Mary Jo Putney (29 page)

She extended one hand from the bed toward him. "If you still have an excess of energy when you return, why not stop by and see if I'm still here?"

He laughed and caught her hand, pressing a kiss in the palm before unlocking her door and returning to his own room. He was beginning to understand why people married. So great was his sense of well-being that even that thought didn't disturb him.

* * *

The sense of well-being lasted as he changed, his valet, Bonner, blandly ignoring the bed that hadn't been slept in. After a quick cup of tea, Gervase headed to the stables. It was a gray day, and the heavy air promised rain or snow later. The whole estate drowsed, as if no one felt like stirring outdoors.

He saddled his horse and was leading it out when he discovered the small figure outside one of the stalls. Gervase checked his stride a moment, then recognized Diana's son, Geoffrey. The boy was standing on tiptoe against the half-door, one hand reaching over to offer a piece of carrot to the horse inside. As Gervase watched, the horse delicately lipped up the carrot, then permitted the boy to stroke its soft muzzle.

Geoffrey was so raptly intent that he hadn't noticed his host's approach. He jumped when Gervase uttered a cheerful, "Good morning."

Turning quickly, the boy wiped his hand on his trousers and bobbed his head. "Good morning, sir." Then, with a look of uncertainty he asked, "Or is it 'Good morning, my lord'?"

Gervase grinned; this morning, everything amused him. "'My lord' is correct but 'sir' is simpler, so perhaps you should use that. What do you think of my stables?"

His eyes shining, Geoffrey said, "They're wonderful, sir! I've never seen anything like them."

When he'd first met the boy, Gervase had been struck by his resemblance to his mother, but now he was more aware of the differences. The wide, intensely blue eyes were Diana's, but the jaw was squarer and the hair a dark brown, without any chestnut tones. His good humor chilled a little as he wondered again who the child's father was, or if Diana even knew. He put the thought aside. "I'm going to ride out to one of the tenant farms. Would you care to come with me?"

As he spoke, he resumed leading his horse outside, Geoffrey falling in by his side. At Gervase's words, the boy said woodenly, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know how to ride."

"I suppose you haven't had the opportunity. But you're going to be here for several weeks. Would you like to learn how?" Remembering the yearning look on the boy's face as he had fed the horse, Gervase expected an eager acceptance.

The small face blazed with excitement before the light died. He shook his head. "I don't think my mother would let me, sir."

"Why not?" They had reached the stableyard and Gervase mounted, holding his horse in as he gazed down at the boy.

With matter-of-fact acceptance Geoffrey said, "She's afraid I'll fall off and kill myself."

Of course; Gervase had been forgetting the seizures. He could understand Diana's concern, but he could also see the boy's longing. "Has she said she doesn't want you to ever learn?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "No, she says to wait until I'm older." After a moment he added, "It... upsets her to talk about... what's wrong with me."

Geoffrey's expression was oddly mature when he said the words, as if he knew that his mother was not quite reasonable but accepted that she couldn't help herself. Perhaps coping with his disability had made him wiser than his years.

Gervase knew better than to comment on what was none of his business, but as he lifted his reins in readiness to depart, he couldn't bear the wistfulness on the boy's face. On impulse he reached his hand down. "You can ride with me if you like. I'll take the blame if your mother disapproves later."

Geoffrey's momentary hesitation vanished under a wave of eagerness and he reached up to grasp the proffered hand. Gervase lifted the boy easily and settled him in front of the saddle. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, but Geoffrey didn't mind. As his hands grasped the horse's mane, he was almost vibrating with excitement.

They headed east toward the tenant farm at an easy trot, Gervase trying to remember if he had ever ridden with his father like this. Probably not; he had received his first riding lesson from a groom when he was three and had his own pony at four. Besides, the late Lord St. Aubyn had never ridden for pleasure, nor had he had much interest in the company of a child.

In spite of his interested gazes at everything they passed, Geoffrey at first kept a respectful silence, as befitted a well-brought-up child. Then he asked whether the straightness of the road they traveled meant that it was built by the Romans, followed by a question about the sheep in an adjacent pasture, and soon the words were tumbling out one after another.

Diana had not exaggerated about her son's ability to chatter and ask questions. However, Geoffrey listened to the answers intently, then made intelligent comments before asking new questions. His wide-eyed enthusiasm made the long ride to Swallow Farm pass quickly; the boy was surprisingly good company.

Gervase's tenant, Robbins, greeted his landlord respectfully but without groveling. Te Robbinses had been on this land as long as the Brandelins. Gervase was irritated to see Robbins' eyes flicker to Geoffrey's face, then back to his own.

Probably wondering if the boy was the viscount's bastard. Gervase should have known this would happen; nothing that the landlord did would pass unnoticed. As he'd told Diana, he didn't much care what others thought, but he despised prying curiosity.

Leaving Geoffrey proudly walking the horse around the stableyard, Gervase inspected the barn, agreeing that the roof needed repair and that an addition would permit an increase in the milking herd. The farm was one of the most profitable Gervase owned, and worth the new investment. Declining an offer of tea, he and Geoffrey were soon on their way back to Aubynwood.

Gervase wondered whether his young companion would run out of questions, but there seemed no danger of that. At a convenient pause, he asked the boy, "Is this country different from what you are used to?"

As he said the words, he realized he was hoping to find out more of Diana's past. Not the action of a gentleman. Nonetheless, he was disappointed as Geoffrey hesitated, then said neutrally, "It is rather different, sir."

Spymaster or not, Gervase couldn't bring himself to probe further. "It isn't necessary to say 'sir' in every sentence."

"No, sir," Geoffrey said obediently, but Gervase caught the trace of laughter in the words. The boy had a lively sense of humor.

What would it be like to have a child of his own? Gervase had never had much to do with children, thinking of them only in terms of heirs, not regretting the thought that he would never have one.

Now he was sharply aware that he had forsaken not just heirs to St. Aubyn but also the reality of children, with their curiosity and joyfulness. He would never carry a son of his own before him like he carried Geoffrey, or have a little girl with all the world's sweetness in her smile, like Diana....

Instead, he had a wife who was no wife at all, and he would never have the chance to remake the past by giving a child of his own what he himself had craved when he was young. When he had left the island of Mull, he had felt a sense of doom, a belief that he would be punished for his crime against the afflicted innocent he had married.

Now he saw clearly what his punishment was. At twenty-two, he had never imagined finding a woman who gave him the pleasure Diana did, or that he would feel the lack of children. He had lost far more on Mull than he had realized, and now he felt a new and piercing grief for that old loss.

There was the possibility of illegitimate children, but the usual precautions had proved effective so far, and he would wish bastardy on no child of his. Treacherously, his mind speculated on whether his wife would live to a great age. Perhaps in the drafty cold cottages of Scotland she would take a chill, and leave him free....

He frowned, appalled at thinking such a thing. The girl had been an unfortunate pawn, caught between two men, one drunk and one mad. She did not deserve his ill will.

Sensitive to Gervase's dark silence, Geoffrey asked no more questions. The damp chill was increasing, and Gervase was glad the ride was almost over.

As they came in sight of the stables, they both recognized Diana's waiting figure as she stood in front of the double doors, a deep blue cloak falling in graceful folds around her. Geoffrey announced, "Mama is not happy."

Gervase also saw the tension in her stance. "I'll talk to her. I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

"It will be all right," Geoffrey said tranquilly. "Mama says it isn't natural to expect someone to be good all the time."

The philosophical words sounded so exactly like Diana that Gervase's black mood broke, and he was smiling as they pulled up in front of her. "Good morning, Mrs. Lindsay," he said, as if they hadn't been sharing bed and bodies three hours earlier. "I hope you will forgive me for forcing your son to accompany me. It was a long ride, and I wished for company."

Diana nodded, her expression unreadable. Gervase dismounted, then lifted Geoffrey to the ground, where the boy hurled himself at his mother, grabbing her hand and chattering about the marvelous time he had had and the things he had seen and how horses were even finer than he had imagined.

Interesting that even though he knew he'd displeased her, Geoffrey went to his mother with the confidence of a child who had never been rejected. Gervase realized that he was painfully jealous, envious that the boy received so much love that he never doubted its existence. If Diana gave so much warmth to her son, the amount she had for her lover would be diminished.

For one of her lovers.
The words echoed harshly in his mind. Gervase assumed that he had favored status, but he was merely one of the men in her life. Of course she loved her son more. Lovers might come and go, but children stayed. It was grotesque to be so envious of a child, a boy who was probably a bastard, who had a serious affliction, one whose mother was only a high-grade whore, and who faced a doubtful future.

And yet he was jealous. What would it have been like to run to Medora Brandelin knowing that he would always be welcome, sins and all? Not to have to wonder about his mother's moods, about whether she would be so absorbed in her latest lover that she had no time for her son, or whether she would have one of her brief attacks of maternal feeling and would demand homage of him?

Such thoughts had no place in the mind of a grown man, and Gervase hated himself for the weakness. His face rigidly controlled, he handed the reins of his horse over to a groom.

As Geoffrey paused for breath, Diana smiled at him. "Edith is looking for you, my dear. Remember, Mr. Hardy said you must do lessons every day or you will fall behind in school."

Geoffrey wrinkled his nose but said obediently, "Yes, Mama."

She brushed her hand across his hair tenderly. "Run along, then. I'll join you for tea. I want to talk to Lord St. Aubyn."

Blithely unaware of undercurrents, Geoffrey took his leave and scampered across the stableyard toward the house. Gervase watched him go, and as silent penance for his own irrational jealousy, vowed to help the boy get what he wanted.

Diana turned to him, her face grave. "Shall we walk in the gardens? Even at this season, they look quite beautiful."

He nodded and offered his arm, and they strolled around the house to the vast and varied gardens. Though the flowerbeds slept in winter and the ground was iron hard beneath their feet, the Aubynwood grounds were still lovely. They passed the maze, then the topiary garden, where yew bushes were sculptured into whimsical shapes. As they walked, Diana's hand on his arm relaxed. "I'm sorry Geoffrey disturbed you. I'll try to keep him out of your way."

"No need to apologize," Gervase said. "I found him to be very good company. Please don't be angry with him for riding. He said that you wouldn't approve, but I persuaded him."

Her fingers tightened again. "I'm not angry." She glanced up, her lapis-blue eyes obscured beneath her long dark lashes, then said in a rush of words, "I know that it's wrong of me to be so protective of Geoffrey. It isn't right that he always be surrounded and pampered by women. But I am so frightened when I think of what might happen."

While Gervase couldn't possibly know the full depth of fear that came with being a parent, she saw understanding on his face as he considered her words. As they passed from the knot garden to the parterre, he said, "Everyone who rides gets thrown occasionally, and there is some chance of injury. But since you say Geoffrey has very few fits, the danger for him is not much greater than for other children learning to ride. I survived despite my occasional seizures."

"I know you're right." Diana swallowed and looked down at the gravel path that crunched beneath their feet. "And I know that if he doesn't learn to ride and do the other things that boys do, he will never have the kind of life I want for him. Even so..." She stopped, then said, "It isn't just the
grand mal
seizures. They are uncommon, but the staring spells are more frequent. He might easily fall from a horse then."

"Then he must learn to fall properly."

Diana turned to Gervase, her face indecisive. He stopped also and took her hands, holding them between his. "You'll be here several weeks—let him learn the basics of horsemanship. I'll teach him myself if you like. There will never be a better time. He's a good age to begin learning, and your fears aren't likely to be any less in the future."