Redeeming a Rake

by Cari Hislop

  Chapter 22

  Geoffrey was pulled out of the dream garden away from the angel’s smile and opened his eyes to bare ugly walls of his bedchamber. Turning over he scowled at smooth empty bedclothes. The need to hold his angel grew daily as hope of hearing a reply diminished. After three weeks in the town house his room was fitted with all the necessary furniture, but the walls remained scarred. It was easier than putting up with the smell of glue or paint and there was something oddly comforting about the savaged walls.

  At ten o’clock he strode into the breakfast room with a rumbling stomach. His sister’s plate was empty, her face hidden behind a letter. He sat down and nodded to the footman to serve him. His mother and sister had barely addressed ten words to him since his arrival, but then he hadn’t tried talking to them either. Sharing a home with his family had disadvantages, but the food was good and the interior of the house glinted from years of daily polish.

  His sister was a stranger. She’d been six when his father had him thrown out of the house. He couldn’t imagine why she’d never married. There were countless knaves who’d marry a beautiful ice-maiden with a dowry. At twenty-nine she was an old maid, though there was still hope of getting rid of her. He decided he’d try to be pleasant. “I trust you slept well?” The letter didn’t flutter. He ate a few mouthfuls and took a sip of hot chocolate. There was one subject that in his experience women couldn’t resist. “Do you have enough pin money? I like to think I’m rather generous, but I suppose if you compared me with an adoring husband I’d come out looking like a miser.” The piece of paper dropped onto the table as if it was made of lead. Tears dripped down snow white cheeks, her pale blue eyes burning with hatred. What had he done to deserve that look? His stomach heaved in revulsion. Had he done something vile to his sister and lost the memory of it?

  “Pin money?” She was on her feet leaning towards him over the table. “Do you think I enjoy being an old maid? Do you think I enjoy the shame of needing your money to pay my bills? No one wants a penniless wife, not even my Bamford. How do you think that makes me feel? Shall I thank you for ruining my life? My misery is now news for all to read. Lady Gosset’s heard that Bamford’s paying daily visits to a rich merchant’s daughter when everyone knows he loves me.”

  “I didn’t think Bamford was such a milksop. If the man loved you he’d take you in rags.” Geoffrey thought it a reasonable statement, it was how he felt. He’d take Tolerance in rags, but then again he’d take her… His pleasant thoughts were interrupted by his sister’s fury.

  “What would you know of love? Henry has twelve younger siblings, a castle falling down around his ears and a dwindling income; if he marries me it’ll make a bad situation dire. Do you expect a man of honour to shove his mother and siblings off onto the parish? You wouldn’t understand; the Devil’s Corpse never had any honour to lose.” Geoffrey clenched his teeth as blood thundered in his ears too angry to speak. “If you had any honour you’d have asked your social climbing friend to marry you. It was the least you could do after she sacrificed her reputation to save your worthless life.”

  Geoffrey was on his feet and leaning over the table, his own eyes flashing white hot anger. “She refused me!” He closed his eyes as his voice cracked, and tried to hold back the storm clouds pushing against his eyelids as his angel’s angry eyes stared back out of the darkness. He let out a long tense sigh and slowly sat back down. “I’m sorry Sophia. I assumed father set aside money for your dowry. I foolishly assumed he cared for you.”

  “Father loved me. If you hadn’t squandered the Lyndhurst fortune I’d have been a wealthy debutante instead of the Devil’s ward.”

  Geoffrey’s lips twisted into an angry sneer, “Is that what Thomas told you? I haven’t received a farthing from father since I was sixteen. I didn’t get to finish my schooling. I didn’t get a new coat, shoes, or even a decent dinner until I inherited Grandmother’s money at nineteen. My money is my own. The Lyndhurst fortune wasn’t lost, it was given to Thomas.”

  “Thomas? You’re lying! Thomas knows I have no dowry. He would have given me something.”

  “Father always did say Thomas was the true Lyndhurst heir.”

  “You’re just jealous because Father thought you were a despicable worm.”

  Geoffrey clenched his fists as he restrained himself from jumping out of his chair and slapping his sister. “Perhaps cousin Bamford has simply decided he’d have an easier life if he didn’t marry a shrew.”

  “I hate you!”

  Geoffrey snarled at his plate as his sister rushed from the room sobbing. There was a sudden heavy burning sensation in his chest, as if hell had opened up a gateway where his heart was supposed to be. He pushed his food around on his plate, but after a few minutes dropped his knife and fork in disgust. “Take it away! I want a fresh pot of chocolate and stack of buttered toast in my study.” The nervous servant quickly removed the offending plate. “Has Hawkings arrived yet?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Inform him that I wish to see him immediately…thank you.”

  “At once Your Grace.” The servants scattered as the thirteenth Duke of Lyndhurst stalked out of the breakfast room and upstairs to his study. He slammed the door and marched around the freshly painted pale blue room. He wanted to scream profanity at his dead father, but he held his tongue and tried to exhale slowly. What would his angel do? She wouldn’t have screamed at her sister in front of the servants and she wouldn’t have said those vile words. He tried to take a deep breath but the heavy burning sensation was in the way. There was a light knock on the door before Hawkings slipped into the room. Fifteen minutes later the secretary was hurrying away leaving Geoffrey alone. He sat in his chair for a few minutes staring at the pale blue walls, but there was something uncomfortable he had to do. Back out in the hall he stopped a frightened looking maid and a five minutes later he was knocking on his sister’s bedchamber door listening to muffled sobs.

  “Go away!” He knocked again. “Go…away!” He lightly cracked his knuckles before trying again. The door pulled open and his sister glared at him with red blotchy eyes inflamed with hatred. “Leave me alone you heartless devil!” She tried to slam the door shut but his boot was in the way.

  “I’m sorry I said those vile things. Will you forgive me?”

  “Rot in hell!” The door slammed shut as he removed his foot, but the black hole in his chest started closing up. He could breathe again.

  A few hours later he was knocking on another door warped from age and too many drunken occupants kicking the bottom. The corridor was begrimed with ancient dirt and grease. Only the tarnished door handle appeared to have felt a rag since the reign of King George I. Bed ropes creaked then bare feet pattered across a wooden floor. “I paid my rent for the week. What do you want now, my first born son?”

  “It’s Lyndhurst. I wish to speak with you.” Silence roared from behind the door and then the key turned in the lock. Geoffrey could have been looking into a bygone mirror, except the eyes were a dark greyish blue. “Are you alone?”

  The younger man reluctantly opened the door. The room’s clean appearance was reinforced by a strong smell of soap. The door locked behind him, Geoffrey politely stared at the wall while his cousin pulled on a patched old fashioned silk powder gown favoured by generations of moths.

  “May I sit?” There was only one chair in the room and it was piled with carefully folded clothing. Bamford eyed his elder cousin with an incredulous expression before carefully removing the clothes to the narrow bed. Geoffrey sat down and looked about him at the ancient trunks and neatly arranged shoes and boots that revealed the inhabitant was of an organized careful nature.

  “I heard you had your head bashed in. I’m glad you’ve recovered, though your heir probably isn’t.” Bamford squirmed under Geoffrey’s piercing stare. “At least it isn’t raining eh what?”

  “It’s raining at the Lyndhurst residence.” Geoffrey flicked an invisible piece of lint off his jack
et and watched his cousin out of the corner of his eye. “Sophia’s been watering my breakfast table.” Bamford visibly flinched. “She’s upset. Some gossiping old cow sent word that you’re chasing a honey pot. My sister is under the delusion that she owns your heart and this is the cause of her distress.” Bamford flinched again. “I told her that if you really loved her you’d marry her dower or no. I’m lucky she wasn’t holding a pistol. She’s persuaded that you face starvation unless you marry money. She’s quite willing to sacrifice her heart for your good or whatever. As a man who prefers sunshine at his breakfast table I was just curious to know if Sophia expects every unwed cousin of a certain age to make her an offer or if you’ve been toying with my sister’s affections?”

  Bamford nervously stood up and paced the short length of the room. “The honey pot thinks my poverty and manners charming. At last my good breeding is earning me something more than respect. She’s been making it worth my while to appear interested in her; she wears me like an ornament. She thinks having a beautiful Lord at her beck and call will make her more attractive to the Duke of Mulberry.” Bamford finally turned to meet his elder cousin’s unexpectedly sympathetic gaze. “I’d do almost anything for money to stretch out my short time with Sophie. I’ve saved my pennies for a whole year so that I could come to London for a few weeks just to be near her, but I can’t ask her to marry me. My land is barren scrub. My sheep eye me with contempt as they graze on rocks and moss. The castle leaks from every direction and it’s already bursting with children. When one has to choose between having servants or clothes and shoes and a few comforts for one’s family… How do you tell the woman you love that she can have five new dresses a year if she makes them herself? Have you ever milked a cow or churned butter? Do you have any idea what it does to a woman’s hands? I’ve become quite adept at working my land and tending my animals, but how can I ask my beautiful Sophie to give up a life of ease for a glorified folly where she’ll have to…” Bamford stopped pacing and turned to stare at his older cousin. “How can I sentence the woman I love to a life of deprivation and hard labour?”

  “I’ve no idea, but I wouldn’t be such an ass as to assume the woman I love wouldn’t want to share my life. I’d at least…” Geoffrey drew in a painful breath. “…I’d at least give her an opportunity to choose.” Geoffrey stood up and put his hat back on. “Are you free this evening?”

  “I can be.”

  “Come have dinner with us. If you can get up the nerve to ask Sophia if she’d prefer a large wardrobe or the man she loves I have a suspicion you’ll be overjoyed by her answer.” Geoffrey felt a strange warm glow as he walked back out into the sunlight. He took a deep breath and smiled to himself. The angel would approve of what he was doing. Feeling in need of celebrating he had his coachman drive him into town where he spent the next few hours window shopping for his angel. It wasn’t until he walked by Ackerman’s large windows displaying cartoons of the latest scandals that he realised there was something he could send his angel. There was one thing she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

  Dinner proved to be a more cheerful meal. Even the dowager Duchess smiled as she watched her daughter and nephew blush in between courses. Geoffrey tried to concentrate on his food, but it was impossible not to think about the only person who smiled at him. As soon as his mother and sister and other female guests stood to leave the room he rose and followed forcing the other male guests to do likewise. There were a few black looks, but he ignored them. He had high hopes his cousin would come up to scratch, but the man couldn’t propose anything chained to the table by custom and six bottles of port.

  Geoffrey ignored his mother’s friends and took his usual position at the large marble hearth where he stood with his back to the room watching everyone’s reflection in the mirror over the mantel. He watched Bamford bow to Sophia and whisper something in her ear. With her hand tucked in the crook of his arm they slowly walked towards the double doors at the end of the room and disappeared from sight. Geoffrey was feeling almost at peace as the footman stopped next to him with a silver tray.

  “A letter has just arrived Your Grace.” Geoffrey’s heart jumped into his throat as he turned and saw the familiar handwriting. “Thank you Franklin.” Feeling hopeful, Geoffrey handed the servant a golden guinea.

  “Thank you Your Grace.”

  Geoffrey left the drawing room and slowly walked to his study where he closed the door. The letter was gently placed on his desk where it remained unopened as the enamelled sun clock from the Ancient House ticked away half an hour. He was still sitting there with folded arms wondering what fate had in store when there was a soft knock on the door. He reigned in the desire to shout at the hand to go to the devil and forced himself to be polite. “Come.” The door opened and closed behind his sister. He watched her eyes flit from the pale blue walls over his collection of ruby glass ornaments and five large bouquets of red streaked yellow tulips.

  “I didn’t know you liked flowers.”

  “Even the Devil has his weaknesses.” Two pairs of pale blue eyes finally met devoid of anger or hatred.

  “Bamford’s proposed and I’ve accepted. He wanted to come tell you himself, but I asked him not to. I have no money so there’s no need for a contract. He said you called on him today and encouraged him to give me a chance.” The beautiful woman took a deep breath. “I apologise for this morning. I was…”

  “We all say vile things when we’re hurting.” Her eyes widened as she saw a human being instead of a monster. He could see in her eyes that she’d never thought of The Devil’s Corpse as someone who hurt.

  “Thank you for speaking to Bamford.”

  “You’re welcome.” He waited till she had her hand on the door handle, “By the way, you might want to tell your fiancé that his bride to be isn’t as poor as he thinks she is. You’ll have five thousand in cash on the day you marry and five thousand every year on your anniversary for the next nine years. I’m also transferring ownership of Grandmother’s estate, the one near Bamford’s castle, to you. It’s got a good roof and lots of rooms with empty beds.”

  Sophia Grayson stared at her brother in disbelief. “Bamford doesn’t know? Fifty-thousand pounds?” Geoffrey blinked in shock as his sister ran back to his side, threw her arms around her neck and nearly choked him with gratitude. He smiled as she kissed him on the cheek and ran from the room leaving him with the feeling he’d been wrapped in soft ermine with a hot water bottle on a cold frosty night. His smile faded as he looked down at the unopened letter. Taking a deep breath he picked up his letter-knife and broke the seal.

  Your Grace,

  I’ve loved you ever since I was twelve when you told me you thought I was lovely and gave me a pale blue ribbon so I could have my dinner. I always think of you when I smell gammon. No one would tell me the name of the man with the ruby ring so I called you my knight in pale blue velvet. I was smitten and I didn’t even know what you looked like. I wish I was as innocent and trusting as I was at twelve, I wouldn’t need to write this letter. When I saw you at your mother’s ball standing in the doorway I didn’t want to believe that my hero could be so repulsive, yet there was something about you that filled my inner world with blue skies. I may be your sunshine, but you’re my horizon. There may be rain clouds over London today, but they will eventually pass and the sunlight will return as day follows night.

  Please don’t feel obligated to marry me. I did nothing I wouldn’t do again. Your offer is tempting, but I would be a fool if I thought I could resist your come hither smile with your ring on my finger. You’re not a worm and you weren’t born to be a selfish tyrant. There’s a loving heart beating under your weary flesh if you can find your pulse. I’m selfish enough to hope that you discover it in time to fall in love with me, but I’m too realistic not to fear that I’m confusing my pleasant dream Geoffrey with reality.