Redeeming a Rake

by Cari Hislop

  Geoffrey jumped out of bed and ignored his aching head as he danced around the room. He was alive. He’d get to see his angel again. He’d beg her forgiveness and treat her like a Queen. He’d rescue her… He stopped twirling as his heart sank. What if his angel was leaving London?

  Eleven thirty found Geoffrey fidgeting with his cravat and waistcoat while his footman knocked on the Spencer door. Would he be allowed inside? It was improbable, but he had to try. Several minutes passed. He sucked in air through his teeth and nodded for the footman to knock again. At last the sound of activity. The door opened to reveal a dishevelled footman with sleepy eyes. “Is Mrs Spencer receiving today?” He held out his card, unconsciously scowling as his insides wrenched with fear. He knew he wouldn’t be waived inside like the day before, but he’d hoped at least have his card carried to the lady so she’d know he’d was on her doorstep.

  “Mrs Spencer no longer resides at this address.” The footman turned his head and shouted behind him, “Where did you put Madam’s letter to the Duke? If you’ll wait a moment…” The door slammed in his face, but a few minutes later a small folded square of paper was shoved into his hand and the door slammed again.

  Geoffrey looked down at the letter with horror as his heart sunk into his boots. Had his angel flown from London like she’d said in his dream? He tried to look nonchalant as he carefully pushed the letter into his coat pocket and turned to stare at his waiting coach. The medieval house was haunted by memories of his friend; the air was tense with waiting, as if the house itself missed her sunlight. The thought of enduring endless months of fire lit evenings without hope of hearing her voice made him feel physically ill. His coachman shivered with dread as his Master looked up at him with an expression of a thwarted devil. “Take me to my town house.” Climbing back inside the heavy door closed with an ominous click.

  Geoffrey stared ahead as he carefully avoided touching the letter in his pocket as if it might explode and leave paper shrapnel in his heart. Considering his thoughtless actions, it would probably ban him forever from her presence. It certainly wouldn’t forgive him for being a tyrant; she’d have told him in person. Where had she gone? How would he find her? His aching head was filled with too many questions. Too quickly the coach slowed to a stop. The footman snapped open the door and pulled down the steps with haste and jumped to attention, but Geoffrey was too petrified to notice his servants’ fear. His only memory of visiting the Grayson town house had been the day he’d attended his father’s deathbed. The old man had smiled with glee as he revealed that Thomas Grayson had already received every transferable penny, every item purchased during his tenure as Duke of Lyndhurst, as well as the family honour. The dying man had found his son’s pained expression amusing. Geoffrey’s inheritance were the entailed estates of his ancestors, and debts worthy of a Prince.

  As Geoffrey stepped through the large door he could hear his father’s voice. “What’s the matter Worm? Don’t you have enough blunt? You’ll just have to go without food and whores for a few years. Perhaps I’ll see you in hell a little earlier than you’d hoped.” Geoffrey’s fortune had absorbed his father’s debts without difficulty, but that last interview with his father had left Geoffrey’s hardened heart in pieces. He gulped down his nerves and strode into his house with studied nonchalance. He’d take possession of the place if it killed him. As he stood in the entrance looking up at the large painting of his Great Grandparents, his fear was softened by an odd sensation that he’d come home. He knew he’d never return to the Ancient House. He couldn’t go back to the loneliness. He had to move forward. He had to change. He had to somehow become the man the angel loved. He removed the letter from his great coat and slipped it into the pocket of his black wool jacket where it burned like a brand against his hip. Handing his hat, gloves and overcoat to a servant he looked up the stairs wondering if his mother was at home. “Send a footman to my bachelor abode. Inform my man Howard I wish him to supervise the packing of my personal effects and to have them brought here immediately. Tell him I wish to keep him on as a valet and inform my Secretary, Hawkings that I wish to see him here in the morning.” The servants stared at each other in horror as Geoffrey turned away. “Please prepare me the best bedchamber situated as far from my sister and mother as possible.”

  “That would be the Master’ suit Your Grace.”

  Geoffrey froze mid step with terror. Could he sleep in the room his father had died? The dead man would hate knowing his son was the new occupant. That was reason enough to occupy it. “Have the bed made up as quickly as possible. I’m recovering a serious head injury and need to rest.” The servants rolled their eyes at each other behind his back. From all the stories they’d heard, it was more likely the Duke would be gnawing heads off squealing rats while branding the maids with the sign of the devil.

  Oblivious to the servant’s horror, he straightened his pale blue waistcoat and demanded to be taken to his father’s study. The footman in pink and green livery bowed before leading the way up the grand stairs. Geoffrey made a mental note to order new livery within the week. His servants would be attired in pale blue velvet before the end of the month or nothing at all. The thought of seeing maids scurrying around in their petticoats almost made him leer, but he frowned as he imagined his angel’s reaction. She’d call him a lecher and use it as another reason to refuse to marry him. He made a further mental note to order all the female staff to cover up their charms with linen handkerchiefs.

  The study was a large lifeless room empty except for an old desk that looked like it had spent the last century in the attic used by mice. It held pen, ink, and paper and was partnered by a mismatching chair. The walls looked like the previous paper had been scraped away. There was no dressing on the windows or any sign of comfort. “This was my father’s study?” The footman was still standing at attention beside the open door.

  “Yes Your Grace. The Duchess cleared it for redecoration soon after His Grace’s death.” Geoffrey looked around at the room and wondered if his mother had hated her husband. She clearly hadn’t relished his choice of colours.

  “What’s your name?” Geoffrey hadn’t intended to sound surly.

  “Franklin, Your Grace.”

  “Please inform the kitchen I shall be eating at home this evening and send another servant to the Ancient House and tell them I expressly desire all the furniture from my study moved into this room. That’ll be all for now Franklin, thank you. Have someone inform me when my bed is ready.” The footman quietly closed the door with wide eyes. The Devil hadn’t demanded to know the contents of the wine cellar or a list of chambermaids to ravage.

  Geoffrey took the letter out of his pocket and sat down at the table. There was no ticking clock in the room to remind him that time was passing. With his heart in his throat he stared at the red wax seal, agonising over what it might reveal. He closed his eyes and remembered his angel in the dream garden. He could almost still feel her softness. He took a deep breath and fingered the paper in his hands; looking down the barrel of a loaded pistol had never felt so terrifying. Steeling himself to read the unthinkable he gently broke the seal with a shaking thumb nail and slowly unfolded the paper. His heart thundered in his ears as he squinted at the opening words. His reading spectacles were on his ebony desk. He picked the letter up and held it close to his eyes.

  Your Grace,

  After yesterday afternoon I have decided… Geoffrey closed his eyes as the large invisible fist punched him in the chest. It was too formal for good news. He forced himself to open his eyes and continue reading. …I have decided that it would be best if I remove to the country. I feel this will be less painful for both of us in the end.

  It was very unkind and wrong of me to speak of you in the third person. My head knows that you’re the same man I fell in love with, but my heart finds it painful that you can’t remember me. Forgive me for hurting your feelings, I didn’t mean to. You’re alive yet I’m a stranger. It’s a double edged sword. I’m mo
urning a man who’s no more and yet he lives and I’m missing the arms of a man who barely knows me from Eve. You’ll never know how much you hurt me. Hearing your voice speak those vile words caused agony, but I know I’m partly to blame. If only I’d been more patient with you we might have avoided hurting each other.

  I can never fully thank you for the ruby necklace or explain what it means to me. I’m afraid that if I put it around my neck fate will punish me again for falling in love with you. I don’t want to leave London. I want to stay to be near you, but it would be a mistake. I don’t want to hurt you and I won’t allow you to hurt me.

  If you wish to correspond or ask me questions about the last two years I’m enclosing my address, but I beg you not to visit… Geoffrey felt the invisible fist punch him in the heart. He had to blink away the blurred words to finish. …I beg you not to visit in person.

  Sincerely,

  Tolerance

  Numbness crept over his limbs as his stared at the last eight words. Geoffrey crumpled her letter with one hand as he covered his face with the other. Loneliness and longing stretched into the future without even the hope of an end. He was abruptly aware of pain raging on the inside of his skull. Light-headed and queasy he needed his bed, but he wasn’t going to move until he’d sent word after the angel. He had to write something that would persuade her to someday give him a chance.

  After stuffing her letter back into his coat pocket he pulled a piece of paper in front of him and dipped the quill in the inkwell. He took a deep breath and slowly started writing in his neatest hand. After filling the paper and signing his name he reached for the pounce to sand the ink, but there wasn’t any. He flapped the paper dry and hoped the words wouldn’t run or smudge. He swore under his breath as he realised there wasn’t any sealing wax or candle to melt it with. After blotting the letter with another piece of paper he folded it up and wrote her address on the front. Back out in the hall he went in search of a servant and nearly walked into a maid carrying a pile of linen.

  “I need sealing wax and a lit candle. Bring them to my bedchamber…please.” The young woman looked at him with wide terror filled eyes and squeaked as she fell into a deep awkward curtsey. “Tell Franklin I wish to see him.”

  “At once Yer Grace.”

  Geoffrey’s anger flared as he registered the maid’s fear. “And tell the Housekeeper I wish to speak with her immediately.”

  The maid blanched with horror. “In yer chamber Yer Grace?”

  “Yes send them to my chamber. Is my bed ready?”

  “Nearly Yer Grace.”

  “See that it’s finished quickly…and stop looking at me like that. I have no desire to either eat you or bed you. Fetch the footman and my sealing wax before I lose my temper.” His angry roar made her shake with fear, unbalancing her burden.

  “At once Yer Grace.”

  Geoffrey ignored the maid as she hurried off and followed at a more sedate pace. He was trying hard not to be a thoughtless tyrant, but it was difficult when an invisible hand was trying to crack his head with an invisible mallet and his heart felt torn into a thousand unwanted pieces.

  He clenched his teeth as he stepped into his father’s old room, if it was the same room. The walls had been striped of paint and half the plaster, the wooden floor was scuffed and unpolished, the only recognisable landmarks were the large windows, marble fire surround and hearth. Even the firedogs were missing. There was nothing to indicate that his father had ever occupied the room, let alone died in it. The new Sheraton influenced bed was still in the process of being assembled by two footmen.

  There was no sign of the bottom mattress let alone the bed linen. Geoffrey scowled as he looked at his pocket watch. He was distracted from his irritation by the arrival of the housekeeper and the footman carrying the requested sealing wax and candle. Within a few minutes his letter was on its way to his angel and he could almost breathe with hope that he’d hear from her sometime in the future, preferably within a week. The housekeeper was informed of his desired changes to the household and allowed to escape. Teams of servants soon struggled in with several thick mattresses. It wasn’t long before two frightened maids were making the bed. He was still scowling as trunks of his clothes and personal belongings were hurried in and placed onto the floor by a parade of servants who curtseyed blindly and then rushed out. The maids hovered a few minutes near the bed unsure whether the devil would try to grab them on their way out the door, but he ignored them and was soon alone with his new bed. Locking the door he stripped naked and crawled under the covers pulling one of the four feather pillows over his throbbing head to block out the light. He lay there feeling miserable until he fell asleep, his pillow uncomfortably wet.

  ***

  Tolerance looked out across the Spencer fields and forced herself to see the beauty. The morning sky was deep blue, the foliage emerald green, glinting like jewels from the morning dew. She could hear the birds chattering as she reined in her horse and took the letter out of her pocket. It had arrived two and a half weeks before, but she hadn’t had the nerve to open it. Looking around, there was a stillness that told her she was alone. Breaking the misshapen seal, her hands were shaking as she smoothed out the creases over the horses neck.

  Dearest Angel,

  I beg you to forgive me. I can not bear this banishment from your person without some sign, some hope that one day I’ll be welcomed back if only to be chastised. I didn’t mean those vile words. I wanted you to hurt as much I was hurting. You’re right; I am a thoughtless tyrant and an arrogant selfish worm, but I’m willing to change. I’ll do anything to deserve your smile. I finally understand why I spent nearly two years giving away a fortune and grovelling to people I detest. I’d dance through hell-fire if it meant eternal rest in your arms.

  I came to your house this morning to beg your forgiveness in person, but you were gone. London might as well be under a cloud now that my sunshine has left. I’ve removed to my town house where the Duchess and Sophia pretend I’m already dead. I couldn’t sleep another night in the bed you’ve recently perched on knowing I might never see you again.

  The servants look at me as if I’m going to eat them. No one has ever looked at me like you look at me. The need to see you, to hold you haunts me. I had the strangest dream last night where I met you in a garden. Seeing you all in white with your hair flowing around your waist finally revived my memory. I knew you looked familiar. You probably don’t remember the man with the ruby ring; the man who gave you a pale blue ribbon so you could eat your dinner. When you smiled you took my breath away. I’d never seen anything so lovely. You made me feel alive, human, for the first time in years. I was so tempted to buy myself a child bride and carry you away to my mother until you were of age. When I yelled at you to leave I thought I was protecting you from a fate worse than death. I should have known someone like Charles Spencer would buy you and hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself for not rescuing you when I had the chance.

  Being my friend has brought you nothing but grief. I want to repair some of the damage, whatever the cost. I pray you’ll consider the option of becoming my wife in name only. I give you my word I won’t touch you unless you desire it. After a year or whatever amount of time you felt appropriate, if you still felt I was unsuitable husband material I would sue for annulment avowing impotence as the cause. I pray you’ll give this proposition due consideration before making a decision.

  Please tell me more about the day we met and how we became friends. What do I need to do to complete the infamous list? I have Lady Penelope’s name left to cross off, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Sunshine of my heart, please forgive me for being an ill-mannered worm. I have never felt so wretched. Even my father never made me hurt like this. I beg you, give me hope that I’ll soon be allowed back into your sunlight if only to kneel at your feet.

  Your obedient and humbled servant,

  Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson

  The words blurred as her shaking hands s
truggled to keep the letter still. Had she read it correctly? She went back and read each word slowly until she got to the part where he recounted his dream. She could remember that night clearly. She’d opened her eyes feeling a familiar peace still physically aware of his tender embrace, but once fully awake the fact that reality would never come close to her dream garden had brought only heart ache. Somehow the new Geoffrey had remembered giving her the pale blue ribbon. She steeled herself against the folly of removing immediately back to London. She folded up the letter and put it carefully back into her pocket and slowly walked the horse the five miles back to the stables as she stared at the passing scenery in a daze.

  On reaching the house she changed out of her riding dress and retreated to the small drawing room where she picked up her discarded embroidery and mindlessly stabbed the threaded needle in and out of the cloth. How was she to respond to his letter? How was she to explain the past? How could the man offer to marry her in name only, just like in her dream? It was an odd coincidence. It would be heavenly to sit opposite pale blue eyes every evening and know they were adoring her. In the previous night’s dream he hadn’t tried to touch her, but his eyes were sufficiently outspoken to make her blush. It was foolishness to daydream of accepting Geoffrey’s second offer. It was too dangerous. If she married the man, he’d give her that come hither look and she’d fall into his bed before the week was out. Throwing down her needlework she strode off to her study. It would be best to answer the letter immediately and refuse the offer before a long lonely evening weakened her resolve.