by Cari Hislop
“You said you wanted to see the garden.” Geoffrey reluctantly got to his feet. “I’m surprised an ageing rake-hell can care about something so seemly as flowers…”
“Ageing rake-hell? I’m not old!”
The angel smiled as if he wasn’t mortified. “Then catch me if you can!” Snatching up her skirts she ran off towards the far end of the garden and disappeared behind a giant yew tree. Geoffrey hadn’t literally chased a female since he was a lad. It took him several long seconds to realise she was inviting him to kiss her. Jumping to his feet he ran after feeling fit enough to run for miles. He nearly caught her several times, but she slipped out of reach and ran on. It seemed an eternity before she collapsed in laughter on the bench under the willow and he sat down beside her in triumph. “What did you think of the garden my Lord?”
Geoffrey slid an arm along the back of the bench and leant close enough to inhale the scent of her cheek. “It was breathtaking and I believe I won.”
“Won what?”
“You know exactly what.” She stretched out her legs and tipped her head back, resting it against his arm. “I think you want me to kiss you.”
“Do I?” She took hold of his long hair wrapped in a white queue and gently pulled his face closer. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are like the sky on a perfect day? Who could resist a perfect day?” He lightly touched her leg as she leaned into his arms. Her lips were a hair’s breadth away when he felt himself being pulled away from distraught eyes and out of the garden. “Geoffrey!” Her call was in vain as the garden faded into darkness and then he was blinking in pain at a blinding light.
Opening his eyes, he found sunlight pouring in through the open window. He was back in his wretched aching body of flesh and bone. Tenderly stretching his arms and legs; he smiled as he remembered the dream garden and the angel’s adoring smile. For the first time in years he felt refreshed, but he didn’t want to be awake. He wanted to be in the dream garden kissing his angel’s waiting lips. He lay there oblivious to the physical discomfort caused by sleeping fully clothed and tried to mentally capture the dream. He could still feel the weight of his angel’s head resting against his arm as she looked at him as if he was somehow worthy of her. His innocent thoughts were no barrier to the physical need that flooded his senses with force. Clenching his teeth he rolled off the bed to escape its emptiness and blindly lurched to the window. Gulping cool morning air, he was suddenly aware of birds celebrating the early sunlight creating endless shades of green as it drank up the morning dew. Geoffrey leaned against the open shutter and watched the world awake while pretending his Sunshine was fast asleep on the bed behind him until his stomach insisted it was time to eat.
Chapter 11
Tolerance woke up feeling unsatisfied again. Since the dream Geoffrey’s first night in the garden he hadn’t tried to kiss her. After several weeks, she wasn’t sure what to think. She’d often turn to find him watching her with a shy boyish smile that would gooseflesh her arms and legs, but he hadn’t even tried to kiss her hand. After a night in the dream garden the waking world had more life, but each day seemed to last a thousand hours before she could crawl into bed and pray she’d soon find herself standing in front of the wooden gate wearing the long white dress.
A week later the dream started out like all the others. The wooden gate creaked open, the grass was soft underfoot and the birds were singing. Stepping out of the clipped yew tunnel into the full sunlight she sighed in relief as she looked across to see her friend sitting under the willow waiting for her, but his profile was scowling as the visible one eye swivelled to look at her. “Where have you been?” The angry roar made the birds fall silent in shock. “This is my dream and I shouldn’t have to sit here alone waiting hours to see you.” Avoiding her gaze, he turned away, but not before she’d seen a glimpse of bruising.
“What’s wrong with your face?”
“It’s bruised.”
“Have you been brawling with some Innkeeper over his bill?”
“At my age?” The words were bitter.
“Are you now preparing to live in a bath-chair?”
“You could offer some sympathy. I had an interview this morning. The reinstated heir expressed his gratitude for my largesse by punching me. When I refused to return the blow he called me a coward and hit me again. I could have wrung his neck with my bare hands. I’m no coward!” Pain filled eyes swung back towards her. “He said if I wasn’t in my dotage he’d have called me out for ruining his family’s honour…as if his family ever had any honour to ruin, the trumped up snivelling little worm.”
“I wouldn’t have said you were in your dotage.” His head snapped towards her, the anger fading on seeing her smile.
“I’m thirty-seven not seventy-seven and I’m in no mood to be teased about looking half-dead.”
“You don’t look half-dead to me Geoffrey. Your colouring is much improved and you look like you’ve been eating. I think…” She cast an admiring glance over his person. “…I think you’re looking very much alive.”
“She admits it; she finds me attractive.”
“I didn’t say that…”
“Your delicious pink cheeks give you away.” The humiliations of the day were forgotten as his eyes glinted with that boyish smile tinged with longing. “One of these days you’re going to wake up and find you’re wrapped so tight around my finger you won’t be able to imagine life without me.”
“Did you want to talk about the interview?”
“Changing the subject won’t help you Sunshine. One day you’ll be mine.”
What would he do if he knew the day had already come and gone? She sat down beside him and leaned against him. “I’m proud of you Geoffrey, but you don’t need to let people hurt you.”
“I was on one knee. It’s not a position conducive to self-defence.”
“You walked out of that room the better man. Besides, I don’t think thirty-seven is very old.”
“You don’t?” His voice sounded hopeful as Tolerance jumped up and looked down, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“No, but thirty-eight sounds positively ancient.”
She backed away laughing at his exaggerated expression of offence. “Do you know what I’m going to do when I catch you?”
“If you can catch me you’ll do what?”
“I’m going to demonstrate just how young my lips are…” He was on his feet and running after her. When they were pulled out of the dream garden back into the real world they were both laughing as they opened their eyes to meet the morning sunlight, but several days later Tolerance received a letter from her friend reminding her that the bruises on her dream Geoffrey’s face were still healing.
My dear tolerant friend,
How I wish you were sitting across from me. I wouldn’t have to fend off murderous inclinations with pen and paper, these vexing instruments of torture. I’ve already snapped two quills. I’d much rather have your kind ear to bend, but no, perhaps it’s better this way. In my present mood I would not be a suitable companion for an angel. The latest reinstated heir didn’t find my charity in any way agreeable. I’m so angry I can barely see straight, but you’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t kill the ungrateful worm. The young jackanapes sneered at my offering of one year’s income in cash on top of the deeds to his father’s gambled estate as if they were his due and then had the nerve to ask me if I’d spent the previous seven years income on…something not fit for your lovely eyes to read, blast his impudence. I didn’t have to give the property back to the family. The least he could do was keep his mouth shut. Forgive me dearest friend for ranting. Normally I’d have called him out. I find it inexplicably irritating to know that if I killed the worm the ache in my chest would not only become unbearable, but that you’d… The worm has no idea how much he owes you. I hope the next one won’t be so blasted hateful. I haven’t felt so humiliated since I learned my Father had convinced the surrounding shires that I was mentally unsound. I�
��d been looking forward to being allowed to call on certain young lady. Oddly, after twenty years I still crave the same thing only this time the lady is an angel instead of a snotty self important hussy.
I may return to London for a few weeks and vent my spleen in a more constructive manner. There are a few rooms I need to refresh in The Ancient House, my bachelor abode. You may not see me, but I hope to catch a glimpse of you enjoying the remains of the summer. I promise I won’t alarm your neighbours by skulking in the evening shadows, no matter how tempting.
I hope you’ll forgive my impudent hypocrisy, but I pray you’ll be cautious of whom you allow into your home or who you agree to dance with. Some of the vilest men have the purest reputations. I’d give you a list of malefactors only my name would come at the top. Now I feel even worse. I wish you were here or I was there, however, I am sincerely grateful that I can write this letter and know that you’ll still be my friend after reading it.
Sincerely your most obedient servant,
Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson
Her hands shook as she read the letter for the second time. She wanted to pack her trunks and race to his side. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t go anywhere; she didn’t know where he was. He might be in London or the West of Wales. He was anywhere but close enough to comfort. She glanced at the clock. There was still time to write a letter before visitors might call. Pouring out her heart onto the paper she hoped it would find him quickly. Sending a footman off with the sealed letter she closed the library door behind her and took up her embroidery in her main reception room. Pushing her thread and needle in and out of the linen, she was lost in a daydream of her friend. He was probably in Cornwall or worse, Orkney in Northern Scotland. It could take weeks for her letter to reach his hands. She blinked back tears and reminded herself that Geoffrey was a grown man who’d survived years without a nursemaid. Her heart jumped as the sound of the door knocker echoed up the stairs. It’s not Geoffrey…it’s not Geoffrey. Mentally reciting the words she strained her ears in hope. She could hear a faint haughty feminine voice. The Butler soon appeared, but without his usual tray.
“Lady Sophia Grayson wishes to know if you are receiving callers Madam.” Lady Sophia had barely acknowledged her existence since Geoffrey’s first visit. Tolerance smiled in relief and shoved her embroider behind a cushion. Absorbed in wondering what to say that might convince her acquaintance that she wasn’t chasing Geoffrey’s title; she missed the sound of three pairs of shoes ascending to the first floor. She stood up when the Butler stepped back into the room and announced, “Lady Sophia Grayson and Mr Thomas Grayson to see you Madam.” Lady Sophia’s black haired beauty was perfectly foiled by the handsome blonde man at her side. Grayson was taller than his brother by three inches with broad shoulders and large muscles. Up close one could see the signs of ageing and dissipation on his face, but from across the room he could have been thirty. This was the man the late Duke of Lyndhurst had wanted Geoffrey to be. Suppressing a shiver of sadness she couldn’t help comparing the brothers as Grayson stepped forward and took her hand, pressing his dry lips to her hand. “Please sit down.” The man sat next to her on the sofa as if they were intimates while his sister sat a few feet away looking at her brother with adoration.
“Has our ugly brother called on you recently?”
Tolerance turned her attention to Lady Sophia, swallowing the impulse to defend Geoffrey’s looks. “No, why?”
“Mrs Spencer…” Grayson leaned closer, glancing at her bosom. “…do you expect us to believe that our besotted brother hasn’t been visiting his only friend? I find that remarkable. Perhaps he’s found another…friend to replace you?”
“Geoffrey is only my friend.” She blushed at the slip. “Who your brother visits is his own concern.”
“Geoffrey? That is a familiar address for a mere friend.” Grayson’s sneering amusement made her hand itch to slap his face. “Poor Geoffrey, he’s doomed to die a frustrated man and he probably doesn’t even know it. Take care Madam, ladies of the ton sometimes consent to marry wealthy highborn bastards like me, but Dukes do not marry social inferiors, like you.”
Truth made a very sharp dagger. Tolerance blinked away tears barely retaining control over her features as her insides twisted in agony. “Have you come to be offensive Mr Grayson or might there be some other purpose to your visit?”
His eyes widened as if she’d mistaken some innocent phrase. “I beg your pardon Mrs Spencer, I meant no offence. I merely meant to save you the heartache of falling in love with our woeful sibling. A woman such as yourself, well known for her tolerance, doesn’t deserve to die of a broken heart.”
“It’s very kind of you to consider the fate of my internal organs Mr Grayson, but I assure you that I am in no such danger.”
His mocking smile twisted the knife. “That is a relief. I could have sworn the last time I saw you with Geoffrey that your heart had been removed from your exquisite chest and pinned to his ill-fitting sleeve.”
“Well, if that’s why you’ve come, I’m glad I could set your mind at ease. His sleeve is quite free of pins…that I know of.”
Grayson ignored her broad dismissal, “Actually Mrs Spencer, there was something we wished to ask you. We’ve been hearing odd reports of our brother. We were hoping Geoffrey had explained to you the purpose of dragging the Grayson name and fortune through the mire.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What? Hasn’t our brother confided his eccentric activities to his only friend? Well, this is a most alarming development. Perhaps against all the odds he has found another woman, I mean friend, who can bear the sight of him.” This time his blow was unsuccessful. Whatever Geoffrey might not be, he was still her friend and the square of paper tucked in her pocket proved it. “We’ve heard reports that our brother is giving away money and properties. The families try to keep it hushed, but it’s rather obvious when Lady Big-bottom is rescued from her cousin’s kitchen and resumes being Lady of a home lately owned by our brother. Cynics might say that the woman has likely paid a dear price for her property, but when she’s a haggard old dame with the sexual appeal of a Billy goat I think we can discount even Geoffrey being that desperate, at least not until he’s lost all his means of purchasing…friends.” Staring her opponent in the eyes, Tolerance began mentally counting backwards from ten thousand. “What, no tender hearted professions of how our pestilent brother is chewing a new leaf? Fess up Mrs Spencer, what’s the lunatic up to?”
Tolerance stared Grayson in the eyes amazed at how the same sky blue eyes could look so cold and overcast. “If you wish to know your brother’s mind, I suggest you write and ask him to explain his actions. If he wishes you to know, he’ll take you into his confidence.”
“Really Mrs Spencer, how dare you address my brother in such an ill-bred manner?”
“If you do not find my company agreeable my Lady perhaps you should visit someone else?”
“Come Thomas, this room reeks of social-death.”
Tolerance rose with the other two and politely endured their scorn as they sailed from the room. Her hand shook as she pulled the bell to summon a servant. “Unless the Duke of Lyndhurst calls, I’m indisposed. I’ll have luncheon on a tray in my chamber.”
The French ornamental clock in her chamber ticked the day away as she composed letters in her head asking Geoffrey to visit. He’d come, but the man was probably in the middle of locating a difficult name on the list. Simply wanting to see him wasn’t a good enough reason to disturb his quest for peace. She tried to forget Mr Grayson’s painful words, but she was resolved to face the truth. Geoffrey might enjoy her friendship and desire to share her bed, but that didn’t mean he’d ever ask her to marry him. She tried to comfort herself by looking at the situation from a sensible perspective. Outside the fact Geoffrey was destined to marry a debutante whose ancestors had been suitably rewarded for serving some dead King, she didn’t really want to put herself in the power of any man. As a w
idow she was free to live her life as she pleased. Marriage, even to a man who appeared to be good, would give her husband the legal right to beat her until she obeyed. Her heart wanted to be held in Geoffrey’s arms, her lips wanted to return his kisses, but the thought of being legally at his mercy brought painful flashbacks. If she was wrong about Geoffrey, if he was in any way like Charles Spencer…the thought made her feel sick. Charles Spencer had been enraged to learn her heart belonged to another. Her inability to reveal the name of her knight in pale blue velvet and refusal to describe the man had led her husband to contrive humiliations that ensured the servants viewed her as little more than a whore. During the darkest hours she imagined her hero had received her silent cries for help and was galloping to her rescue. If she made it through the day he’d arrive to take her away to safety. On seeing her husband’s body carried into the house she half expected a man in blue velvet to enter in behind the servants and ask her if she required any other assistance. It was no use lying to herself. There was only one man she’d marry and it was pointless wondering what-if.