Page 24 of A Winter Scandal

“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

Gabriel 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.”