Vincent stared at the baby, but the baby did not stare back. Its eyes were closed. The breeze picked up again, tugging at the edges of the cloth it was wrapped in and sending a shiver down Vincent's spine. With a slow blink to acknowledge his own idiocy, he realised with a start that the child must have been close to freezing. Its stillness, the blue tone to its lips... it might have been dying before their very eyes.
Instinct told Vincent to pick it up. Caution told him he did not know how.
Glancing quickly at Thomas â who looked somehow even more confused than he felt â he considered asking for advice. After a moment, he decided against it; by the time he got the question out, the infant could be dead. Besides, Thomas did not look like a man who knew how to hold a baby.
Vincent dropped into a crouch, his hands wavering awkwardly at the child's sides. If it were still alive in this position, then his best bet was to maintain it. Gingerly, he laid an arm along the infant's length, sliding it under to support the spine. His second hand came to awkwardly rest on top. As he stood, he noted with some concern how light the bundle was.
"What're you..." Thomas watched him turn back towards the house with wide eyes that darted between the baby and Vincent.
The other man was grateful he didn't finish the question; he wasn't entirely sure of his answer. The only thought he had was to get the child warm. He dipped his head towards the door that Thomas partially blocked; he was lucid enough to move to the side, throwing out a hand with a flower anthology in it to hold the door ajar.
After only a few steps back into the hall, even the baby's slight weight was beginning to make Vincent's wrist ache. Repositioning, he brought the bundle closer to him, using his chest to help cradle the load. This freed his other arm for when he pushed on the door to the kitchen.
With suppertime nearing, the room was abuzz with activity. The cook was standing by the centre bench, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and nearly all of the exposed skin dusted with flour. Her face was red with exertion, cheeks puffed out as she firmly needed the dough before her, but her eyes were watching two kitchen maids to the side whose mouths were moving more than their hands as they attempted to chop vegetables.
As the doors swung open to reveal a frowning Vincent and a somewhat stupefied Thomas hovering behind him, the cook looked at them, as if to scold the disturbance. Then she digested who was before her, and the irritation abruptly abandoned her face.
"M'lord? How can I-" She broke off sharply when Vincent didn't hold her gaze. Instead, he circled the bench, making a beeline for the fire that flickered brightly in the corner. There were pots atop it, bubbling away, but that did not concern him; the warmth was all he required.
Now standing close to the flames, Vincent pulled back the edge of the cloth surrounding the baby's face, trying to determine if it was thawing. The movement finally revealed what he was holding to the cook, who gasped loudly.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, bustling over to get a closer look at the child. "Where did you find him?"
Vincent frowned; he wasn't sure why that was pertinent. Surely the woman knew enough about children to suggest something productive in that moment.
"Outside, I think." It was Thomas who replied, sounding closer than the doorway.
"Oh, the poor thing! Is he still alive?" She leant on Vincent's arm, trying to peer into the baby's face. The effect was to drag his arm down and further from the fire â and the warmth â an action that Vincent did not think particularly highly of. Unfortunately, she was oblivious to his deepening frown.
"I don't..."
It was times like these â any circumstance with a sense of urgency â that Vincent wished he could communicate more quickly. It was tiresome to have the world guessing at things you knew the answers to but could not convey. As Thomas spoke, Vincent threw a look over his shoulder at him: some combination of a frown and a quirked brow.
"Yes, he is," Thomas amended instinctively.
Vincent's scowl softened, grateful for the interpretation, and turned back to the baby. By shuffling slightly to the side under the pretence of checking the infant's face, he was able to move out from under the arm of the cook and closer to the warmth. He did also look closely at the child, trying to determine if the blue had faded any.
"Alright, well best we warm the babe up now." Vincent wasn't sure what it looked like he was doing if it wasn't trying to warm the baby up. "Skin-to-skin will work best."
His head jerked up abruptly. And then to the side to stare at the cook. Any suggestion that she was volunteering was lost as she turned and rushed away, calling one of the shocked kitchen maids over with instructions to have more water fetched. The other was directed to retrieve towels as Vincent watched on in alarm.
He eventually looked back down at the baby. The idea had merit; it would be the most efficient way to transfer heat to the half-frozen child. The conundrum: whose skin?
Looking again over his shoulder, he found Thomas already shaking his head. The shock had faded somewhat from his eyes, and he held his arms out with a raised brow. "I'll hold him while you find some skin."
Vincent couldn't think of a rebuttal quickly enough.
Passing the child proved more challenging than he had expected, but eventually his hands were free, and Thomas was left looking down with surprise at the all-but-silent bundle in his arms. In the meantime, Vincent stripped down. His coat was the most easily removed, and he tossed it to the side quickly. The vest was next, then the laces at his wrists.
Skin-to-skin required two skins, however.
"Would... It... the child..." The last time he trailed off deliberately as Thomas was already nodding.
"Of course," the man said as he began to unwind the material. It wasn't very long â or thick, definitely no real protection from the elements â and he made light work of it, looking up to find Vincent's chilled fingers struggling to undo his cravat. The man sighed slightly and stepped forward, cradling the child to him with one hand and brushing Vincent's fumbling away with the other. "Let me."
Vincent was not sure how to process their sudden closeness. He did not generally welcome people in his space, particularly to help him undress, and he found he didn't know where to look. He chose the ceiling, all the while contemplating whether it was the fire or embarrassment that warmed his cheeks.
Thomas was muttering under his breath as he deftly untwisted the cloth. "Smartest man I've met but can't undo a bloody cravat."
He was finished before Vincent could work out whether or not he needed to respond.
With the material now loose around his neck, Vincent tugged it free and let it join his other clothing on the floor. Last to go was his shirt, tugged awkwardly off over his head; awkwardly because Thomas was still standing close, so he was pinned between the man and the fire. When his head was finally free, he looked for the baby and locked eyes with Thomas. His dark gaze reflected the flickering of the fire, so much so that Vincent was almost blinking in the glare. It did not last for long though, as Thomas's eyes darted to his chest.
They stayed there for a moment as the man swallowed.
Then the baby was shoved towards him.
The only clothing the child was left in was a thin cotton shift, with cloth wound around its rear and legs that probably functioned as a nappy. Vincent accepted the infant, holding it at arm's length before managing to catch it against his shoulder and rearrange it into a rocking position. Tiny, freezing fists scraped against his chest, making him flinch, and he turned back towards the fire quickly.
As he looked down at the baby, trying to see if the blue was receding from its lips, he looks at it properly for the first time. It was small, though perhaps not as small as he remembered Phil being when she was born, with lightly tanned skin and straight black hair plastered to its scalp. Its eyes were closed, framed by dark lashes. Although light, Vincent didn't think it looked under-nourished.
He almost dropped the infant in the fire when it squirmed suddenly. One arm was thrown violently out to the side as its head turned towards him, nuzzling into his chest. He doubted the babe would find what it was looking for there.
He looked up to Thomas, who was watching the child with wide eyes.
"Fetch..." Vincent's lip twitched; that was too much of an instruction. "Mat-"
Thomas was already nodding. He turned to the door as the kitchen maid with the towels stumbled back inside, holding out his arms to accept them from her. "Fetch Lord Matthew, please. Quickly."
His back was to Vincent, so he didn't initially see the man shake his head firmly, a deep crease in his brow. "Mat-"
Thomas glanced back at him. "Matthew will be here shortly. Though I don't know how he can help."
Vincent didn't think he could. Which was why he hadn't been asking for him.
Irritation clenched Vincent's jaw as he fought to frame what he wanted to say. Thomas watched him with a raised eyebrow that he couldn't quite interpret; was he confused? Sceptical? Frustrated? As the man's brow inched higher, embarrassment washed over Vincent. He hated his stutter, the overthinking behind it. Hated the way it made people look at him. Like the way Thomas was looking at him.
The babe squirmed in his arms, and he remembered that there were more important matters than his embarrassment.
He switched his attention to the cook who had moved up alongside Thomas to take a towel from him. "Matilda," he managed to say as she hung the fabric near the fire to warm. "Send for Matilda."
She nodded instantly. "Yes m'lord."
The infant twisted again, drawing his gaze, and he found the child's mouth ajar, lower lip trembling. Vincent sighed gently, unsure how to prevent the inevitable.
Thomas had yet to notice. "Who is Matilda?" he asked, frowning at Vincent who frowned at the baby.
The child hiccupped, twisted again with a tiny foot pressing against Vincent's ribcage, before issuing a tiny, whimpering cry that reverberated throughout the kitchen. Both men winced.
"You sent for me?" The question announced Matt's arrival in the room as he pressed his way inside. He found Thomas closest to him, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder in greeting. "Thomas! I didn't know you were still-" As his voice gradually raised, competing with the wail in the room, he cut off suddenly with a frown. "What is that noise?"
Matt looked at Thomas.
Thomas tilted his head towards Vincent.
Matt looked at Vincent. His brow rose.
"Is that a baby?"
His brother looked back at him flatly as Matt took a sip of his drink. He was the picture of equanimity, particularly in contrast to Thomas who still appeared incredibly flustered by the infant's appearance. The door swung open behind them, thumping lightly into Matt's shoulder as a diminutive woman shuffled into the room.
"Oh, m'lord, I'm sorry!" she said, bobbing out an apologetic curtsy. The movement was half-hearted though, as she was distracted by the crying child. She frowned, gaze scanning the room to land on Vincent.
He slid one arm out from under the child to gesture her over with a curl of his fingers. The woman needed no further encouragement, moving quickly across the room. She seemed to expect to be passed the babe, her hands outstretched and receiving it the moment she was in reach. She held the tiny thing to her chest, cooing into its face and swaying back and forward as it complained loudly.
She was unfazed.
Vincent was just relieved to have his hands free again. He bent to pick up his shirt, tugging it back over his head as the woman asked, "Where'd this little one spring from?"
Vincent's head tugged through the neckline of his shirt, tousling his hair further. As he looped his arms through the sleeves, he looked to Thomas who nodded and explained the situation as he understood it. "Lord Vincent found the child outside, half-frozen." That was as much as he could claim to understand in that moment.
Matilda, whoever she was, made soft sounds of sadness in the child's direction
Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas watched Vincent shift his weight from one leg to the other. In any other person, he might credit the gesture as awkwardness or deceit... in Vincent, he wasn't sure. He was close enough to the bench to lean against it, and he folded his arms across his chest and waited to see what the other man would do.
Looking quite dishevelled in his loose shirt, Vincent's frown was fixed on Matilda's face. "You... If..."
Thomas couldn't help but be a little frustrated by the stumbled speech. He was a man of quick word and quick wit, and he liked his friends to be the same. It was part of the reason he and Matt got on so well; they were similarly amused. Speaking with Vincent, however, was like waiting for diamonds; valuable, no doubt, but somewhat tedious.
That didn't stop Thomas from listening carefully.
"It is hungry," Vincent said eventually, gesturing to the roaming mouth of the infant with one hand. "I thought perhaps you might feed it, Matilda."
The woman nodded quickly. "Of course, m'lord." One hand was at the laces on the front of her gown in only moments, loosening the ties. Without preamble or warning, she pulled down the front of her gown, exposing a breast and offering it to the child. The baby hesitated for a moment, and then latched on with enthusiasm, allowing the room to fall back into a comfortable silence.
Thomas blinked and looked more closely at Matilda. What he had mistaken for natural buxomness and hips could well be explained by recent motherhood. With a moment of realisation that brought heat to his cheeks, Thomas realised that he was practically ogling the half-exposed woman, and swiftly redirected his gaze. Unbidden, it found Vincent.
The other man was watching the child nurse with a soft frown. Matilda turned away slightly from the doorway, shielding her exposure from most of the room, but making no effort to hid herself from Vincent. Thomas wondered what she knew of Vincent that made her so comfortable in that position. Was this an effort to seduce a man of the peerage? Was Vincent's reputation so pristine that she knew she had nothing to fear from him? Or had it nothing to do with any of them, and motherly instinct insisted she prioritise the child in that moment?
Vincent eventually straightened, raising his gaze away from the child to find Thomas watching him. They locked eyes, each trying to read the emotion in the other. Thomas saw confusion, and perhaps some defensiveness in the way his brows drew down further. He wondered what the other man saw in him.
Vincent's gaze shifted to Matt, to whom he nodded. Then he picked up his coat and vest, nodded again â this time at the cook â and cross the room to disappear through the doorway.
Thomas blinked after him. "Unusual man, your brother," he said after a moment, throwing Matt a look.
The younger man shrugged, his eyebrow quirking slightly, and took a quick sip of his drink. "And yet..." he said after swallowing.
Thomas waited a moment for him to continue, but instead he spun on one heel and exited the room after his brother. With a snort, Thomas shook his head and followed; the whole family was unusual.
~~
Hello lovely readers!
I am so excited to be continuing Vincent's journey with you all! I have exams this weekend but hopefully after that I will be able to write a few more chapters and get the adventure under way fully!
I also wanted to explain the chapter titles - they're supposed to be in Vincent' stutter format as a sort of summary of the chapter. Let me know if you think it's a good idea, bad idea, medium idea...
As always, please remember to vote and comment and let me know what you think of the story!
xx Flo