Redeeming a Rake (21 page)

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
struggled 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.

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 jacket 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?”