Redeeming a Rake (18 page)

“Yes Your Grace.”

Geoffrey turned his back on his servant and
stared out the window over the weed infested grass in the small
back garden. “That will be all for now Howard…thank you!” The old
man shuffled from the room and quietly closed the door. As Geoffrey
stared at the blurry patch of weeds behind his house he saw the
image of his father, a handsome large blonde man with cold pale
blue eyes. When had he turned into his father? He drained his glass
and raised his arm to throw it into the fire. The word thoughtless
flashed into his brain. Some maid would have to clean up the broken
glass. He lowered his arm and defied the description by setting it
carefully on the mantel.

His head pounding, he sat in his chair and
stared at his ebony desk centred on a pale blue and red Abusson
carpet. Against the black surface sat some of his favourite
treasures; the silver Elizabethan inkstand shaped like a ship once
thrown at his head by a shrew, the silver wax-jack in the shape of
a scantily clad nymph holding the wick in her hand, the rare Civil
War silver candlestick that never looked the same after being flung
into the fire, and the chipped ruby glass paperweight holding down
unpaid bills gleaming like a large drop of blood. Staring at them
he realised they gave him no pleasure. They were meaningless
objects that would never make him feel loved and now the angel
would never love him either…not after he’d given her a taste of
life with the Devil’s Corpse. He tried to relieve the numb pain in
his chest with a deep breath, but it mutated into a sharp lonely
ache. How long would she refuse to see him; weeks, months, years?
The thought of having to wait a whole day to hold her in his arms
caused a blinding rage…no, it was remembering the last look on her
face and the coldness in her voice. He’d been banished. He could
almost taste her lips after his last kiss. Why hadn’t he pulled her
back into his arms, where she clearly wanted to be, and beg her
forgiveness? She might have relented. She might have agreed to a
trial marriage. She might have stood there kissing him for
hours.

He was a fool. He’d broken his angel’s heart
and damned himself to a living hell. The ache in his chest started
to burn. If she’d accepted his offer he might have been making
sweet love to his Duchess instead of sitting alone without a friend
in the world. He slumped forward, his hand pressed to his sore
cheek.

This was his fate; to die unloved. He could
hear his father laughing. Geoffrey hunched in fear as he half
listened for his dead father’s footsteps. If only he’d lost the
memory of being summoned to his father’s deathbed, but no it was
still there as if it had happened that morning. He’d expected a
half-hearted confession of remorse. Covering his ears couldn’t
silence his father’s last poisonous words. ‘You’re a contemptible
worm. I should have smothered you in your cradle.’ Had he really
become the man he hated? He could remember far too many of his sins
to deny it.

He couldn’t face endless years without his
angel’s sunlight. Numb, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and
slowly striped down to his shirtsleeves. He grimaced at the bed.
The sheets hadn’t been changed since the angel’s departure. Once
again his room smelled like a used close-stool, his food was over
cooked, and his bath water appeared incapable of attaining any
temperature above tepid. His servant’s had obeyed the angel’s
orders to the letter. If he was such a tyrant why didn’t his
servants ever do their work properly? The question only made him
miss her more as he crawled in-between clammy bed linen. He lay
there a few minutes wondering if they’d become his winding sheets.
Would they bother to wash his body and put him in clean clothes?
Would anyone attend his funeral? Would the angel miss him? The
woman already thought of him as dead. She’d be able to mourn for
him properly and then get on with her life loving some worthier
worm. “Howarrrrrd!”

Five eternal minutes later the shuffling
footsteps entered the room and softly closed the door. “You rang
Your Grace?”

“The laudanum Howard…pour the bottle on the
chest of drawers into half a glass of water.”

Howard dripped several large drops into the
water and poured the rest of the opiate down the wall behind the
chest of drawers out of sight of him employer. “You realise this
will induce a permanent sleep Your Grace?”

“Do I look like I’m killing myself for a
thrill?”

“No my Lord, but Mrs Spencer will be
heartbroken.”

“Mrs Spencer hates me. I asked her to marry
me. She refused.”

“It would be hell to have one’s beloved wake
up and not know one. Perhaps if you gave her time…”

“I lost my temper. I kissed her and paid her
like a whore.”

“That won’t have helped your suit.”

“I see you haven’t lost your gift for
understatement in the last four years.”

“No Your Grace…perhaps death might be more
agreeable than trying to win her forgiveness…”

“Give me the laudanum. I got in bed to die
not hear a lecture from my manservant.” Geoffrey sat holding the
glass as he pondered his worthless life. No one was going to say
they were glad Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson had been a part of their
life, not even the angel. An invisible fist punched him making his
eyes water. Determined to end the pain he drained the glass and
handed it back to his butler. “Aren’t you going to cry Howard?”

“No Your Grace, a butler should never have
red eyes. The other servants might suspect I sample your wine with
indulgence.”

“You’ve been a good servant. I’m sorry I’ve
been a tyrant.”

“Thank you Your Grace, but tyranny is the
expected behaviour for a Duke.”

“I was a good boy. I could have been a good
man.”

“Yes Your Grace.”

“Why did I waste my life being a worm?”

“I couldn’t say my Lord.”

“You mean you wouldn’t…if Mrs Spencer asks
after me…she won’t, but if she does, tell her to remember me as the
man she loved…whoever the hell he was.” Geoffrey lay back against
his pillows and waited for death, grateful that the old man
remained in the room. Geoffrey’s eyes were heavy as panic erupted
in his brain. What had he done? He was going to die. He’d never see
her again. “Howard, you need to tell her…that I…that I…love… His
thoughts were blurring. He tried to fight off the pleasant numbness
creeping over his skin. He’d never get to hold his angel and tell
her that he loved her. When had he lost his heart? How had it
happened? He slipped into darkness as a solitary tear ran down the
burning hand print on his cheek.

Hours of dark nonsensical visions passed
before his eyes and then he found himself standing outside an old
wooden gate. He looked down to see he was wearing white trousers,
but he was barefoot. He ran his hands down the front of his white
linen shirt open at the neck. It was soft, as if he’d worn it for
years. Inhaling the scent of grass and damp earth, the gate creaked
open as he followed the path through a tunnel of shaped yew out
into a profusion of greens framing a collage of colourful flower
beds while above the vaulted sky was a stunning blue with white
fluffy clouds floating by.

He couldn’t be in hell. Hell couldn’t be so
pleasant, but he couldn’t believe he’d some how landed in heaven
either. He nervously took seat on the carved wooden bench circling
a large willow tree, stretched out his long legs, folded his arms
and waited for something awful to happen. As song birds performed
an off key concerto Geoffrey leaned back and watched the blue sky
through the whispering branches. His punishment was probably to sit
alone forever. It was better than he deserved, but with his arms
longing for the angel it would be hell enough. Resting his head
against the tree he closed his eyes and tried to remember how she’d
looked that morning after the second kiss. Her eyes had shone with
that allusive emotion he’d been longing for all his life. He sat up
in alarm as he heard the gate creak. Was someone coming to take him
to hell? His mouth fell open as a woman who looked like Tolerance
stepped into the garden.

“Geoffrey?” Standing up to greet the woman
running towards him, Geoffrey stared at the straight white blonde
hair flowing down over her hips in disbelief as he was jolted back
over a decade to a lonely winter night at an inn. He was sitting
off to the side of the fire in the cool shadows with his feet on a
footstool near the flames when the door to his private parlour
opened and closed. Soft mutterings and tapping footsteps echoed off
the wood panelled walls. It was easier to keep silent and wait for
the intruder to leave than shout at them to go away. The footsteps
walked in circles behind him then approached the fire. All he could
see for several minutes was the outline of a white muslin gown and
long tangle of white blonde hair that draped over the child’s arms
to her hips. She warmed her hands and let out a despondent sigh
before turning towards him and jumping in surprise. She wasn’t
ugly, but she’d never be pretty. She was thin with a look of hunger
that recalled unpleasant memories of his youth, but there was no
fear or anger in her eyes as she reached out and hesitantly touched
his sleeve. “I’m glad you’re not a ghost…”

He was amused by her relief. For a man
contemplating death by boredom she was a welcome diversion. “Are
you?” His voice made her jump again.

“I thought the room was empty. Did I wake
you?”

Her voice brought to mind a faint memory of
his mother sneaking into the nursery to kiss him goodnight as a
small child. “The Devil never sleeps.”

“Are you ill?”

“No. What are you looking for?”

“A green silk hair ribbon about this long…”
She held out her arms. “Mother says if I don’t plait my hair I
won’t get any dinner. I asked Nurse if I could have a new ribbon,
but she says I don’t deserve dinner. I think it’s sinful to deprive
someone of their dinner when they haven’t done anything bad. I
won’t punish my daughter for losing a ribbon; now if she uses one
of my best silver spoons to dig holes in the garden or cuts all the
heads off my favourite flowers or…what’s so funny?”

“Why didn’t I ever think of cutting all the
heads off my mother’s flowers?”

“Probably because it would have been very
wicked.”

“You must be an angelic child.”

“I’m not a child! I’m twelve years old; I’m
practically a woman.”

“You’re young for a woman. Does this mean
you plan on playing an early harp in heaven?”

“I’d first like to marry a man who doesn’t
beat his wife and have lots of babies. I love the way babies
smell…”

“Does your husband need to be handsome?”

“Mother says I’ll be lucky to marry a man
who looks like the back end of a horse. As long as he doesn’t beat
me I don’t care what he looks like, but it’s just a dream. I’ll
probably die an old maid. There aren’t many men keen to pay for the
privilege of having a plain penniless wife. Father says he’ll
receive payment for all the food and clothing wasted on me over the
years or I’ll end up in the kitchen turning the spit. It wouldn’t
be so bad if Old Betty wasn’t such a witch. She’s our cook. She
doesn’t like me because I won’t scream curses when she pinches me.
She says she’s cast a spell that I’ll marry the Devil. She’s
mean…that roasting pig smells so good it hurts. Where did that
wretched ribbon go? I’m so hungry I could eat my shoes.” Her
attention suddenly switched from her stomach to his ring. “Is that
a real ruby? I didn’t know they made them so large.” She stepped
over and bent down to get a closer look at his pale hand resting on
the arm of the chair. “Mother has a pretend ruby. I overheard
father telling her not to be daft, that people wouldn’t think it
real, but I thought it was real. Yours is more…sparkly.” Geoffrey’s
lips twitched in amusement as the child nonchalantly picked up his
hand and gently moved it about watching the firelight play off the
stone. “What an elegant hand. If I were you I’d wave it about and
pretend I was a Duke.”

“You shouldn’t be so trusting child. If your
mother hears you’ve been keeping a rake-hell company you’ll be
eating bread and water until you wed.”

Her eyes finally pulled away from the red
stone and up into the shadows hiding his face. “Have you really
raked through hell?”

“Yes.”

“Does hell stink as bad as they say?”

“Worse!” Did the child lack common sense?
She should have run away, but her two small hands were still
cradling his as if it were some sort of valuable object. The soft
trusting touch was filling him with warmth, as if sunlight was
pouring into his hand and flowing up his arm into his heart. For
the first time in years he felt human.

“You don’t seem very dangerous to me, not
like Squire Woodston. He makes my skin crawl. Mother thinks he’s
wonderful because he has a pretty face and an aunt who’s some
titled lady. I can’t imagine you kicking a dog. You don’t kick your
dogs do you?”

“I’ve never had a dog.”

“Really? Neither have I. When I have my own
house I shall have a cat.”

“I thought you wanted babies.”

“I can have babies and a cat. Are you
married?”

“No. I’m unfit company for young ladies; if
you were older I’d try to kiss you.”

“Would you?” She sounded more flattered than
frightened. “I know I’m plain, but I do have good teeth.” She
opened her mouth wide to reveal gleaming pearls of white. “Would
you really kiss me if I were older?”

“I would; one day you’ll be a lovely
woman.”

“In case you’re blind; you’re making me
blush.” Geoffrey’s amused laughter died as the child smiled and
stared in shock at the transformation. He impulsively pulled her
hands to his lips and lightly kissed one. He let go as she jerked
her hands away and stuck them behind her. She remained beside his
chair as he bent over and untied one of his garters. “It isn’t
green, but you’ll get your dinner.”