Page 23 of A Winter Scandal

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.