by Candace Camp
“No, not terrible. You just seemed very much the lord of the manor. Like my cousin.”
“Ian? Oh, he’s a good enough fellow. He is not fond of rural pastimes.”
“It seems strange he would be here then.”
“I think it’s more a matter of avoiding Fenstone Park.” Gabriel gave her a quick, rueful grin. “Pray ignore that remark. As for my behavior, I have little excuse. I am often bored by such events. Had I known that you were there to provide more scintillating conversation, perhaps I would have paid more attention. But, as I recall, when Mrs. Cliffe introduced you to me, she had already run the gauntlet of every eligible—or slightly eligible—female in the surrounding countryside, beginning with her own four giggling daughters. When I met you, I was doubtless numb with boredom.”
His words surprised a laugh out of Thea, and she covered it with her hand. “You are a terrible man.”
“Because I made you laugh? You should do it more often. You have a charming laugh—your eyes light up and your nose crinkles just so.”
“Oh!” She let out a little wail, clapping her hand over her nose. “Do not say so! I have always hated that. I look like a rabbit.”
“What is wrong with that? I have it on the best authority that rabbits are adorable.”
“What nonsense you talk.”
“Nonsense makes the most agreeable conversation, I find.”
She could not help but chuckle again and shake her head. “I shall have to stop talking; it is only encouraging you.”
They fell silent for a moment as Thea turned down the narrow lane leading to Mrs. Williams’s cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Morecombe glance at her and then away. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat.
Finally he said, “I do apologize most earnestly for not recognizing you that night. It was not that I had forgotten you—or at least, the memory was still there, just pushed to the back of my mind. I recalled it quite clearly when you mentioned it. I confess that I had forgotten your name or that you were Ian’s cousin. But it had been ten years or more since that night.”
“Of course. It’s perfectly understandable.”
“I would not have wounded your feelings for the world. I am not that careless or callous a man, I hope.”
“I can see that you are not.” Thea turned her face up to look at him, and she smiled. “I do not hold it against you.” She realized with some surprise that she actually meant the words. Somehow the sting of his not remembering her had faded over the last day. “However,” she added rather saucily, “that does not excuse your forgetting me a week later.”
“Ah!” He laid a hand on his chest, wincing with mock pain. “A fair hit, Miss Bainbridge. But even you must admit that there were extenuating circumstances. I saw you only briefly at the party.” He held up one hand, ticking off the excuses finger by finger. “I would never have expected you to show up in my house, taking me to task. You were not wearing your spectacles. And your hair was tumbled most delectably about your face. Not to mention the fact that you were carrying a baby. And swooping down on me like a Fury.”
Thea rolled her eyes. “You exaggerate.”
They had reached a neat little cottage, its warm stone almost completely covered with ivy. Thea turned up the walk, with Gabriel on her heels. She had barely had time to knock when the door was opened by a plump, white-haired matron, beaming at them.
“Come in. Come in.” Mrs. Williams practically pulled Thea into the room while managing to give a little curtsy to Lord Morecombe at the same time. She ushered them into the tidy main room of the house, offering them luncheon—and when that was politely refused, tea and cakes.
Thea did not have to worry how to subtly bring up the topic of Matthew, for the older woman immediately began to ply Thea with questions about the child.
“Is it true that you found him in the manger, miss?” Mrs. Williams shook her head in wonder. “Can you imagine that? Is it a little boy? I heard he was beautiful as an angel.”
“Yes, he is a handsome young man.” Thea could not keep from smiling as she thought of Matthew.
The old woman nodded. “I thought as much. Only fitting, really, him being found in the church and all.” She cast a glance over at Gabriel, as she had all through their visit. “It’s very good of you, my lord, to be helping Miss Bainbridge look for the mother.”
“It seemed the least I could do.”
“I hear there was a bit of a stir at the Priory yesterday after Miss Bainbridge found him,” Mrs. Williams went on, watching Gabriel brightly.
“Um, well …” He glanced over at Thea, obviously at a loss for words.
She suppressed a smile and came to his rescue. “The vicar and I hoped that Lord Morecombe or one of his friends might have some knowledge of the child, being new to town themselves.” Her reasoning, she knew, made little sense, and she doubted that Mrs. Williams believed a bit of it. But for politeness’ sake, she would have little choice but to accept Thea’s explanation. “I was certain that if anyone knew whether someone who was visiting in Chesley had brought a baby with them, it would be you.”
Mrs. Williams took the bait, straightening and beaming with pride. “Indeed I would, miss, you can be sure of that. But the truth is, I have been racking my brain since I heard the news, trying to think who the babe might be. The fact is, I don’t know of anyone with a lad that age in Chesley, except, of course, for the Potts, and the poor wee thing couldn’t be him.”
“No. It’s not.”
“There’s no visitors with one, either. Old Mr. Jonas’s daughter and her family are here with him, but that babe is a newborn.” Mrs. Williams chattered on about every family she could think of that had children, rejecting each of them in turn. Clearly, she had nothing to add to their store of knowledge.
After a few more minutes of polite conversation and sometimes less than polite questioning from Mrs. Williams, Thea and Gabriel extricated themselves from the conversation and started back toward the vicarage. Gabriel, walking alongside Thea, shook his head and let out a short laugh.
“How the devil could she know all about that child already?” he wondered. “I am surprised she did not describe the brooch you showed me.”
Thea smiled. “I told you, she knows everything about everyone. Between her husband’s family and hers, she is related to half the people in the village by blood or marriage, and she spent much of her life in the apothecary’s shop with her husband, chatting to everyone who came in. She would have made an excellent spy if there were anything worth discovering in Chesley.” Thea paused. “I apologize for causing a scene yesterday at the Priory. I should have thought about the gossip it would start, but, frankly, I was too incensed at that time to care whether I set tongues to wagging about you.”
Gabriel shrugged. “People talk. It makes little difference to me.”
“That must be a pleasant way to live.”
He glanced over at her. “If people whisper about me, I don’t hear it. It does not hurt me.”
“Mm. It’s different for a woman, I fear. What people whisper means a great deal—especially when you are the vicar’s sister.”
“Ah. So now we are talking about duty. You have a duty to live a blameless life or it will reflect badly on your brother.”
“Yes, of course.” She sighed unconsciously.
“I know a bit about duty.”
“You do?”
He laughed. “You needn’t look quite so surprised. I am not entirely lazy and self-indulgent.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Thea flushed.
“Now, Miss Bainbridge, don’t start telling me bouncers. I rely on your candor.”
“Very well. I have seen little in your actions to indicate otherwise. Well, I mean until now.”
“You mean your opinion of me has changed?” he asked wryly.
She gave him a stern look. “Not entirely. But I do see that you are concerned about Matthew, that you have a sense of duty toward your nephew �
�� and your sister.”
“I love Jocelyn,” he replied with simple honesty. “How could I not try to find her? Help her?”
“There are some who would turn their backs on someone who caused scandal to their name.”
“My name means little to me compared to my sister.” He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “I remember when she was born. My governess told me I had a baby sister, and later the nurse took me in to see her in her cradle.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “She was so tiny and so red. I thought she was not nearly as cute as the puppies in the kennels. But when I put out my finger, Jocelyn wrapped her fingers around it, and I felt …” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what it was, but I knew that I had to protect her, that she was mine. I fear I did not look after her well enough.”
“We all make our own choices. And in the end, no one else can bear the consequences for us. I am sure you did your best.”
“Did I? Sometimes I wonder. Perhaps it was only the easiest. The most convenient for me.” They walked on in silence for a moment, then he said, “I was happy that she was going to marry Lord Rawdon. He and I were friends. Good friends. I thought it would be pleasant … fun … for me. I wanted it. Obviously I wasn’t thinking about my sister; I didn’t even realize that she did not want to marry him.”
Thea laid her hand on his arm. “You must not blame yourself. Who would not want one’s sister to marry a good friend? I think that I would be happy, surely, if my brother told me he was going to marry my friend.” Of course, the thought of her studious brother marrying the vibrant Damaris was a bit ludicrous, but in principle the theory held true. “It would ensure that you continued to be close even after she was married. You thought that he would be a good husband, that he would care for her and protect her.”
“I thought he loved her.”
“Then how can you say it was wrong to be happy she was engaged to him?”
“She ran away from him. Obviously she did not wish to marry him.”
“Sometimes people change their minds. Surely she wanted to marry him in the beginning or she would not have accepted his proposal. I mean, you did not arrange the marriage between you and him, did you?”
“No, of course not. He came to me and asked my permission, naturally, and I was happy to give it to him. But she accepted his proposal. She seemed eager to marry him, I thought.”
“No doubt she was. People can have doubts later. They might decide they made the wrong decision.”
“But why did Jocelyn not tell me that she had changed her mind?” Gabriel frowned. “She must have believed that she could not, that I would be angry with her, even insist she marry him.”
“You must not think that. Perhaps she simply could not face the scandal she knew it would cause if she broke off the engagement. Things can seem frightful, even unbearable, when we are young. Or she may have felt too embarrassed or ashamed to tell you. Sometimes, silly as it seems, the people we love the most are the ones to whom we are most afraid of revealing our foolishness. That does not mean she was afraid of you or did not trust you.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, then Gabriel said, “Thank you. Whether that is true or you are merely being kind, I confess it does make me feel better.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am a bit surprised that you should make an effort to ease my mind. You have not appeared to like me overmuch.”
She gave an eloquent little shrug. “The truth does not have anything to do with liking or disliking.”
The grin she was coming to know well flashed briefly. “So you are saying that you still do not like me overmuch.”
“I would not think you would care what one spinster in an out-of-the-way village thinks of you. No doubt you are very well liked by any number of women.”
“Sometimes the challenging course presents the more appealing prospect.”
Thea glanced at him sharply. She was not sure what to make of such comments from him. They seemed, well, flirtatious, yet she could not imagine why a man such as Lord Morecombe would flirt with a woman such as her. Perhaps he was simply too much in the habit to stop. Or maybe he disliked the thought of any woman not succumbing to his charms, even when he had no real interest in her.
Whatever the case, Thea did not fool herself. She prided herself on not believing in nonsensical daydreams. She was not the sort to stitch a few words from an eligible man into a pattern of romantic interest, especially when the man was someone as handsome and charming as Gabriel Morecombe. His flirtation meant nothing; his kisses even less. Still, she could not deny that his words warmed her. She found herself wanting to smile at him, and she had to clamp her lips together to keep from doing so.
Fortunately, they were almost to the vicarage, and Thea was able to simply avoid his comment, instead picking up her pace and heading toward the low gate leading into her yard. Inside the kitchen, they were greeted by the sight of a blond girl seated on the rug with the baby, playing peekaboo with his blanket. She scrambled up as Thea and Gabriel stepped into the room and stood gazing at Lord Morecombe in awe.
The baby, upon seeing Thea, raised his hands toward her and let out a stream of babble. The smile she had been able to restrain with Gabriel burst forth undeniably now, and she bent to pick him up, swinging him up to settle him on her hip in a gesture that was already seeming quite familiar.
“Good afternoon, Lolly,” Thea greeted the girl.
“Miss.” Lolly bobbed a little curtsy toward her and a deeper one to Lord Morecombe, blushing and ducking her head.
Thea sighed and glanced at Gabriel. He looked faintly amused.
“Lolly, Mrs. Brewster tells me you might be interested in acting as a nursemaid for young Matthew here,” Gabriel began gravely.
“Yes, sir.” She ventured a quick upward glance at him but seemed unable to say anything else.
“Did you ask your parents, Lolly?” Thea asked. “Will they allow you to take care of the baby?”
“Oh, yes, miss.” The girl turned back to Thea, looking a little relieved. “They said as long as it was for you, miss, and I’d be staying here.”
“Yes, well, for the time being, that is certainly where you will be staying. If that should change in the future, we would address it then. But do you think that you will be able to adequately take care of the baby?”
Lolly smiled. “Oh, yes, miss. I look after all my brothers and sisters at home, leastways all the little ones. One baby’d be that easy.”
“Your mother would not be here to supervise.”
“I know what to do, miss.”
As long as she was not looking at Lord Morecombe, the girl seemed confident enough, Thea thought. The only way to tell if she could do the work would be to let her try. Thea looked over at Gabriel questioningly.
“Why don’t you look after him for a few days?” Morecombe suggested, echoing Thea’s thoughts. “Then we can decide what to do for the future.”
“Oh, yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Lolly bobbed a curtsy, then another for good measure, beaming. “Miss, I’ll do a good job. You’ll see.”
Lolly was eager to start her work, even offering to begin right then, but Thea assured her that the following day would be soon enough. Lolly left, promising to return early the next morning with her things. Thea turned to Gabriel, feeling suddenly awkward. It occurred to her how strange it was to be standing with an aristocrat in her kitchen, a baby in her arms, and Mrs. Brewster cooking at the fire behind them. Gabriel should have looked very out of place here, Thea thought, in his elegant clothes, the top of his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. However, he did not seem ill at ease, and Thea was aware that the awkwardness lay more in herself than in him. They had done what they set out to do today, and there was no reason to see him again. The idea disappointed her, and the sheer foolishness of that emotion made her even more awkward.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I cannot think what else to do here.�
�
“No. It seems unlikely that she is staying in Chesley,” Thea said.
“If she did not spend the night here, it seems that she might have stayed at a nearby village.”
“Yes. Bynford is east of us, on the road from Oxford.”
“That seems the likeliest place to try next.” He paused. “I—if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could accompany me?”
Thea glanced at him, startled, and saw that Morecombe himself appeared faintly surprised.
“We worked rather well together, I thought,” he went on in the silence that followed his invitation. “Unless, of course, well, it might be a bit chilly. I brought only my curricle with me to the Priory—but I promise to provide a lap robe and a hot brick for your feet.”
“Yes,” Thea said quickly, afraid that if he went on speaking, he might talk himself out of the offer. “I mean, I would be happy to help you. And since Lolly will be here now, I won’t have to worry about overburdening Mrs. Brewster with the baby.” Thea thought she heard a soft grunt from the direction of the fireplace, but Thea ignored it.
Morecombe smiled. “Very well. Thank you for your help. I shall see you tomorrow morning.”
Thea nodded and watched him leave, her stomach dancing in a mix of excitement and nerves. Behind her, Mrs. Brewster clanked a long wooden spoon against the edge of a pot.
Thea turned, uneasily sure that her housekeeper had something to say about the scene she had just witnessed. She expected disapproval, for Thea knew that going with Lord Morecombe to Bynford the next day was skating perilously close to scandal. She was a little surprised, however, to see not disapproval, but a frown of worry forming between the housekeeper’s eyes.
“Are you sure what you’re doing, miss?” was all she said.
“’Tis an open carriage,” Thea pointed out. “And we will simply go there and come back. Bynford’s not far. We shall be gone only a few hours. And it isn’t as if I am a young girl in need of a chaperone; I am quite past marriageable age. I believe my reputation is good enough to bear up under spending three hours in an open vehicle with a gentleman.”