Page 42 of A Winter Scandal

“There might be something you could use in the attic, at least temporarily. Tom Bryson is a good woodworker; he could probably make you one.”

“Perhaps you could go through the place with me, see what we have, where to put the bed, what we need to do to put everything in order for a baby.”

Thea knew that she ought to refuse. It would not be proper for a single woman to call at the Priory with only single young men in residence. It had been bad enough to do so the other afternoon when she had impulsively stormed over to confront Gabriel. But to plan to go there, to do it with the full realization of what she was doing, was truly flouting convention. She must tell him no.

“I would be pleased to,” Thea said.

Nine

The next morning Thea took the baby and went to call at Damaris’s house, where she persuaded her friend to accompany her on a visit to the Priory. While it would be a bit out of the ordinary for them to do so, the presence of a baby and a widow would provide enough mundane respectability to keep from spelling doom for Thea’s reputation.

They drove to the Priory in Damaris’s stylish enclosed carriage, which made the ride warm and pleasant despite the gloomy gray winter day, and Thea regaled Damaris with descriptions of the preparations for the living Nativity scene.

“We shall have our final rehearsal this evening, with costumes and all.”

“And how is Amelia Cliffe?”

Thea closed her eyes as if in pain. “Hopefully she will suffer enough stage fright that she will not giggle. As long as she is still and silent, it will all go off smoothly enough. But it has been difficult to convince her that Mary should be gazing down at her child in wonder rather than staring all around to spy her family and friends. Poor Mr. Millwood is determinedly long-suffering.”

“That seems apt enough for Joseph.”

“Yes. And while Jem’s collie may be somewhat unrealistic in the manger scene, Jem assures me that he is necessary to keep the sheep in their place. Fortunately the cow is quite placid and has no tendency to wander off.”

Damaris laughed. “Is it worth it?”

“Oh, yes. When it is over, all the arguments and mistakes will be forgotten. Everyone will remember it as absolutely perfect. They missed it the years we did not have one. Father found them rather frivolous, but Daniel is quite happy to have one, and the parishioners enjoy it. It is, after all, a celebration; people should have fun.”

“Of course they should. And you, I think, should qualify for sainthood for doing all the work to make it happen.”

“I would not go that far. Thank goodness Mrs. Cliffe has a whole brood of girls, so we will have an undisputed Mary for a few more years. At least everyone acknowledges that the Squire’s daughters should be first in line for that honor.”

“I had not expected the Christmas season in Chesley to be so lively,” Damaris said. “Did I tell you that I have decided to give a Twelfth Night party?”

“Really? A masque ball?” Thea looked at her friend with interest. Thea supposed it was telling that she enjoyed masques as much as she did, but something about donning the elegantly decorated masks was deliciously freeing, especially on Twelfth Night, when one could play a role.

Damaris nodded. “I know we are not a large society here, but don’t you think it would be fun? I ordered a set of character cards from the stationer’s last time I was in Cheltenham.”

“Yes, indeed. I have never attended one with an actual stationer’s set of cards, only homemade ones—you shall think us sadly provincial, I know.”

“Don’t be silly. I have made do many times with ones I lettered myself.” Damaris smiled. “I plan to open up the doors between the drawing room and the music room to create enough space for dancing. I shall have cards in the library, which should satisfy Squire Cliffe and the Colonel.”

“It sounds delightful.”

They were soon at the Priory. The footman who answered the door was better trained than the one Thea had encountered when she came here before, and he took their coats and bonnets with quick efficiency before showing them to a sitting room that was much smaller and more comfortably furnished than the half-empty great hall Thea had visited last time. Still, she noted, many of the softer, more elegant touches that bespoke a woman’s hand were missing.

Gabriel was seated at a table near the window, paper and ink in front of him, and he looked up when the footman announced the women. A smile began in his eyes, warming their dark depths, before it spread to his lips. He rose and started forward. “Miss Bainbridge. And Mrs. Howard. I am pleased to see you.”

He bowed formally to the women, keeping his voice grave, but he found it difficult to maintain his formal demeanor when the baby let out a happy crow at seeing him and held out his hands. Gabriel laughed and took Matthew from Thea, lifting him up in the air.

“And how are you, young man?” He jiggled the boy above his head, and Matthew erupted with gales of laughter. Gabriel lowered him, tucking him into the crook of his elbow.

Across the room Thea’s cousin had stopped in his lazy tossing of the dice with another young man and was staring at Gabriel in astonishment, as was the man opposite him. A third man was seated on the other side of the table where Gabriel had been sitting, obviously in the midst of cleaning a gun, with rags and various implements lying beside a disassembled pistol on the table before him. Gabriel introduced his friends, and the other men bowed in polite greeting, but only Sir Myles came forward to look at the baby.

“I believe I have not been formerly introduced to this young man.” He reached out a playful hand to the baby.

“This is Matthew,” Gabriel told him.

“Matthew. An excellent name,” Myles said as Matthew wrapped one of his pudgy little fists around Myles’s finger. “I can see that you and I are going to be fast friends.”