Late that night, Diana was wakened by the nursery maid with the announcement that Geoffrey was having another seizure. By the time she had pulled on her green robe and raced up the stairs, the fit was over and Geoffrey was lying still on his bed, a sheen of perspiration on his face.
Edith sat with him. Besides being the housekeeper, she had appointed herself Geoffrey’s chief guardian and she slept in the adjoining chamber, ever alert for sounds that might signal an attack. While nothing could be done to stop a seizure, Geoffrey’s real and surrogate mothers would watch over him to make sure that he did not injure himself in his convulsions.
Geoffrey’s face was pale, but he struggled upright in bed at the sight of his mother. “There was no need for you to get up, Mama,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was just another fit.”
Diana smiled and climbed up next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard and circling her son with one arm. For all his protests, he snuggled up to her quickly, burrowing against her side. “I was having trouble sleeping anyway, and now we have an excuse for hot cocoa.”
“A good idea,” Edith said in her deep northern voice. “I’ll make some.” She left to go down to the kitchen.
Diana felt Geoffrey’s forehead. As she expected, it was too warm. The seizures usually came when he was feverish. Now that he was seven, the epileptic fits were less common, but were usually more violent when they occurred. “Perhaps you’d better stay home from school tomorrow.”
“Mama,” he said, sitting up with an indignant expression. “I like school. I don’twantto stay home.”
“I’m glad you like school, but surely they can manage without you for one day,” she said, attempting not to sound too concerned. “Besides, if you have a fever you might have another seizure at school, and that could be a nuisance.”
He shrugged his small shoulders with elaborate casualness. “Oh, I had one at school. During Latin. Mr. Hardy made me lie down afterward, but then I went back to class.”
“Oh?” Diana’s eyebrows lifted, a little irritated that the schoolmaster hadn’t informed her of the attack.
Sensing what she wouldn’t ask, Geoffrey grinned, mischief wreathing his small face. “The other boys in my class are very impressed. They wanted to know if they can learn how to do it.”
After a moment of shock, Diana had to laugh. Now and then she needed to be reminded of how resilient small boys were. “What did you tell them?”
“I said they were out of luck. One has to be born epileptic to do it right,” he said loftily.
Diana smiled and brushed her fingers through his silky dark brown hair. She was biased, but anyone would admit that he was a beautiful child. Though small for his age, he had a sturdy, growing body, a sunny disposition, and an outstanding intelligence as well. Surely so many blessings would outweigh his disability in the eyes of those he would meet as he grew up.
Her confidence faltered as she saw the way his dark blue eyes, so much like hers, slipped out of focus for a moment. The “staring spells” came more frequently after he had had agrand malseizure. For a second or two he would lose awareness of his surroundings and not know it; if he was talking, after a silent pause he would continue as if nothing had happened.
It was fortunate that they had found Mr. Hardy’s small school, where children could learn in an atmosphere of greater freedom and understanding than was usual. The schoolmaster accepted Geoffrey’s problem with patience and understanding. As a result, her son loved school.
Edith returned carrying a tray with a steaming pottery jug and four mugs. Madeline trailed behind her, still tying the sash of her dressing gown. Maddy yawned, then said with a faint air of accusation, “You’re having a party and didn’t invite me.”
Geoffrey giggled and Diana joined in as Edith poured the cocoa. For the next half hour it was indeed a party, albeit a quiet one. Diana kept a careful eye on Geoffrey’s mug since he might spill it if he had a long staring spell, but he managed very well. Sometimes she dared hope that he might outgrow the seizures, but she would be grateful if they got no worse.
By the time the cocoa was gone Geoffrey was almost asleep, so Diana tucked him under the covers and prepared to withdraw. His right hand curled under his chin and his lashes lay dark against his cheek as she kissed him. At moments like this she loved him so much that it hurt her heart. She stood and glanced at her friends. “Good night, Edith. Thank you.”
Edith gave her rare warm smile, then returned to her own room. Downstairs, Diana asked Madeline hesitantly, “If you aren’t too sleepy, do you have a moment to come in?”
Madeline’s shrewd eyes assessed her. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
“Not really.” Inside her sitting room, Diana lit several candles from the candlestick she had carried downstairs, then wandered across the room to a window. Pulling back the drapery, she looked down into Charles Street. “I’ve invited St. Aubyn to come tomorrow night. Or I guess it’s tonight now.”
Madeline sat down on the sofa and pulled her legs up, tucking her robe under her feet. “Are you sure you are ready for this? You don’t look very happy about it.”
Diana turned away from the window, letting the drapery fall behind her. “I’m not unhappy. Just nervous.”
Madeline eyed her closely. “You don’t have to do it, you know, if the idea frightens you. You really haven’t had the time to become well acquainted with St. Aubyn.”
Diana shrugged and spread her hands. “I know him as well as many girls know their husbands on their wedding nights, and I have the advantage of not being an ignorant virgin. My experience is very limited, but at least I’m not terrified by the unknown.”
“Then what is bothering you?”
Diana sat in one of the chairs, pulling her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “I’m not sure, really. I guess it’s”—she hesitated, searching for the right word—“a kind of melancholy. This seems so . . . so cold-blooded. Such a very long way from the romantic dreams of Prince Charming and love everlasting. The sort of thing every little girl is raised to expect, and almost none of us ever get.”
“You’re a romantic, Diana,” the older woman said in a kindly voice. “You would like to be in love with St. Aubyn and you’re not. But if you feel that way, why are you going to bed with him? You’re under no financial compulsion.”
Diana hugged her knees with a mischievous smile. “While I’m not in love with him, I find him attractive.Veryattractive.”
