by Cari Hislop
“Anything!” The emphatic word rang with adoration as if he’d do anything to win her heart.
“Remember you have a friend who believes in you.”
He clutched her hand in both of his and reverently kissed her knuckles. “What if I can’t find them? What if I run out of money?”
“Don’t let your dependants go without, but be prepared to sell your treasures. You can’t change what you’ve done, but you can ensure no one is homeless or starving in the gutter because you won a game of cards. You can make sure not one more person suffers in any way because of your pride. If one more woman suffers at your hands I’ll assume you don’t want to change and for my safety I’ll be forced to end our friendship. Don’t let your pride rule your heart.”
He winced and looked away. “I won’t. I give you my word.” He stared at her hand held tightly between his own. “Will you write to me…as a friend?”
“If you wish, but my servant’s are bound to gossip. Society may soon think we’re engaged.”
A shiver ran down her spine as the cool distant eyes caught fire. “I’ll write you and let you know where to direct your letters. I’ll try not to drop one on the street in front of Lady Jersey.” There was something in his voice that made her think he was tempted to do just that. “I’ll return when I feel worthy of your smile.”
“Rest before you begin your search. I don’t want to read in the papers that you were travelling to some far flung corner of the Kingdom and they opened your carriage door to find you’d died of exhaustion.”
“I try to sleep, but the nightmares… I’m lying in bed paralysed. I can’t move. The women dig out my heart with their fingernails and start eating it. It’s so real I can feel my warm blood dripping onto my chest. I wake up screaming. Everything I’ve tried makes the dreams worse.”
“I used to have nightmares; while you’re awake, imagine the dream with a new ending. Before they enter the room change the dream so that you see me sitting in a chair next to your bed. Tell yourself over and over that the young women won’t be able to reach you because I won’t let them hurt you, and then imagine them leaving your room and never returning, it may help.”
“I don’t think it could get any worse. I should go.” He brought her hand to his lips and then pressed it to his cheek. “The next time I take advantage of your kindness I hope to be almost worthy of it.” He closed his eyes and cringed as if shutting out some unpleasant sight. “How can you not hate me after knowing what I’ve done?”
“I couldn’t hate you. I don’t know why, but I have to believe that underneath the filth is a better man.”
“Tolerance.” He bowed over her hand and reverently pressed his lips to her skin. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but merely paused to looked into her eyes and slowly let go of her hand before abruptly turning and rushing from the room.
Tolerance watched his emaciated back until he disappeared from view without turning to say goodbye. She sank into his vacated chair and stared through tears at her desk. Had she calmly noted that horrifying list of ruined lives? Surely that was another woman; someone who didn’t feel torn for loving a monster. She had to have faith he could change and heal. She tried to imagine her new friend as a smiling healthy man with a kind heart, but she knew he might never change. He might be unable to face the consequences of his actions. He might never want a plain woman as his duchess. Her head throbbing, she took to her bed and stayed there the rest of the day while the servants gossiped in hushed whispers about the odd effect the repulsive man had on their mistress.
***
Days passed into weeks. Tolerance resumed her social rounds to take her mind off the one friend she couldn’t see, but she’d changed and the gossiping hoards were in no doubt of the cause. Everyone knew the Duke of Lyndhurst had called on the widow twice. What he’d managed to do the lady to cause the strange sadness in her eyes wasn’t hard to guess. Obviously he’d had his evil way and she was waiting to see if she’d suffer the pox or worse a pregnancy.
Tolerance was still at the centre of every large gathering, but she couldn’t be relied upon to know the topic of conversation. Her thoughts were far away searching for her new friend. After four silent weeks reality was threatening to become a dream. Had the interview really happened? Why would the Duke of Lyndhurst seek out her company or help? She was starting to think she’d soon wake up to find that Geoffrey Grayson was no more than a figment of her imagination.
After another morning spent dwelling on the memory of eyes like aquamarine gemstones, she sat down to read her morning post with the intention of banishing the man from her thoughts. The suffocating dark cloud in her head suddenly dissipated as she found what she’d been waiting for. With shaking hands she carefully broke the wax seal with her letter knife and unfolded the paper. Wiping away a blinding mist from her eyes, it was several minutes before she could make out the words.
My dear tolerant friend,
Forgive me for taking so long to send you word. I’ve wanted to write you every day but I forced myself to wait until I had completed my first search. I pray this finds you well? I was waiting in a coffee shop for news from one of my men the other week when I overheard two scoundrels speaking of you. I confess I eavesdropped. They were apparently concerned with your recent ill looking pallor and your lack of interest in their suits. I almost turned around to demand a full report; alas I held my tongue and sat in agony envisioning my beautiful friend suffering from countless unknown malaises. I was tempted to loiter on your street that night to watch you going out to see for myself if you looked unwell. You will be relieved to hear that I decided skulking under a gaslight would have frightened your neighbours and doubtless led to lengthening my list of sins. Pray relieve my mind and let me know if you are suffering or not? As for me, you’re advice has had great effect. I am finally sleeping through the night and eating enough for five men. It’s amazing how less surly I feel, fully refreshed with a satisfied stomach. My servants must think they’ve died and gone, if not to heaven (that will be enjoyed during my many absences), than to someplace better than hell.
If only I could feel the same. I finally located my first widow from the list. Her husband, Lord Harlow, was one of the men who gambled away their livelihoods and then killed themselves so they could avoid facing their families and ruin my life with guilt. Lady Harlow has been living off the charity of a cousin, if you can call it charity. She was blackening the grate when I was shown into the breakfast room. She looked at me with such hatred I nearly lost my nerve, but I’m relieved to report that I stood my ground. She watched me set down all the property deeds of ownership in her name and a leather packet holding the equivalent of the property’s yearly income without even a hiss. I told her that I was returning to her what her husband had lost to me, but she was silent. That was the easy part. I wanted to turn and run, but I thought of how disappointed you’d be if I didn’t ask her forgiveness. I went down on one knee; I’ll have you know that I once swore I’d never kneel to anyone other than the King. I said with genuine remorse, ‘Lady Harlow, I greatly regret that I’ve been party to your suffering.’ I didn’t force her husband to wager his livelihood so it isn’t my entire fault. My mouth went dry and I thought I might not be able to finish but at last I said, ‘I beg you forgive me.’ She slapped my face with force and demanded I remove my revolting person from her sight which I was pleased to do.
Thanks to the hard work of my secretary and legal agent I should soon have another humiliating encounter to report. We’ve located the next widow living up North. I shall be travelling often to and from London for the foreseeable future. If you send your letters to the enclosed address they will reach me more quickly than if you sent them to any of my homes. I can never thank you enough for helping me. You truly are an angel!
Sincerely your servant,
Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson, the Duke of Lyndhurst
Tolerance choked out a sigh of relief and longing. She hadn’t dreamed up the man after
all. The pain that had been sitting in her chest since she’d watched him leave finally eased. Her impulsive letter finished it was soon being carried away by her footman. The prospect of waiting another month to receive a reply caused a new layer of anxiety. Unable to face socialising she stayed home. Reading late into the night she fell asleep clutching the first volume of Clarissa.
The story faded as she swam through a mental stream of meaningless images and then over the edge of nothingness. She was aware of falling and then she opened her eyes to find herself standing outside a waist high wooden gate held together with wooden pegs long worn down from years of weather and passing hands. There was no latch; she was free to enter. Looking up she saw a bright blue sky alive with moving clouds. Looking down she found she was wearing a white short sleeved linen gown. As she pushed open the gate she wriggled her toes in the soft grass path. The gate appeared to lead through a shaped yew tunnel that curved off the the left. The cool green shadows of the yews were made brilliant by the sky above and the sound of birds singing. The path curved back to the right and then opened up. She stood there blinking with pleasure in the warm sunshine as her eyes passed over a rainbow of strange flowers and short clipped hedges arranged in well tended beds surrounded by expanses of emerald grass cut short as if a flock sheep had grazed the previous day and moved on. Off to the right standing on its own was an ancient willow tree, its slack limbs whispering a peaceful song in the light breeze. Underneath the branches a wooden bench carved with foreign lettering encircled the trunk. She sat down, stretched out her legs in contentment and waited. Surely someone would be coming soon. Hours passed as she sat on the bench waiting and dreaming of what her friend would say on finding her there, but at some point she closed her eyes and then opening them she found herself in her own bed, the forgotten book poking into her ribs. The next night she found herself back in the garden, but another night passed in solitary waiting. The next night was the same. After exploring the hidden corners of the garden and dangling her feet in the pond occupied by orange and white spotted fish, she lay on her back in the grass and watched the clouds float by hoping her friend would join her.
Chapter 10
The Duke of Lyndhurst spent the day in the saddle riding forty miles to meet his secretary at an Inn that hadn’t changed since the reign of good Queen Bess. He’d be lucky if the food was more than bowl of stew with with chunks of chicken formally known as rabbit, but the bedclothes and fresh straw pallets on rope lashed trestles would smell fresh and clean.
Geoffrey’s body was one large burning ache as he dismounted. Forcing his spine into an upright position he groaned as his back cracked in protest. Grabbing his saddlebags he ducked low to enter the small door. He didn’t care that he had to sit on a wooden bench to eat his dinner. The need to put food in his stomach outweighed mere discomfort. After finishing three bowls of stew he was handed two leather packets and nearly didn’t see the letter fall to the floor. Bending over to retrieve it his nerves went taut as he recognised the handwriting. The angel had replied. Had she thought his letter too familiar? Had she changed her mind? Would she politely decline the honour of sharing his misery? Fearful of bad news he turned his impotent rage on his secretary. “In future Hawkings I wish you to hand me my letters first, entirely separate from these blasted leather packets. Letters in this hand are more valuable to me than gold. Lose one and face my wrath.”
The secretary was visibly terrified. “I beg your pardon Your Grace. Forgive my inattentiveness. My wife is nearing confinement. I’m worried she might not survive the birth.”
“It’s not my problem you have a pregnant wife. Ensure that I receive every single letter in this hand or I’ll sack you.”
“I swear I’ll never mishandle another letter Your Grace.”
“See that you don’t.” Sullen, worried and excited Geoffrey escaped to his chamber. The end of a late spring day still shimmered in the evening air. Geoffrey barred the door and flung his saddlebags and hat onto the crude table-bench. The ropes supporting the thin straw mattress groaned as he fell onto the bed too tired to undress. There was just enough light coming through the open shutters to make out his friend’s neat handwriting.
Dear Geoffrey,
I’m so pleased to hear from you. I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination. I blame your pale blue eyes; you do have pale blue eyes don’t you? I didn’t imagine them? The one note you’d sent me (my one tangible proof that you were real) disappeared from my desk leaving me to rely on my memory which isn’t always reliable. I can’t imagine the Duke of Lyndhurst haunting my local gaslight. I can see the papers now…Duke thrown into gaol for lurking. It would be an excuse to see you, but I don’t recommend gaol as a place to ponder anyone’s health. I assure you I’m not suffering from any plagues, agues or distempers. That should punish you for eavesdropping, but it’s very kind of you to worry. I’m just relieved to hear that you’re sleeping through the night. At the risk of sounding like a nanny (and receiving a well deserved reprimand) I hope you’re taking time to eat three separate meals a day and not eating three meals at one sitting. You don’t want to die of starvation before you’ve made restitution and I’d miss you.
As for the people on the list, it doesn’t matter if they think you’re the devil incarnate. It only matters that you do the right thing. My prayers go with you. Please write and let me know if there is anything I can do to help.
Sincerely your friend,
Tolerance
Geoffrey didn’t know he was smiling, but he could feel his tension ease away into the straw. He reread the heart-warming words until the light faded forcing him to fold the letter and tuck it into a trouser pocket. There was nothing left to do, but close his eyes and imagine his friend lying beside him. Had she really written that she’d miss him if he died? He was too tired to get up and shout for a candle. He’d have to wait till morning. A ragged sigh escaped his lips as he turned onto his side. The emptiness of his arms left him aching for his angel until exhaustion spared him the horror of trying to think what he’d do if he couldn’t persuade her to be his Duchess.
Falling asleep he waded through nonsensical scenes until he fell off into nothingness. Opening his eyes he found himself standing under a sunny blue sky next to a weathered wooden gate that swung open with the slightest touch. Inhaling the sweet scent of grass and clipped yew he followed the curving path until it opened into a vista of strange flowers and plants, but his eyes were pulled past the plants to the woman in white lying in the grass. Her skirts entangled around crossed ankles, her hands were propped under her neck as she calmly contemplated the sky. His bare feet made only a slight sound, barely audible over the birdsong. Stoping just out of her vision he watched her chest rise and fall until the need to be a part of her world made him speak. “Hello Sunshine!”
Her head jerked in his direction as if shocked to see him. “Geoffrey?” Her warm smile was all the encouragement he needed. Dropping down next to her, his toes curled in ecstasy as the woman he wanted looked up at him with pleasure. “I’m glad you’ve come…I’ve never seen you in trousers.”
Geoffrey looked down at his legs in surprise. “Odd. I never wear them. I think they make me look…” he shot a bashful look at his smiling companion. “…inordinately thin.”
“You look healthier than the last time I saw you.”
The admiration in her eyes made him feel elated. “I’ve been eating three meals a day. It gives me three separate occasions a day when I can think of you without fear of falling off my horse and breaking my neck.”
“Now you’re making me blush in my dreams. You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I know I’ve never seen an angel lying in the grass.” Geoffrey laughed as Tolerance yanked up a handful of grass and threw it in his face. He leaned closer and fingered the nearest tendril of white blonde hair draping the grass. “Show me the garden…”
<
br /> “Demanding Duke, this is my dream. What do you think that cloud looks like?”
“No, this is my dream and I want to kiss you behind those trees in the far corner where no one will see us. With my luck, if I try to kiss you here a convent of nuns will come rushing in to have a picnic.”
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in days and I never said you could kiss me.”
“I don’t need your permission in my dream. Kiss me over there or I’ll kiss you here.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Geoffrey leaned over to make good his threat, but she rolled away and stood up. “Don’t be heartless Sunshine…”