Claire could have happily strangled him. Mr. Bradshaw was looking at Matthew with no small amount of suspicion, and the verylastthing she wanted was for someone to assume the truth. “Mr. Bradshaw—along with the rest of the staff—will form a mistaken impression ofmyson,” she stressed.
“Ah,” Gabriel said. “Allow me to relieve your mind, Bradshaw. Mrs. Hotchkiss’ son will be residing here because his former situation has become untenable. The boy has a lung ailment that requires him to live in a cleaner part of the city.” He paused. “On that note, please have someone clear the fireplace in the nursery regularly. Any amount of dust or soot that is allowed to settle there could irritate his lungs further.”
Mr. Bradshaw said nothing, his brow furrowed as his gaze passed over the child in Claire’s arms.
“Bradshaw,” Gabriel said firmly, catching the butler’s attention at last. “Matthew is a guest, nothing more. Mrs. Hotchkiss’ reputation is without blemish. Is that clear?”
Mr. Bradshaw cleared his throat. “Indeed, my lord,” he said at last. “Quite clear. And so I’ll inform the rest of the staff.”
“Good,” Gabriel said. “I understand that his presence is…unusual. But I will have no gossip about it in my house.” He turned to Claire. “Matthew will, of course, stay with you until the nursery is properly outfitted. Bradshaw, how long would you expect that to take?”
“Several hours at least, sir,” Mr. Bradshaw said. “But I’ll put every available footman up to the task.”
“Good,” Gabriel said again. “Please inform Mrs. Hotchkiss when the preparations have been made.” And with an arrogant toss of his head, secure in the knowledge that his orders would be followed to the letter, he proceeded up the stairs.
Mr. Bradshaw cleared his throat yet again and directed his next inquiry to Claire. “Shall I have Monsieur Bissonet get started on dinner?”
“Yes,” she said. “And have Alice prepare a tray of sweet buns, please. I promised some to Matthew, but he fell asleep in the carriage and I quite forgot to stop at a bakery.”
“Of course.” Mr. Bradshaw’s mouth twitched as if to hold back an unwise comment. “You said someone was ill. You didn’t say it was yourson.”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Most employers would not take kindly to a housekeeper with a child. I thought it best not to volunteer that information,” she said. “I’ve worked in many a household where servants carry tales, and I don’t care to be gossiped about.”
Mr. Bradshaw gave a brisk nod, the suspicion fading from his face. He scratched at the nape of his neck, abashed. “Please forgive my misgivings,” he said. “It’s simply an extremely unusual situation.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said, sweeping past him toward the staircase. “God knows I’ve got more than a few misgivings myself.”
∞∞∞
Gabriel was aware when the requested accoutrements for the nursery began arriving, owing to the noise produced as the footmen began carting the newly-purchased items up the stairs. The nursery was five doors down from his study, which resulted in a great deal of foot traffic passing by his door. He could have closed the door and ignored the progress, but he found it rather interesting to see what had been procured and how his servants had interpreted his orders.
Two footmen had tromped by carrying a heavy wooden frame just a few minutes before, and from the faint pounding sounds coming from down the hallway, he assumed the bed was in the process of being assembled. There would have to be a mattress of some sort at some point, but as yet he’d seen no sign of one.
A couple of maids had fluttered by, carrying various boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine. Gabriel assumed that these were toys or some other such trappings of youth. He wondered what Claire would have to say of it, whether or not she would approve of the selections.
Surely a mother would wish to be involved in such a thing?
He’d not seen her for the past few hours, but then he suspected that she would be spending the remainder of her half day with her son. He supposed she’d taken the boy off to her room and tucked him into bed. Though Matthew had all the enthusiasm of his young age, he’d clearly been exhausted by his attack of asthma, and Gabriel remembered from his youth how draining such an occurrence could be. It was likely that he would sleep for a few hours at least, which would give the servants time to complete the outfitting of the nursery.
Still, there was more to keeping a child in residence than just that, and so even as it galled him to do so, he dashed off a note to Westwood and rang for Bradshaw.
The butler appeared some moments later, slightly flustered from overseeing the construction of the nursery.
Gabriel proffered the note. “Have this sent round to Lord Westwood,” he said.
“At once, sir,” Bradshaw said, tucking the note into his breast pocket. He hesitated at the doorway and said, “I’m afraid there’s a bit of trouble with the clothing.”
“For Matthew?” Gabriel inquired.
“Indeed, sir,” Bradshaw said. “As no one knows the boy’s measurements, it’s rather difficult to procure clothing for him.” Another brief pause. “There’s also the matter ofhowthe boy is to be outfitted.”
A tactful way of inquiring what sort of materials would be appropriate, whether the child was to be dressed as befitted his natural station as the son of a servant or as a child of Gabriel’s own household. It was a reasonable quandary, given his unusual undertaking.
“Suppose you think of Matthew as my ward,” he said. “If not in fact, then in practice.” Claire was the boy’s legal guardian since Matthew’s father had died, but surely she would not object to Gabriel’s patronage so long as it did not supplant her own natural rights to raise her child.
“Shall I summon a tailor, then, sir?” Bradshaw inquired. “It may be…somewhat more discreet to have him measured and clothed within the residence rather than outside of it.”
Doubtless Bradshaw was correct. There was always the chance that his servants would draw unwanted attention if he were sending them out to procure things for Matthew, and clothing beyond that which a servant could expect to own would be suspect in the extreme.
