Redeeming a Rake (20 page)

“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
mourning 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.