Geoffrey pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then said in a conscience-stricken voice, “I did know. That’s why I did it.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Mama. It was a rotten thing to do.”
“Itwasrather rotten.” Diana blotted her eyes with her own handkerchief, then tried to smile. “I suppose that if we didn’t want to do rotten things sometimes, we’d be angels, flitting around heaven with harps and wings.”
Geoffrey’s glance held a glint of mischief. “The wings sound rather fun, but there wouldn’t be any horses, would there?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I prefer being here.”
The moment of levity ended. Diana watched her son mauling the handkerchief and made a decision. Sooner or later Geoffrey must be told Gervase was his father. She had intended to do it later, but perhaps now was the time. Knowing the truth might make the situation easier for him. Putting an arm around her son, she drew him back so they sat against the sofa, their legs stretched on the floor. “There’s something I must tell you.”
In spite of her resolution, it was hard to find the words. Stalling, she asked, “You like Lord St. Aubyn, don’t you?”
Her son nodded, looking away from her. Diana drew her breath, then said baldly, “St. Aubyn is your father.”
Geoffrey’s head whipped around and he stared at her, shock in his wide blue eyes as he absorbed her words. The silence stretched until he said with stiff lips, “So I’m a bastard?”
“No!” she said, startled. Obviously her son was learning more than Latin and literature in school. “He and I are married and you are as legitimate as any boy in England.”
“How come you never told me before? Why don’t you live together? And why doesn’t he act like a father?” Shock was quickly translating into a stubborn determination to know.
Diana hugged his shoulders. “It’s a long story, love.”
She thought for a moment as she decided how much truth was needed by an eight-year-old. “We were staying at the same inn in Scotland. Your father wandered into my room by accident. It was most improper, and . . . he decided he must do the gentlemanly thing and marry me. However, he didn’t really want to be married, so he left after making sure that I had enough money to be comfortable.”
“Why didn’t he want to be married to you?” her son asked belligerently.
“It wasn’t so muchmeas that he didn’t want to be married to anyone,” she said cautiously, not wanting Geoffrey to blame Gervase for everything. “Your father was set to leave for India to join the army. He hadn’t planned on a wife.”
Her son nodded, able to understand that. Diana almost chuckled at the sight of perfect male agreement.
“So I went to Yorkshire and met Edith, and you know about our life there. It was fine at first, but when you reached school age it seemed like time to move to London, so we could all see something of the world.”
The need for editing increased. She was ready to admit a great deal, but not that she had chosen the life of a harlot, even if she never actually acted as one. “By chance, I met Lord St. Aubyn one night when we visited a friend of Aunt Maddy’s. He’d forgotten what I look like and I wasn’t using the name Brandelin, so he didn’t recognize me.”
“Why didn’t you tell him who you were right then?”
Justlike his father. “I didn’t want to. He hadn’t shown any interest in us. He didn’t even know that you had been born.”
“And you were angry?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said ruefully. “I wanted to get to know him better, so I didn’t identify myself. But since we had become very good friends, last week I told him who I was.”
Geoffrey swiveled around to face her, his arms around his drawn-up knees. “And he got angry because you hadn’t already told him you were his wife?”
Diana was startled at the accuracy of his perception. Was there something here that men understood and women didn’t? “He’sfurious.” In spite of her best efforts, her voice trembled. “He doesn’t ever want to see me again. That’s why I’m going to Aubynwood. He’s having a house party and I was invited, so I’ve decided to go and apologize.”
“He’s making you unhappy,” Geoffrey said, belligerent again.
“Yes, but don’t blame him too much,” she said swiftly. “I made him unhappy as well, even though I didn’t intend to.”
Her son gazed at her with wise blue eyes. “It’s like you always tell me. Good intentions aren’t enough.”
“Exactly so,” she agreed.
Looking very young again, Geoffrey asked, “What . . . what did he say when he realized I was his son?”
Knowing how vital her answer was, Diana chose her words carefully. “He was surprised, of course, and because he was angry, he wasn’t quite sure he believed me. But he wanted—very, very much—to believe that you are his son.”
