She was so tiny and so red. I thought she was not nearly as cute as the puppies in the kennels. But when I put out my finger, Jocelyn wrapped her fingers around it, and I felt …” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what it was, but I knew that I had to protect her, that she was mine. I fear I did not look after her well enough.”