“Not now, but I did sometimes when I was a boy.”
Now both pairs of blue eyes were studying him intently. Even though she kept a protective arm around Geoffrey, Diana’s hostility was lessening. Her eyes shifted from Gervase to someone beyond; then she nodded in response to a silent question. Behind him he heard the other two women withdraw from the room, leaving Diana alone with her son and her lover.
With cautious excitement Geoffrey asked, “You mean . . . I’m really not the only one who has seizures?”
Speaking for the first time, his mother said, “Of course you aren’t, darling. You know better than that.”
Geoffrey shook his head stubbornly. “Yousaythat I’m not, but I’ve never met anyone else who has them.”
So the boy thought that he was the only one, some kind of freak or monster? It was an emotion Gervase understood all too well. “It’s not that uncommon. When I was in the army, I had a corporal who had seizures occasionally. A physician once told me that anyone can have a seizure under the right—or rather wrong—conditions. I had them when I had fevers.”
Geoffrey almost bounced on the bed, fascination written on his face. “That’s what happens to me! Mama hates it when I’m ill, because I have more fits.”
Gervase glanced up, but Diana was avoiding his gaze. If her son had been ill, that might explain her fatigue and tension when he came earlier. “I can see why it would upset her,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “They say my mother wouldn’t come near the nursery when I had even the mildest case of sniffles.”
Geoffrey was inching toward his visitor, the blankets a tangled drift around him. “What did it feel like for you?”
Gervase cast his mind back twenty years. “I never felt anything during the actual seizure—it was like being asleep. But I remember that when one began, it felt like . . . like someone had tied a strap around my forehead and was pulling it backward.”
“That’s it exactly!” the boy exclaimed. “Like a giant, tugging at me. Sometimes I fight him off and don’t have a fit.”
Diana stared at her son in surprise. “Sometimes you can stop the seizure from starting? You never told me that.”
He fidgeted, glancing askance. “It doesn’t work very often.”
Shaking her head, she straightened and said, “I guess a mother is the last to know.” She still wouldn’t look at Gervase.
Another memory surfaced now, and the viscount said abruptly, “The worst of it was the eyes. I’d blank out, then the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. People would be gathered around, staring at me. All those eyes . . .”
He stopped speaking as he saw that Geoffrey’s face was very still, and etched with more knowledge than a child should have. Any epileptic knew those stares, the eyes avid with curiosity, or fear, or disgust, or perhaps the worst of all, pity. Geoffrey knew, but would not speak of it in front of his mother.
Instead the boy said after a brief hesitation, “Did you learn to ride even though you had fits?”
“Of course.”
Geoffrey gave his mother a speaking glance. Diana headed off the “I told you so” hovering on her son’s tongue by saying briskly, “Isn’t it time you got to sleep, young man?”
“No! Not tired at all.” His remark was undercut by a wide yawn. As if it were a signal, a young tabby cat jumped on the bed. Geoffrey lifted the little animal in his hands. “When I had the seizure, Tiger was frightened and jumped off. I’ve only had her a few weeks, and she’s already learned to sleep on my bed.”
“Clever cat,” the viscount said, suppressing a smile.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you tried sleeping on the bed too, young man,” Diana said firmly as she pressed her son back, then tucked the blankets around boy and cat. “This is not the right time for a lengthy discussion. Lord St. Aubyn must be getting home himself.”
The blue eyes flew open. “He’s a real lord?”
Gervase almost laughed out loud; he couldn’t remember when he’d impressed someone with so little effort. “Yes, a real lord. A viscount, to be exact.”
The boy eyed him doubtfully. “Where’s your purple robe?”
“I only wear that on special occasions, when I can’t avoid it. Usually it’s a nuisance, always getting stepped on and knocking vases off tables,” Gervase said gravely. He stood and proffered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lindsay.”
This time Geoffrey’s grip was a good deal less firm, but he still had the energy left to offer the kitten’s paw for shaking.
Gervase accepted the thin striped forepaw with fair aplomb. The cat appeared to have no opinion. Then the viscount looked more closely and said in surprise, “Good Lord, the cat has thumbs.” Tiger had a long extra toe that projected almost exactly the same as a human thumb, though it was less flexible.
Geoffrey smiled mischievously as he fought a losing battle to keep his eyes open. “Mama says that it is scary to think what cats will get into once they’ve developed the opposable thumb.”
Gervase gave Diana an amused glance but she was looking down at her son, her expression obscured. Even with his eyes closed, Geoffrey was unready to call it a night. His voice blurred with fatigue, he asked, “Will you tell me about the army sometime?”
