Page 22 of A Winter Scandal

“Put some blasted milk in it, then.”

She tried that, testing it again, then nodded. No sooner had she done so than Gabriel handed her a squirming, red-faced Matthew. Thea set him on her lap, as she had seen Mrs. Brewster do, but the baby kept squirming and arching his back, his cries increasing, making it difficult to keep him in place. Thea wrapped her arm more tightly around him and dipped up a spoonful of the potato mixture with the other hand. As she held it toward his mouth, the baby’s waving arms crashed into the spoon and sent its contents flying upward and outward, splatting against Gabriel’s spotless white neckcloth.

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.