A Winter Scandal (9 page)

Thea gasped. “I’m so sorry!”

“Doesn’t matter. Just get something in him.”

Thea managed to grab one of the baby’s arms with the hand she had around his waist, then she quickly thrust the spoon into his mouth. Matthew smacked his lips together several times, and half the spoonful rolled back out and down his chin.

“Does he not know how to swallow?” Gabriel peered down at the baby.

“He must. He ate earlier when Mrs. Brewster was feeding him. I think some of it got in.”

How had Mrs. Brewster done this? It had all looked so much easier when she was feeding Matthew. But at least he stopped crying, even though his arms continued to wave—more in excitement now, Thea thought, than anger. The next spoonful again went flying, struck by the other arm, and this time it hit her face and dress. Thea continued to spoon the mixture into his mouth, dodging and holding his arms. She quickly learned to shovel the food that spilled out onto his chin back into his mouth. As he ate, his arm-flailing stopped, and Thea let out a sigh of relief. Adjusting him on her lap, she released his arm. But then Matthew decided to grab the spoon, and the potatoes plopped onto the front of her dress. A few bites later, the baby took a bite, then blew it back out with bubbles. He laughed, clasping his hands and looking up engagingly at Thea.

Thea let out a groan.

“I think he might be full,” Gabriel offered.

“Really?” Thea commented drily, and leaned back in her chair. She was exhausted. The baby had bits of potato mixture in his hair, and on his hands and gown. A bit was even on one of his feet. And where had his little bootees gone? She had just as much food on her, all over her fichu and gown, and she could feel one spot drying on her cheek and another on her forehead. Several small spots were on the lenses of her spectacles. She could only hope there were none in her hair.

She looked down at herself and the baby in some disgust.

“I think perhaps we should have covered him with a rag,” Gabriel said mildly.

Thea looked up, a tart response on her lips, but when she took in the sight of Lord Morecombe, his hair disheveled and his fashionable jacket and snowy-white shirt daubed with spots of potato, she could not keep from laughing. Gabriel glared at her for a moment. Then a smile quirked up his mouth, and in another instant, he began to laugh, too. The baby, seeing their laughter, grinned and let out one of his high-pitched crows. This only made the two of them laugh harder, and every time they were about to get control of their laughter, they had only to glance at each other, and it set them off again. By the time they finally stopped laughing, Thea’s sides ached and there were tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh.” She drew a long breath. “Oh, my.”

Gabriel stood and cast a look down at himself. “The devil. Barts will ring a peal over my head.”

“Who?”

“My valet.” He glanced around. “I think I need a rag.”

“You’re scared of your valet?” Thea said as she handed the baby to him and went over to pull out a couple of rags and wet them.

“Any sane man would be. Barts is a veritable tyrant.”

Thea rolled her eyes as she handed him a damp cloth. “Since you are his employer, I would think there is an easy solution to that.” She reached out and took the baby back to clean his face and hands.

“Let him go?” Gabriel gave her a horrified look. “He has been my valet since I was sixteen, and he was my grandfather’s valet before that. The butler would see to it that I paid for it the remainder of my days. Not to mention my aunts and grandmother.”

Thea chuckled and set the baby down on the hooked rug. “What a fearsome employer you are.”

“I fear I am twelve years old to all my staff. That’s why I bought the Priory. Entirely new staff. Well, except for Barts, of course.”

Thea stared at him. “What a bag of moonshine! You did not buy a house just to get away from your servants.”

He smiled. “No—or, at least, not primarily. But it is a pleasant benefit, I find.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Though I must say, the new staff’s service does leave something to be desired.”

Thea shook her head, smiling a little, and removed her spectacles to wipe her face clean.

“Here, you’ve missed a spot.” Gabriel reached out and took the rag and gently dabbed at her cheek, taking her chin in his other hand.

Thea went still, her breath suddenly shallow. He was so close that she could see him clearly, even without her glasses. It was, she thought, decidedly unfair that a man should have such long, lush eyelashes. His hands dropped away from her face, and he moved back, handing her the rag. Thea was aware of a distinct sense of disappointment, and to cover it she began to busily tend to the other spots on her clothes.

On the rug, the baby had gotten up onto his hands and knees. Thea looked at him, wondering if he could crawl yet—there were a great many things she must learn!—but he only rocked back and forth, making an
m-m-m
noise, clamping his mouth shut in a look of intense concentration.

Gabriel, following her gaze, watched him, too. “He looks as though he’s about to launch himself forward.”

Matthew rocked back onto his heels and peered up at Gabriel, letting loose one of his pleased-sounding crows and grinning gummily at him. Gabriel leaned down and picked him up, setting him on his knee facing him. His dark eyes searched the baby’s face. Holding Matthew steady with one hand, he reached up with his forefinger and touched the little dimple in Matthew’s chin that was so reminiscent of his own.

“Does he look like your sister?” Thea asked. It was far too intrusive a question to ask someone who was virtually a stranger, but she could not hold it back. And as Gabriel himself had said, he was scarcely a man wedded to propriety.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Jocelyn had a little indentation here. I remember when she was young, she was pleased with it, saying it proved we were brother and sister. Otherwise, we did not resemble each other much. Her hair and eyes are lighter than mine.” He smoothed his hand over the child’s soft blond curls, and his face darkened. “But I do know one person who looks very much like this.”

His eyes flashed, the softness of a moment before replaced by a hard, fierce light. Thea, watching him, realized with a start that Gabriel could be rather frightening if he chose. She wanted to ask who Matthew reminded him of, but she decided it was wisest not to.

“I think you are right,” Gabriel said. “I will take responsibility of the baby, at least until we find out who his mother is.”

Panic welled up in Thea’s chest as she realized the implications of his statement. “No! You cannot take him home with you!”

Gabriel turned to look at her, surprised. “But I thought that was your purpose in bringing him to me.”

“I didn’t think. That is, well, when I thought you were his father, I wanted you to take responsibility, but you must see that your home is not the place for a baby. It would be better to leave him here, surely, until we know for certain who he is.”

He looked at her oddly. “That seems rather a burden for you to take on, given that he is no relation to you—at least we are certain of that much, if nothing else.”

“I don’t mind. Truly. And Mrs. Brewster will help me.”

“If he is my sister’s child, my home is where he belongs.”

“Yes, but you don’t know that for sure. After all, someone could have stolen that brooch or … well, I don’t know how it came to be with him, but I am sure there could be other explanations.”

“None come to mind at the moment.” “But it would be too cruel to take him in and later find out he was not your nephew and give him back. You should wait until you know.”

“It would not be unkind to take him from your home later, after he has become accustomed to it?”

Thea ignored his question, saying, “Anyway, your house is not a fit place for a baby.”

His expression iced over, and he looked very much the aristocrat he had appeared the other day at the Cliffes’ ball. “I beg your pardon.”

Thea just gazed back steadily at him. “You need not get on your high ropes about it. You know as well as I do that it’s the truth. You cannot expect to raise a child in a home full of bachelors.”

“I have servants.”

“The ones whose service leaves much to be desired?”

“
Something
to be desired, not much,” he argued, but the corner of his mouth twitched and the hauteur drained from his voice.

“You don’t have any female servants, except for the cook, and that is only because she is married to the gardener and goes home every night to his cottage.”

“I can hire maids.”

“Can you?” Thea raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps you do not realize it, my lord, but the reason you have no women servants is because no self-respecting female would take up residence in a house filled with drunken men and women of loose morals.”

His eyebrows shot up at that description, but before he could speak, Thea charged ahead. “And you need more than a few maids before you can hope to properly raise a child. You must have a nursemaid to take care of him, for one thing. And a proper nursery. You need a father who does not come home at dawn from drinking and carousing. You need a real home, not some great, half-empty stone pile where people ride their horses into the hall and jump the table on a bet!”

Morecombe stared at her, astonished. “Good gad, do you have spies in my house?”

Thea cast a disdainful look at him. “A new gentleman in the area, especially one who lives as you and your friends do, can hardly expect to go unnoticed. Every aspect of what goes on at the Priory is examined in every house in the village.”

“Doubtless the vicar’s sister gets all the latest gossip.”

“Of course I do,” Thea retorted somewhat smugly. “I also have access to the advice of a great number of mothers and grandmothers. Not to mention a very able housekeeper and a day maid. And a bed already made up for him.” Thea gestured over at the basket. “Besides, Matthew knows me. He will be happier here.”

As if on cue, the baby twisted around to look at her, then smiled and held out his arms to Thea.

“You are a traitor to all mankind,” Gabriel told the baby sternly as he handed the child back to Thea. Matthew laid his head on Thea’s shoulder and turned to gaze coyly back at Morecombe. Gabriel leaned toward the baby, saying softly, “In faith, if I had the same choice of where to spend my night, I believe I would take it, too.”

Before Thea could react to his outrageous statement, Gabriel stood up. “Very well. I am not fool enough to continue arguing with you on this matter. I will leave young Matthew here until I find out exactly who his mother is.”

He walked over to the door and shrugged into his coat. Thea trailed after him, carrying the baby. Gabriel chucked a finger under the baby’s chin, saying, “Good night, young man. Sleep well.” He turned to Thea, his dark eyes sharpening, though Thea could not read the emotion there. “And you, as well.” He hooked her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up, bending down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. “May your dreams be … delightful.”

With a half smile, Gabriel turned and was gone.

Six

G
abriel scarcely noticed the cold
as he rode home. He was too much occupied in thinking about what had happened this evening. Could that child really be Jocelyn’s? The thought was staggering. He could not even decide whether his hope was that young Matthew was his nephew or that he was not. A faint smile touched his lips as he thought about the blond-haired baby. In general, Gabriel was rarely around children; indeed, he usually did his best to avoid them. But he had to admit that something about this one was quite winning. He chuckled as he remembered the angelic smile on the child’s face after he had splattered his porridge all over Miss Bainbridge.

Something about her was curiously winning, too. He could not put his finger on it. As a rule, he was not fond of women who rang a peal over his head. Nor would he have thought that her accusing him of fathering an illegitimate child would have endeared her to him. But something about her tickled his sense of humor. He could not resist teasing her. Perhaps it was the way her eyes lit with fire or her pale cheeks flushed rosily when she was taking him to task. Or maybe it was simply that he very much wondered what it would feel like to sink his hands into her wild curls. The thought sent a tendril of heat curling through his abdomen … and made him also consider exactly how those long legs would feel wrapped around him.

He shifted a little in his saddle, and his mind went to the unmistakable physical reaction his body had demonstrated during their ride to the vicarage. Her firm bottom had fit nicely between his legs, and the friction of it against him as the horse moved had added a distinct fillip to the ride. How could he have forgotten that he had met her? Even after she had reminded him that they’d met at the Squire’s ball, he had had trouble remembering exactly what she had looked like at the party. He had only a vague impression of someone rather colorless and quiet. That seemed unlikely, given her behavior this evening. But try as he might to dredge up a memory, he could not recall seeing her dancing at the ball or even talking to anyone after that first introduction. Of course, he had primarily been intent on getting out of the place as soon as he politely could, but Miss Bainbridge did not seem like someone who was easy to ignore.

He remembered her better from that night so many years ago. He was not even sure which of Ian’s sisters had been getting married, so it was little surprise that he could not recall Miss Bainbridge’s name. But once she had needled him for forgetting, he had remembered her rather clearly. She had been so young, so awkward and overawed that his slight irritation at the Countess’s maneuvering him into asking her to dance had quickly given way to sympathy. And then she had been so unexpectedly tart that he had found himself actually enjoying their dance and prolonging it with a stroll on the terrace afterward. He had even intended to stand up with her for a dance or two when she came to London to make her come-out, but he had not encountered her the next year, and she had soon slipped his mind.

It occurred to him that Miss Bainbridge could be a help in looking for his sister. Who better than the vicar’s sister to ask questions of the locals? Sparring with her would certainly make his search more entertaining. Perhaps he would drop by the vicarage first when he set out to find the person who had abandoned Matthew at the church.

Gabriel found his friends waiting in the great hall when he returned. The three men were seated at one end of the long table, drinking port and halfheartedly playing a game of loo, but Gabriel had little doubt they were primarily waiting to discover what had transpired after he’d left the house with Althea Bainbridge. As soon as he stepped in the door, all three swung around to stare at him. Gabriel sighed inwardly. He would have liked to keep this evening’s events to himself, but even a moment’s reflection told him that it would be impossible. Out of friendship for him, his friends might swallow their curiosity about Miss Bainbridge and the baby and the possible connection to his sister, but he had little hope that news of this scandal would not get out. After hearing Althea comment on the doings in his household, he knew that soon the whole village would be gossiping about the baby found in the manger as well as Althea’s tumultuous visit to the Priory.

“I presume the three of you have been hashing out my visit from your cousin,” he said to Ian, going over to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of port before sitting down with the others.

“I told Ian what happened before he came home,” Myles agreed. “Though Alan and I might have missed some of what was said. What was that thing Miss Bainbridge showed you? Was it Jocelyn’s?”

Gabriel nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “It was her brooch.” He pulled the brooch out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of them. “I gave it to her on her twelfth birthday because she admired my signet ring.” He sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. “I never checked to see if she took it with her. I presume she must have.”

“But that baby—” Ian said, shock apparent on his face. “It can’t be, I mean, it’s not—”

“Hers?” Gabriel asked flatly. “The devil of it is that I have no idea. There is nothing else to identify him, one way or the other. Miss Bainbridge apparently discovered him in the manger.”

Myles spluttered, choking on his drink. “The what?”

“The manger. Yes, I know—it’s absurd. She had hauled it out into the church for some Nativity scene they are going to put on Christmas Eve and someone stuck Matthew in it.”

“Matthew? That’s his name?”

“The name Miss Bainbridge gave to him.”

“No insult to your cousin”—Myles nodded toward Ian—“but are you sure this Miss Bainbridge isn’t a bit touched in her upperworks?”

Ian shrugged. “She’s only a second or third cousin. And God knows, anything is possible amongst our family. My great-uncle Rupert was a cursed rum touch.”

“Miss Bainbridge is anything but mad,” Gabriel said flatly. “And there’s no getting around Jocelyn’s brooch. But there was no clue in the church as to who left him there. Miss Bainbridge saw no one besides the baby.”

“It’s my opinion it’s all a hum.” Ian gestured with his glass of port. “Someone got hold of that brooch somehow—found it, stole it, I don’t know—and now they’re trying to convince you the child’s related to you. Hoping they can trick you into taking care of their by-blow, that’s all. I say stick it in a foundling home and wash your hands of the whole affair.”

“He’s a baby, Ian, not an ‘it.’” Gabriel sighed. “And I can’t just shrug off the incident. Someone just happened to find Jocelyn’s brooch? Or stole it out of her room? And then they happened to have a baby they wanted to abandon, so they stuck him in a manger in a church in Chesley, hid the brooch inside his clothes, and trusted he would find his way to me?”

“Does sound a bit convoluted,” Sir Myles agreed.

Alan tugged at his lower lip thoughtfully, a frown on his face. “But, Gabe … you don’t think … I mean, do you really think this baby is Jocelyn’s?”

“He doesn’t resemble her much. Though he’s got a bit of a—” He touched the cleft in his own chin.

“Babies don’t generally look much like anyone that I can see,” Myles put in.

“This one does.” Gabriel’s voice was grim. “He looks like Rawdon.”

The others all went still. Finally, Myles said softly, “Bloody hell.”

“Exactly.” Gabriel took a healthy swig of his drink and set it down on the table. “You saw him. Blond hair. Blue eyes.”

“Any number of people have blond hair and blue eyes,” Myles pointed out. “Why, Jocelyn’s hair was blond.”

“Dark blond. His hair is pale.”

“Still. Hair often darkens as one gets older, doesn’t it? Doesn’t mean it was necessarily Alec’s.”

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Ian glared at Myles across the table. “Why do you defend that bastard?”

“I am not defending him. I am simply pointing out there are other blond-haired, blue-eyed men in the world.”

“How many of them were engaged to my sister?” Gabriel’s words came out hard and flat.

Myles flushed and looked away. “Yes, you are right. I’m sorry. Of course, if the baby is Jocelyn’s, it wouldn’t make sense that the father was anyone but Rawdon.”

“But …” Alan frowned. “If the babe was Rawdon’s, why the devil would Jocelyn have left? Wouldn’t she want to marry him even more then?”

Gabriel nodded. “Exactly. Think about that: my sister ran away rather than marry Alec. One would assume that a woman who is carrying a man’s child would be
more
likely to marry him, not less. Obviously Jocelyn didn’t love the man, didn’t want to be with him, didn’t want him raising their child. Otherwise she would not have left.”

Myles stared at Gabriel. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that it makes no sense for a woman to run away from a man she had given herself to freely. But it makes a great deal of sense if he had forced her.”

There was another shocked silence around the table.

Myles pushed back from the table, looking troubled. “Gabe, no … surely not.”

“I don’t know what else to think.” Morecombe’s dark eyes were hot and hard. “Would any of your sisters have run away from their husbands two weeks before they were supposed to marry them?”

“God, no. They were all over the moon about it, could hardly wait for the day.”

“Obviously Jocelyn was not, and there must have been some reason for that. The note she left said she would be happier this way. It would have to be a pretty miserable life she was facing if bearing a child out of wedlock, all on her own, seemed a more attractive option than wedding an earl.”

“I think you’re right,” Alan agreed. “Only thing that makes sense. Get a girl pregnant, and they’re yammering for you to marry them. No woman wants her child to be a side-slip.”

“Nor do they want to be considered a trollop themselves,” Gabriel added. “Her leaving indicates more than that she simply preferred not to be married to Rawdon. She would have had to have hated—or feared—him.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Myles agreed. “But still … Rawdon?”

“Why do you find it so hard to believe that the man is a villain?” Ian burst out.

“Why do you find it so easy?” Myles retorted. “Alec was our friend!” He glanced around at the others. “Am I the only one who remembers that?”

“Oh, no, I am well aware of it,” Gabriel retorted with some bitterness. “I am the one who befriended him, who brought him into our circle. I am the one who introduced him to my sister. Indeed, I practically shoved her at him! I’ll never be able to forget that.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. You know I mean you no disrespect. And it makes sense that Jocelyn ran away because he mistreated her. But, bloody hell, it’s hard to believe that Rawdon would have forced himself upon anyone, much less your sister.”

“We obviously did not know him nearly as well as we thought,” Gabriel replied.

“You know what his family is like, Myles,” Ian pointed out.

“Yes, I know his father was a proper tyrant, from the few things Alec told us about him. But Alec despised the old earl; that was clear. And just because the Staffords have a … a dark history—”

Ian snorted. “They were a bloody violent group—literally. If I remember correctly, the first Earl of Rawdon kidnapped his heiress bride.”

“Several hundred years ago,” Myles shot back. “Those Northern lords were all practically brigands. But it isn’t as if they are carrying out border raids these days.”

“No, but I’ve heard rumors that Rawdon’s grandfather came into the title by helping his older brother to an early grave,” Ian went on. “And wasn’t there a Stafford who had to flee to the Continent because he killed his man in a duel?”

“It was the same chap—Rawdon’s great-uncle,” Gabriel said. “It was swords back then, of course, and he was reputed to be a master swordsman. He killed the man, fled the country, and proceeded to drink himself to death, living in style in Paris. Whether his brother helped him in pickling his innards, I’ve no idea.”

“They’re a cold-blooded bunch,” Alan added.

“God knows his sister is.” Myles made an expressive shudder. “Lady Genevieve may be a diamond of the first water, but her gaze would freeze a man.”

“As I remember, you braved that wintry atmosphere a few times.” Gabriel smirked at Myles.

“The devil!” Alan stared at Myles. “Did you really dangle after the Ice Maiden? You are a braver man than I.” Alan shook his head reflectively.

“I did not
dangle
after her. I danced with her a few times. We did not suit, as they say.”

“All the Staffords are cold. And high in the instep. It was doubtless foolish of us to become friends with him,” Ian said, then shrugged. “But we were young then. I don’t know why you are still so soft on him, though, Myles. I cut all ties with the man after he and Gabe had that mill in White’s.”

Alan let out a soft chuckle. “That was quite a sight. I was afraid White’s would bar you.”

“It was a devilish good fight,” Myles mused. “But I presumed it was just the heat of the moment. That eventually you and Rawdon … well.” Myles shrugged and tossed back the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “Devil take it. I didn’t think Rawdon was actually wicked. It looks as though I shall have to change my position.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Gabe … about all of it.”

“I know. I thought Rawdon was the sort of man I’d want at my back, too.” Morecombe’s face hardened. “Until I found out differently.” He stood up. “Go on with your game, gentlemen. I am retiring early tonight. Tomorrow I have to find whoever left that baby at Miss Bainbridge’s church.”

Myles and Alan nodded to Gabriel, watching as he went to the sideboard to pour himself another glass and left the room with it. Ian tossed his hand down on the table and followed Morecombe out of the room.

The viscount caught up to Gabriel on the stairs. “Do you really think that child is Jocelyn’s?”

“The truth? I don’t know. That’s why I have to find out who left him there. I cannot imagine that Jocelyn would do such a thing. But if the baby is not hers, how did they acquire that brooch? If someone took it from her, I can make them tell me where she is. After all this time, maybe I can find her.”