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. The Robbinses had been on this land as long as the Brandelins. Gervase was irritated to see Robbins’s 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.
