A Winter Scandal

by Candace Camp

  “Sweet Jesus,” Gabriel murmured. He looked at Rawdon. After all the time he had spent despising the man, it seemed unsettlingly familiar to be standing here talking to him once again. “Then Jocelyn did come here and abandon her child at the church—I cannot believe Jocelyn would do that!”

  “Perhaps she assumed that if she left the brooch with the baby, someone would bring him to you. It seems exceedingly trusting, but then Jocelyn is a sweet, naïve girl.” Rawdon paused. “Or at least she seemed so back then.”

  “Why would she not simply come to me?”

  “Perhaps she was ashamed. If she was not married …”

  “But surely she would realize that I would not turn her away. That I would not think ill of her. She must know I would never judge her.”

  Rawdon’s eyebrow quirked up and he directed a long stare at Gabriel before he murmured, “Perhaps I am not the best person to respond to that statement.”

  Gabriel flushed. “You think I was too quick to judge you? How did you expect me to behave? It was obvious that my sister fled from you!”

  “Obvious!” Rawdon stiffened, jamming his fists into the pockets of his coat. “How was it obvious that I was in the wrong?”

  Gabriel’s temper was beginning to rise again, too. He could see out of the corner of his eye that people were casting glances in their direction, but his anger was too hot for him to worry about the proprieties. “Because I knew that you had not behaved as a gentleman. I heard what you had done.”

  “You ‘heard’? You ‘knew’? Of course you would have believed anything you heard about me, any rumor or calumny. It would never have occurred to you to believe me, would it? Or even to ask!” Rawdon whirled and started away, then turned back. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his coat and reached inside, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Here. Read it for yourself. I don’t care. I have nothing left of my pride, anyway.”

  He shoved the piece of paper into Gabriel’s hand, then turned and strode away.

  Thea had been carefully observing the confrontation between the two men, ready to intervene, and when Rawdon abruptly thrust something at Gabriel and left, Thea hurried over to Gabriel. He was still standing where the other man had left him, staring down at a folded piece of paper in his hand.

  “Gabriel? Is everything all right?”

  He looked up at her a trifle blankly. “She wrote him a letter. My sister—she wrote him a letter.”

  Thea reached out and took Gabriel’s arm. “Come. Let’s go inside. Better to read it there.”

  He nodded, letting her lead him back into the house. Thea took him to her brother’s study in the back of the house, where they were less likely to be disturbed, and pulled him down onto the small sofa beside her. “What does her letter say? Is she here in England?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t read it. I’m almost afraid to.” Gabriel gave Thea a wry smile. He returned his gaze to the paper, unfolding it. “It is Jocelyn’s hand; I recognize it.”

  He began to read. When he was done, he simply sat for a moment, like a man stunned, then wordlessly handed the letter to Thea. She took it and read what Jocelyn had written.

  Dear Alec,

  I pray that I may still call you that. It is my earnest hope that despite the transgressions I have committed against you, your generosity will yet extend to reading this note from me. I do not ask for your forgiveness nor do I expect it. But I would entreat you to accept my most heartfelt apology.

  You offered me the great and precious gift of your name, and I answered it with deceit and betrayal. I have no excuse. I was young and foolish. I was in love, and I believed myself loved in return. That I was deceived in that regard is no excuse for the deception I dealt to you. In the end, I could not bear to continue to lie to you and everyone I held dear.

  I thought all well lost for love, even my good name. I told myself that you would have a better life without me. I hope that this, at least, was true: that your life has been happier and that you have found another who will be the wife you deserve.

  I am sorry, truly sorry, for the pain and shame I have brought to you, as well as to my family. I hoped that if I fled to the Continent, I could keep my scandal from tainting everyone else. But now I realize I must return. I can only trust in my brother’s good nature to take me in with the same kindness shown to the Prodigal Son.

  Yrs.,

  Jocelyn M.

  Thea raised her eyes to Gabriel’s still face. “Gabriel …”

  “Have I been wrong about him all this time? I was so certain that she had run from him, yet here she is, begging him for forgiveness.”

  “It was understandable. What else would one assume when she left rather than marry him?”

  “Even now, I don’t know what to think,” Gabriel admitted. “Everyone had always talked about the Staffords; they are that sort of family. I discounted most of the rumors. But after Jocelyn became engaged, there were more, and they weren’t just vague. They spoke of women Rawdon had hurt. Still, I could not believe it of him. I shrugged them off. But when Jocelyn ran away, I feared that I had been a fool to trust so blindly in Alec. That is when I learned about a lady on whom he had forced his attentions. The woman had no reason to lie—her honor would have been badly compromised if word of what had happened had gotten out.”

  “Then it would seem reasonable to assume that he had hurt your sister or at least frightened her enough that she ran away,” Thea agreed.

  “All that time, when I feared her dead, she had just fled to the Continent!” Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “I had the runner check at the ports and he found no trace of her, but I didn’t seriously believe that she would have gotten that far, anyway. I would never have dreamed she had such a well-planned scheme. Or the resources.”

  “Perhaps she was not alone.”

  “She may have had her maid with her. The girl vanished at the same time, but I was not sure if she accompanied Jocelyn or if she merely vanished because she feared being blamed for Jocelyn’s running away.”

  “No, I didn’t mean her maid. I meant another man. She says that she was in love, that she thought that she was loved in return.”

  “Of course.” Gabriel shook his head. “I am a trifle slow today. If Rawdon is not the father—and I cannot imagine he was after this letter—then another man was.”

  “She said she was deceived. Perhaps he told her he loved her and would marry her, and they ran away to the Continent. Perhaps they even did get married.”

  “It makes sense. Jocelyn was engaged to Rawdon, but she didn’t love him. Maybe it was because she thought I was pushing her to do so.”

  “Or perhaps she thought she loved him, then realized she did not. You said she was only nineteen, didn’t you? Or maybe she heard the same rumors about him that you did, and she regretted her decision.”

  “In any case, she fell in love with another man—how, God only knows. She was always chaperoned.”

  “Still, she went to parties and balls, and there are always a number of young men there.”

  “True. She could easily have met a man and even imagined herself in love. But when would she have been alone with him enough to—” Gabriel stopped, catching the significant glance she sent him. “Yes, of course. One finds a way.”

  “You said her maid ran away, too. Perhaps her maid accompanied her on trips about town, to shop and make calls and such.”

  “Only, instead of that, Jocelyn was really meeting her lover. No wonder Hannah vanished when Jocelyn left. She had been helping her mistress deceive us all. So this fellow took Jocelyn to France or Italy or wherever. But then her dreams fell apart. I doubt he married her since she said she was deceived. My guess is that he was a fortune hunter. Perhaps he mistakenly thought Jocelyn had money of her own. She had a good dowry, of course, but that was in my control, and I would not have accepted a fortune hunter for her. Other than that, she did not have any money—at least, not until her mother passes on, which will probably be many year
s. When he found out she did not have a fortune, he abandoned her. And her child.”

  “So she came home. To you.”

  “Except she did not.” Gabriel sighed. “And that brings us back to the crux of the matter. Why did Jocelyn leave the baby in the church?” He took her hand in his and sat for a moment, looking down at their linked hands. “Rawdon said Jocelyn might not have come to me because she was ashamed. Do you think that is true? That she was fearful of my disapproval?”

  “It is hard for me to judge since I do not know her.”

  “But do I seem so unreasonable and unbending?” He raised his head to look at her, his dark eyes troubled. “Am I so puritanical?”

  “Puritanical is not the first word that comes to my mind when I think of you,” Thea said drily.

  He grinned and leaned closer to her, murmuring, “That is because when I am with you, I feel anything but puritanical.”

  Thea felt her cheeks heat up, and he chuckled. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I love to see you blush. I love to make you blush.”

  “You must, for you do it often enough,” she pretended to grumble, but when he pulled her over into his lap and kissed her more thoroughly, she made no protest, just wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. He nuzzled the side of her neck, murmuring, “I have missed you terribly. I’ve done nothing but think of you since I left this house last night.” He raised his head and smiled down into her eyes. “How can that happen, Miss Bainbridge? How are you able to completely occupy my thoughts? I am inclined to think you are a sorceress.”

  “Hardly.” Thea would have liked to make a clever retort, but she found it difficult to think when Gabriel’s lips were roaming the soft flesh of her throat.

  “Hello? Lord Morecombe? Miss Bainbridge?” A woman’s voice came floating back to them from the front of the house.

  Thea bolted from his lap, her pink cheeks flaming now. She straightened her spectacles, which had gotten pushed awry, and smoothed down her skirts.

  “Emily!” Gabriel muttered, and let out a soft curse. “The woman has the most damnable timing.” He stood up. “I am coming, Lady Wofford.” He turned to Thea. “They doubtless want to leave. I don’t believe the village offerings are quite Lady Wofford’s notion of entertainment. I could stay and let them go back without me. I could walk home later through the ruins, if you will show me the way.”

  “I shall show you the ruins some other day,” Thea assured him. “But for now, it is probably better that you go. My brother and Damaris and all the others are here. We would have no time alone in any case.”

  “Very well.” He strode to the door and peered down the hallway, then turned back. “Lady Wofford must have gone into the sitting room.” He pulled Thea to him and gave her a brief, hard kiss on the lips. “I will call on you tomorrow.”

  Thea nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might ask him to stay.

  Gabriel strode out the door, and Thea heard him say, “Ah, there you are, Emily. I was looking at the vicar’s library.”

  Ian replied, “Cousin Daniel always was a bookish sort. Well, that whole branch of the family, really.”

  “Yes, I do not mean to insult your family, dear, but your cousins are a rather odd group. So very … well, I hesitate to use the word provincial …”

  “And yet you do,” Gabriel said shortly.

  “My.” Emily let out a little titter. “I do believe you are in need of Christmas cheer. The sooner we get back to the Priory the better, don’t you agree, Ian?”

  “No doubt.”

  “You’re right. I think everyone will enjoy the day more if we return to the Priory,” Gabriel said, and the footsteps faded down the hall, the front door closing behind them.

  Thea spent the next afternoon taking Boxing Day gifts to the butcher and other tradesmen the vicarage used. As she started back toward the vicarage, she was surprised to see Gabriel emerging from the inn’s courtyard. He was frowning, but his face cleared when he saw her, and he swept off his hat to present an elegant bow.

  “Miss Bainbridge, what an unexpected pleasure.” His words were ordinary, but the smile in his eyes warmed Thea.

  “Lord Morecombe. I am surprised to see you here.”

  “I was coming to call on you, actually. I left my horse in the inn’s stable.” He cast a glance down at her, adding, “I was hoping my visit would prove longer than I feel comfortable leaving my mount out in the cold.”

  “Indeed? People might talk.”

  “I suspect they already do,” Gabriel retorted. “I am growing more familiar with life in Chesley. I wager that at this very moment, there are at least four pairs of eyes trained on us.”

  Thea laughed. “It is probably a low estimate.”

  They continued walking, and after a moment, Gabriel said, “I also dropped in to the inn to speak to Lord Rawdon.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “To apologize. Whatever I heard about him, clearly he was not the cause of my sister’s leaving. I wronged him.”

  “What happened?” Thea looked up at him. “Did he accept your apology?”

  “He wasn’t there. Hornsby said he paid his shot and left yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh.”

  “I suppose he decided there was no reason to stay. He came here to see Jocelyn, and she is not here.”

  “I am sorry that you were unable to see him, though—to part on better terms.”

  “I doubt that we shall ever be on good terms again. After all that’s happened—well, there’s no love lost between us. Still, I won’t feel right until I have apologized. But that will have to wait until I return to London.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept through Thea at his words. How long would it be until he would be leaving? A man such as Gabriel would not want to stay away from the city long. Quickly, to keep from thinking about that idea, she said, “How are the rest of your party? Have they recovered from the holiday cheer?”

  “I presume so. I have not seen that much of them—I have been a terrible host, I confess.” He slanted his gaze down at her. “The truth is, I feel like saying to them, as Mercutio did, ‘A pox on both your houses!’”

  Thea chuckled. “Surely not!”

  “They all seem a damned nuisance lately. I keep having to play the polite host when all I want to do is be with you.”

  Thea sucked in a breath at his statement, her heart suddenly tripping merrily in her chest. She should not take such hope from his words, she told herself, but she could not squelch the effervescent happiness bubbling up inside her. They had reached the vicarage, and she stopped irresolutely, glancing toward the house. If they went inside, there would be no chance of being alone. Someone could pop in at any moment.

  “Let’s continue to walk,” Gabriel said, echoing her thoughts. “You offered to show me the abbey ruins.”

  Thea smiled. “Of course, if you’d like?”

  “I’d like very much.” “Very well, then.” She started toward the footbridge over the water. “You have been inside the church, of course.”

  “Not in daylight.”

  “Then we shall see it first. It will give us a chance to warm up a bit, anyway.”

  The snow was still deep enough to present a picturesque view of the church and graveyard. Gabriel pulled open the massive wooden door of the church, and they went through the vestibule and into the sanctuary beyond. As they strolled down the aisle, Gabriel reached down and took Thea’s hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Even through their gloves, Thea was very aware of the contact, and though they touched nowhere else, her whole body tingled at the closeness, alive with anticipation.

  She kept up a flow of talk as she showed him the church, relating the legend of St. Dwynwen and its connection to the abbey, more in an attempt to distract herself than anything else.

  “And does it work?” Gabriel asked. “Praying to St. Dwynwen, I mean? Have you ever tried it?”

&nbs
p; Thea blushed, thinking of her own heartfelt prayer in this chapel only a week ago and the way Matthew’s little blond head had popped up moments afterward, followed soon by the tumultuous entrance of Gabriel himself into her formerly humdrum life. “Perhaps,” she murmured, and slipped away.

  She led him out the side door of the church and into the graveyard. It was pristine, the snow unmarked except for a few tracks of small animals and birds. The graves were mounds of white, the stones capped by snow.

  “St. Margaret’s was the chapel of the abbey. The remainder of the convent lay that way.” She pointed behind the church toward the ruins, their stark, half-fallen walls softened by the blanket of white.

  They started toward the ruins, their hands still linked. Despite the cold, their steps were slow, and they walked close together. In this moment, the world seemed far away, separated by the sea of snow all around them. There was no one to see, no one to hear. Gabriel slid his arm around her shoulders, and Thea snuggled into his side, leaning her head against him.

  “It seems almost a shame to make a path here, it is so lovely,” she said. “You see that low wall?” She pointed to their right. “These used to be convent buildings. They were almost completely dismantled and the stone used. This was the herb garden, and beside it, the room where they made their nostrums and tinctures and salves. And beyond that were the sickrooms. Closer, here was the chapter house. And up ahead were the cloisters, where the nuns used to walk.”

  She pointed to the arches of stone in front of them. The cloisters were a colonnaded walkway, open on one side except for the columns, and with a wall on the opposite side. A roof stretched across the walkway, and the whole thing was largely intact.

  “There are rooms behind the walkway?” Gabriel pointed to a doorway in the midst of one of the cloister walls.