She thought rapidly, trying to find a way to explain, to help him understand and accept without bitterness. “Your schoolmaster, Mr. Hardy, says that you notice things that most of the other boys don’t, and that you are always kind to boys who are new or who aren’t good at making friends. Isn’t that true?”
“Y-yes.”
“I am very proud you are like that,” she said softly. “Would you be as considerate of others if you had never known what it was like to be different yourself?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” He thought, his attention no longer on his own misery. “Probably not.”
“You see, being different may be difficult sometimes, but hasn’t it helped make you a better person?”
He considered gravely. “I see. Yes, maybe it has. Does that mean I should be glad that I have fits?”
She smiled and dug a handkerchief out for her son. “You don’t have to be glad, but it is good to accept it and not be angry. Being angry at God for being unfair doesn’t help at all.”
Geoffrey wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then looked at his mother curiously. “Have you ever been angry at God?”
The question cut too close to the bone. Her voice a bit unsteady, she said, “Yes. And it didn’t do any good, either. It didn’t make me happier, and it didn’t change what was wrong. The only thing that helped was when I changed myself.”
She saw that he was about to ask for clarification, which she would just as soon avoid. Rising, she brushed at her sprigged-muslin dress, decided that it would survive its harsh treatment, then said cheerfully, “Shall we see what the confectioner has this morning? I think we both deserve a treat.”
Geoffrey’s face became that of a small boy again, and he gave a whoop before dashing into the confectionery. Diana followed with more restraint. She had always known that someday her son would realize what happened during those moments when his body went out of control and he lost consciousness, and she was grateful he had accepted it so well. On the whole, he was dealing with life’s injustices better than she ever had.
* * *
When he ran into French troops so soon after landing in the Netherlands, Gervase had thought it was bad luck. He had talked his way out of the first encounter with false papers, officiousness, and an aristocratic French accent, but the next time he had been less fortunate. The guards checked his description against a broadside, agreed that he was surely the Viscount St. Aubyn, notorious British spy, and had arrested him. He managed to escape from the flimsy local jail, acquiring a shallow wound from a bullet along his upper arm in the process.
After that the hunt was on. He would never have escaped if he hadn’t found a small band of Gypsies. Gervase had worked with Gypsies before and spoke some of their language. The nomads hated Napoleon because of the barriers he put on their free way of life, and for an only mildly extortionate amount of gold they were happy to take in the Englishman and wend their way north toward Denmark.
They traveled more slowly than he would have preferred, but at least his chances of reaching General Romana were good. And during the journey, he had ample time to think about who among the handful of people aware of his mission might have betrayed him.
* * *
Each week passed more slowly than the one before. The earliest time Gervase might have returned passed, and anxiety was a tight, constant knot inside Diana. She spent more time than usual at knife throwing, not because she needed the practice but because the concentration required kept fear at bay. There was satisfaction in the familiar weight of the weapon in her hand, the narrow focus on the target, then the solidthunk!as the blade buried itself.
On this dull July morning, she had been throwing for half an hour or so with only Tiger for an audience when Madeline entered and sat down to watch. After observing for a while, the older woman asked, “Does this make you feel better?”
Diana smiled wryly. “Knife throwing does relieve tension.” She walked down the narrow room to collect her weapons.
Madeline asked hesitantly, “It isn’t just that St. Aubyn is away, is it? You have been . . . edgy, uncertain ever since we stayed at Aubynwood. Is something wrong between you, or shouldn’t I ask?”
Diana tugged at an embedded knife. She had great difficulty discussing her deepest emotions even with her closest friend, but she owed Maddy an explanation. In a brittle voice she said, “Everything was fine at Aubynwood until the end. Then he wanted me to forsake all others, and I refused, and talked about love, and he went off in a huff.”
Freeing the blade, she returned to the upper end of the range. “As you know, he came back, but ever since February, he has been watching me like Tiger watches birds in the back garden. For months I have felt as if something is waiting to happen. And then he went away.”
A fan of knives in her right hand, she shook her head. “I don’t know what to think, Maddy. I know that he wants me, and I’m sure it is more than just lust, but I don’t understand him, or what is going on between us.”
With a trace of humor, Madeline said, “Sometimes I think men and women are two entirely different species that just happen to be able to mate.”
Diana gave a twisted smile. “Perhaps you are right.” She hefted a knife, then flipped it underhand and missed the bull’s-eye by a hand span, a poor throw for her.
Madeline sighed. Diana was suffering and even her best friend could offer little in the way of comfort. Except, perhaps, by distracting her a bit. “Have you ever heard of the Cyprians’ Ball?”
“Thewhat?” Diana asked with astonishment.
“Obviously I never mentioned it. It’s just what the name implies—a ball given by courtesans for their favored clients. Parliament will be ending soon and society will be heading to Brighton or the country, so this is a way of reminding the gentlemen of what they will be missing.”
Intrigued, Diana said, “A gathering of famous men and infamous women?”
“An apt description,” Madeline agreed with a smile. “It’s usually held in the Argyle Rooms. This year’s ball is tomorrow night and I’d really like to attend. It’s been so long since I’ve been out. Will you go with me?”
