Page 27 of A Winter Scandal

“Are you like Myles? You cannot believe Rawdon is a villain?”

“No, of course not. And you mustn’t blame Myles. He does not know the things about Rawdon that you and I do.”

Ian shrugged, and Gabriel continued, “It is not that I cannot believe it about Rawdon—that was hard, but I have accepted it. But I do not believe, I refuse to believe, that my sister is dead.” Gabriel turned his intense, dark gaze on his friend. “And I am going to prove that she is not. This baby is going to lead me to her. I am going to find Jocelyn.”

Thea hummed to herself as she buttoned the top button of her brown wool dress. She glanced down at the baby in his basket beside her before she turned to her mirror. She had just finished pulling a comb through her hair, and it was, at least, no longer tangled, though it did flare out from her head in a wild mass of curls. Raking it back tightly, she began the familiar braiding of it into a long, fat plait, which she then wound around the crown of her head, securing it with pins. It was soon tightly fixed, unlike the slapdash braid she had coiled up last night, though the fine, short hairs around her face slipped out and curled as they usually did. It was her custom to dampen them and slick them straight back, fixing them with pins.

But today, she found herself idly twisting them around her forefinger until she had several delicate curls clustering around her face. Gabriel had said he liked her curls. Had he meant it or was he joking? She tilted her head to the side, considering. Perhaps it did soften the outlines of her face, which was bonier and starker than the feminine ideal. But perhaps that was simply because she had not yet put on her spectacles. She picked the lenses up from the dresser and placed them on her nose, securing them behind her ears.

Thea looked at her reflection and sighed. It was foolish vanity, she thought. She reached for the water bowl, but at that moment Matthew left off his patient blowing and cooing and began his little hiccuping cry.

“Are you tired of waiting?” she asked. “You have been a terribly good boy this morning.”

And he had, really. Aside from the adventure of diapering him last night and this morning—she still could not understand how a baby could twist and turn and roll so much, and the diaper was, admittedly, rather bulky and odd-looking—he had been happy and quiet, sleeping through the night and awakening her this morning with a series of coos and soft noises rather than the piercing cries he had emitted last night when he was hungry.

She was, she thought as she picked up his basket and started downstairs, going to have to find out from Mrs. Brewster how the housekeeper had kept him from splattering food everywhere yesterday when she fed him. As Thea stepped off the last stair into the hall, she met her brother. Daniel glanced at the basket she carried, then peered into it more closely. His eyebrows rose.

“Is he still here? I had forgotten about him.”

“That’s because he is so good.” Thea set down the basket and reached in to pick up the baby. “I’ve named him Matthew. Would you like to hold him?”

A faint look of horror crossed Daniel’s face and he took half a step back. “No, that’s fine. I—why have you named him? You cannot mean to keep this child?”

“Of course not. Only until we find out where he belongs.”

“Thea … he belongs in a foundling home.” Daniel began to frown.

“No, truly, I think he does not.” Thea began to explain the possibilities of the baby’s parentage to Daniel, and with every word, his frown deepened.

“Oh, my,” he said finally. “I—well, are you sure that this is what you should do? I mean, it does seem there’s rather a lot of scandal attached to the boy.” He cast a doubtful look at Matthew, who responded by blowing bubbles.

“That’s hardly his fault,” Thea said reasonably. “In any case, once Lord Morecombe gets everything in order, I shall be turning Matthew over to him.” The words left her with a hollow feeling, but she ignored that. “Bring his basket, would you? I’m going to take him into the kitchen for Mrs. Brewster to look after while we have breakfast.”

“Excellent.” Daniel looked relieved. “I thought you were going to be holding him all through the meal. I read something very interesting last night about the excavation of the ruins of the Minerva temple at Bath, and I wanted to discuss it with you.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Brewster grinned broadly at the sight of the baby and promised to feed him as soon as she dished up breakfast for Daniel and Thea. They left the baby in his basket with the day maid, Sally, cooing over him, and went to the dining room. Daniel was soon happily expounding on his readings, but Thea found it harder than usual to keep her mind on his words. The layout of the Roman baths had much less appeal than wondering what Lord Morecombe was going to do today about finding a nursemaid for Matthew, and how he intended to go about discovering who had left the baby at the church. It was most annoying to have to sit about and wait for someone else to take care of things, and Thea wished she had thought to offer help—not, she had to admit with an inward sigh, that he would have been likely to accept her offer. Men seemed to be stubbornly reluctant to allow a woman to help them.

Fortunately, Daniel did not notice that Thea’s attention wandered, and she got through the meal with only a few vague responses when he paused for her opinion. Once breakfast was over, Thea took Matthew and sat down in the sitting room in front of the fire to tie evergreen boughs into the garlands she would tie on the staircase railing. Matthew seemed content enough to sit or roll about on the hooked rug at her feet. He picked at the rug and sometimes rose onto his hands and knees to rock back and forth as he had the night before. She had to smile, watching him; it was as if he wanted to crawl but had not figured out quite how to make his limbs move. It occurred to her that he needed some toys to play with. She would have to look in the attic.

After a while, when Matthew grew fussy, she sat down with him in the rocking chair. Soon his eyes began to blink, and he dropped his head onto her shoulder. His eyes closed and his little body grew heavier and limper. Thea closed her eyes as emotion welled in her, so sweet it was almost painful.

Thea was reluctant to lay the sleeping child down in the basket, but she thought that it was both foolish and idle to simply sit there holding him when there was work to be done, so after a few minutes she set him down in the basket and took the garlands she had made, as well as the mistletoe ball, into the entry. She tied the garland to the newel and went up the stairs, tying the garland in strategic spots so that it hung in shallow loops along the banister. Next, she picked up the mistletoe ball she had made of two hoops wrapped in red ribbon. In the center of the open ball, she had attached a cluster of mistletoe, the white, waxy berries and green leaves a dramatic contrast to the red frame.

She usually coaxed her brother into hanging the eye-catching decoration in the hallway, but she had heard him leave the house a while ago. She was tugging the hall bench out to the middle of the floor so that she could hang the ball herself when the front door knocker sounded. Thea opened the door to see Gabriel Morecombe standing on the other side.

“Lord Morecombe!” Her heart sped up, and she smiled, realizing a moment too late that her smile had probably been too bright. What if he assumed she thought he was courting her, which was, of course, absurd? She could hardly explain that she was not interested in seeing him, which would not only be rude but would doubtless make him think exactly the opposite.

“Good day, Miss Bainbridge.” He paused, then added teasingly, “Have I displeased you already?”

“What? No. Why do you say that?”

“You smiled when you answered the door, and now you are frowning. Nor have you invited me in. Were you expecting someone else, perhaps?”

“Oh. No. My mind was elsewhere. Please come in.” Flustered, Thea stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

He glanced down at the mistletoe ball in her hand and back up at her face, his eyes beginning to twinkle. “Why, Miss Bainbridge, do you usually greet your visitors this way come Christmastime? I scarce know whether you offer an invitation or a dare.”