by Cari Hislop
I’ve answered your questions on the second sheet. If you need any further details do not hesitate to ask for them. Of course I forgive you, but I daren’t yet trust you. We all make mistakes, but I can not make the mistake of choosing to marry a man who’d hurt me. I have to think of my son’s wellbeing and any other child I bring into the world. I’m sorry if this hurts you. I pray for you as I’ve always done.
Sincerely,
Tolerance
Geoffrey’s sinews tightened as anger hardened his heart. He’d wanted a concrete promise that he’d see her again. He wanted to be told that she’d give him another chance, preferably within the week. He wanted an invitation to call on her in person. He set down the letter and took a deep breath and decided he wasn’t going to get angry and he wasn’t going to get discouraged. He picked up the letter and read it again slowly. She admitted that she loved him and they weren’t the words of a woman who didn’t want to be in love. Geoffrey’s mind was suddenly illuminated; all he had to do was become a man she could trust, but how? He could barely remember the innocent boy who’d arrived in London desperate for love. He tucked unpleasant memories away and read the letter again. She’d called him her knight in pale blue velvet in the dream garden as well; that was a strange coincidence. He folded the letter and locked it away. He’d write her in the morning when he’d be in a brighter frame of mind after spending time with his dream angel.
The house seemed quiet even with all the servants running about preparing for the night. He wandered down stairs to the library and looked at the shelves. In the end he settled in front of the fire with a glass of port. The smell of leather and dust covered books was almost comforting as he stared at the flames planning what he’d do the next day. There was someone he needed to see, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. His thoughts drifted back to his friend. He smiled as he wondered what sort of dreams the angel had of him. Hopefully they made her wake up longing to be held in his real arms. The clock struck twelve as he pulled himself out of the chair; his stiff knees creaking all the way to his bedroom. Was he too old for a young wife? His heart disagreed.
Geoffrey found his dream angel sitting on the grass sunning her ankles, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting ages.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and remained standing, “That’s the problem with falling in love with a libertine; he’s bound to have many bad habits. There’s no need to look heartbroken Sunshine. I was sitting in front of the fire, all alone, thinking of you. Now my angel blushes.”
“Really Geoffrey, must you tease?”
“If it means I get to see you blush. Walk with me. I want to ask you a few questions.”
She took his offered hand and stood with a smile. “The demanding Duke has returned.” She tucked her hand around the crook of his offered arm and leaned against him. “What sort of questions?”
“I received your letter this evening. I know this is just a dream and you’re not really real, but you seem to know what my angel thinks. I wanted to ask you about the past. You knew that she called me a knight in pale blue velvet…how odd is that? What’s wrong Sunshine?”
Tolerance stared at him in disbelief. “You repeated something in your letter from a dream as well. I found it extremely peculiar.”
“What did I repeat?”
“The part where you said you’d been tempted to offer for me as a child bride. I thought that so strange. How could someone dream that and then read it in a letter? What if this was real? What if we were really meeting in a dream garden? What would you do?”
Geoffrey’s come-hither smile made his angel blush again. “If this were real I’d tell you how I long to hear you laughing in my arms. I’d tell you that I love you and that I wished we’d wed last year.” Geoffrey reached out and caressed her cheek. “Can you imagine how I’d have reacted on waking up to find I’d lost four years and gained a wife?”
“No doubt you’d have used a few unseemly words on finding yourself legally saddled with an ugly stranger.”
“My head was throbbing. I felt beastly; I really only thought you plain not ugly, but only because I hadn’t yet seen you smile. That last night when I woke up and found you next to my bed, you smiled at me and I swear it stole my heart and there it is again; wrapping me in your invisible sunlight.”
“You’re the one with the blue silken web Geoffrey Grayson. You kissed my hand once and my heart was ensnared forever.”
“Good…come a little closer and let me ensnare you some more.” Laughter filled the garden as he demonstrated his web spinning skills by nibbling her ear.
“What if you lose your memory again? What would you do if I married you and then one day you woke up to find a plain wife in your bed and a nursery filled with children?”
Geoffrey’s held her tighter, “When you marry me, if I ever convince you to trust me with your person, I’ll write myself a letter and if I wake up and say, ‘Who the blazes are you?’ you can roll out of bed and fetch the letter. Hopefully I won’t say anything too vile before I read my own handwriting instructing me to ask you to smile at me.” Geoffrey tightened his arms around her waist and lightly kissed her neck. “If you choose me I promise you’ll never regret waking up in my arms.”
“How do I know you won’t hurt me?”
“Have I ever made you feel afraid for the safety of your person?”
“No, but I know what you’re capable of.”
“The hell-spawn who entered your life and won your trust; I’m the same man.”
“I’ve never thought you a hell-spawn Geoffrey.”
“That’s because you’re an angel. If you were a real woman you’d never have spoken to me let alone allowed me the privilege of calling you friend. I know because I used to frighten myself every time I looked in a mirror.”
Tolerance looked up at smiling eyes and burst out laughing at his expression. “You’ve never frightened me.”
“I rest my case. You should marry me as soon as possible before heaven realises you’re missing.” Tolerance blushed as the pale blue eyes filled with a heated expression she knew too well. “May I kiss you? I promise my hands will avoid your lovely curves, though I confess I may possess your lips longer than is considered polite.” She offered no resistance to his triumphant smile.
Chapter 23
Two weeks later Tolerance woke up laughing again. Her dream Geoffrey continued to surprise her. She lay there savouring the moment he paused in the middle of a humorous story to gently tuck a tulip behind her ear, the look in his eyes making her limbs feel like shaped pats of butter. She stretched and rolled over to find herself alone. Her son had settled in the Nursery upstairs, there was a quiet in her room that felt unnatural. She longed to hear someone breathing, snoring or whispering tender words, but just because her dream Geoffrey was intent on recapturing her heart by trying to change it didn’t mean the flesh and blood version had any such intentions. It was a depressing thought.
She still hadn’t heard a word back from the man. She’d been scanning the papers since she’d left London, but other than a respectful jaunt to the theatre with his family, a mention that he’d been seen dancing with several respectable widows, and the unlikely story that he’d paraded with his sister and cousin Bamford around Hyde park in a barouche; there was not even a whisper of ill-behaviour. The fact he’d been dancing with wealthy widows made her feel ill, but there was nothing unreasonable about it. He wasn’t engaged. He was free to court any woman who took his fancy. She finished her morning chocolate and threw the paper onto the bed with disgust. She wanted information, not hearsay. She wanted to know what he was doing, thinking, feeling. Grey clouds rumbled into her head as thunder and lightning crashed into her heart. She had to prepare herself for the inevitable. The thought made her want to scream, but she bit her lip and took a deep breath instead and tried to persuade herself that it would be for the best. Her heart ached as another flash of lightning reminded her that Geoffrey marrying some other woman would not be for the
best.
Several hours later she’d finished her breakfast and was looking at the fashion plates that had arrived that morning when there was a soft knock on the door. “Beg pardon Madam, but there’s a gentleman from London. He’s presented a card for the Duke of Lyndhurst. I’ve left him on the front steps like you ordered.” Tolerance gulped down her excitement and forcibly reminded herself that she’d asked him not to come in person. The man had nerve, but then rake-hells by definition were impudent. “Show him to the blue room and inform Peter and Paul that I wish them to stand inside the room until the gentleman takes his leave.” Tolerance sat and tried to collect her shattered nerves. Just knowing the man was so close made her giddy with pleasure. She wished she’d put on something a little brighter. She’d taken to wearing black again; it felt comfortable. The heavy satin swished around her legs making her feel protected, almost invisible. She sailed into the large room with her head high her eyes bright with excitement, but stopped abruptly. The man was a stranger with a large flat leather folder under his arm and a leather satchel at his feet. The man bowed respectfully and pulled a small odd shaped wrapped package from the folder.
“Mrs Spencer?” She nodded that she was. “The Duke of Lyndhurst has charged me to deliver this safely into your hands…” The words sent a hot pink glaze over her pale cheeks. He hadn’t forgotten her after all. She took the package clutched it to her stomach. “…and he wishes me to beg you to allow me to sketch your portrait for him. I’m to await your instructions.”
In the privacy of her library, the door closed, she fell onto the nearest chair and proceeded to gently open the package. The pale blue paper peeled away to reveal the back of a framed picture with the words, ‘Thinking of my Angel’ scrawled in a familiar hand and a letter underneath secured with several large blobs of sealing wax. She turned the picture over and held her breath; it was a pastel miniature of Geoffrey with his come hither smile dressed in a coat of pale blue velvet. It was the rake-hell, but there was a hint of the vulnerable boy about his eyes. After several long minutes of staring at the image she freed the letter and smoothed out the single sheet.
Dearest Angel,
I beg you to keep my portrait and remember the better me whenever it catches your eye. Tolerance felt her heart freeze. Was this his way of saying goodbye? Had one of the wealthy widows caught more than his eye? She refocused misty eyes on the shaking page. As I sat for the painting I contemplated the miracle of waking up and finding my angel lying asleep next to me as my wife. Tolerance sighed with relief and read on. I came to the conclusion that I would probably faint from rapture before I could even reach out a hand to see if you were real.
I don’t know why I allow myself to dream of being your husband; I have a better chance of being crowned King of France. Every evening as the sun hides behind the edge of the city my thoughts drift towards the temptation of ordering my carriage and setting out in search of your door. If I thought for one whole minute you’d actually see me I’d be on the road before I finished dressing. I’d probably forget my shoes. Would my angel accept me in my stocking feet?
I’ve attended several balls and soirees, but London is deadly dull. I now know what a well dowered debutante must feel like when hounded by fortune hunters. I have become a desirable catch since my miraculous transformation. People who once openly snubbed me now grovel and ingratiate themselves as if I’d forgotten the past twenty years. It makes my blood boil. I’m trying very hard not to say vile things, but I’m afraid at times my temper gets the better of me. When the widowed Lady Spelsbury fell into my arms with all the studied art of a stone garden nymph I wasn’t thinking anything repeatable for angelic eyes. When I was seventeen I thought her the loveliest creature I’d ever seen, curse my youthful heart. The last time I courted her attention by bowing and wishing her good morning she laughed at my ill fitting clothes and loudly hissed to her companions that in her mother’s opinion my pale blue eyes were the mark of the devil.
The other evening I was tempted to let her fall on her backside, but I caught her in my arms and said, ‘Why Lady Spelsbury, imagine meeting again after all these years. It’s quite remarkable; you don’t look any older than forty-five. I understand you’re searching for a son-in-law for that pretty young thing over there.’ She nearly fainted as it sank in that my memory wasn’t as deteriorated as she hoped.
I’m trying to be what my Angel would call good, but I fear I’m failing miserably. Only yesterday I was out shopping to find a ruby for my future Duchess and was attacked by an old woman who turned out to be some ancient Grayson relation. She blocked my way for five minutes and loudly censured my taste. Apparently being related to a man who likes wearing the colour of the sky is a trial. I responded by informing her that I was proposing a new law to the House of Lords that would legalise executing old ladies who wore fashions more than twenty years out of date. I don’t know which hurt more, being stabbed in the ribs with her umbrella or knowing how disappointed you’d be with me for my unkind words.
I didn’t find a suitable ruby either. I was very irritated, but I will find a stone and then I shall commission the ring. I know exactly what I want it to look like. Four miniature winged cherubs will hold the stone in their arms as they float over a silver filigreed loop. I hope my future Duchess will approve; if only she could approve of me I wouldn’t feel so melancholy. Some days, when my head hurts, I lie in bed and stare at the walls and think vile thoughts about the people who attacked me. Because of them I’m sitting here all alone wondering where you are and if you miss me as much as I miss you. When I think how I spent nearly two years without touching you or speaking with you it makes me break into a cold sweat. I dread the thought of being deprived of your sunlight for even another month. Please reconsider granting me the privilege of visiting in person. I promise I’ll endeavour to be a gentleman and refrain from doing or saying anything remotely vile. I long for your company, but if you won’t allow me the privilege of visiting you I pray you’ll have pity on me and agree to let my messenger, Mr Williams, sketch you. I’ve asked him to capture as many different expressions as possible. If you’ll tell him how long you’re willing to sit he shall work within those constraints. For pity sake forget that awful command to address me as Your Grace. Reading it fills my heart with rain clouds. I would deem it the greatest honour if you’d use my Christian name; just remembering the sound of it on your lips makes my heart waltz in my chest.
With the said blackened heart in my mouth I remain your humbled obedient servant,
Geoffrey
Her eyes were drawn back towards the picture of her friend. Could it be true? Could he really be trying to change?
Chapter 24
Geoffrey lay in bed staring at the dark blue silk canopy above; the emptiness of his arms was almost as uncomfortable as the throbbing in his head. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was back at the Ancient House waiting for his angel to return to smooth his sheets and check on her patient. A soft knock on the door interrupted his daydream just as his imaginary angel was bending over him to caress his forehead, “What is it?” He clutched his head as his loud words echoed painfully through his skull. The door quietly opened and the footman tip toed to the bedside. “You wished to be informed of Mr Williams’s arrival Your Grace. We’ve put him in your study.”
Geoffrey flushed with pleasure and rolled out of bed. “My robe. Quick! Blast my aching head!” The footman disappeared as Geoffrey struggled into his robe. His heart lurched in his chest as negative thoughts swirled into his brain like poison. What if Williams only had a message saying she was returning his miniature? What if she refused to be sketched? What if she’d sent him a message to go to the devil? What if…? Geoffrey sat back down on the edge of his bed and took several long deep breaths. He was going to end up in Bedlam chattering to invisible angels if he wasn’t careful. He found Williams respectfully standing in front of his desk ogling his ruby glass paperweight, but Geoffrey’s eyes were drawn to the open portfolio o
n the desk.
“Pray forgive my dust Your Grace; I understood you wanted to see the sketches as soon as possible. If I’d known you were ill…” The artist nervously bit his lip as his sickly patron carefully picked up the pile of drawings and took them to the window without a word.
Williams nearly jumped out of his skin when the tall slender man spoke with a soft wet growl. “Tell me everything! Did she accept my gift? Did she look happy?”
Williams ogled the wide gaunt shoulders and gulped down his fear. The Devil was hardly going to shoot him for accomplishing his task. “Well…I was shown to a large comfortable drawing room. I particularly liked the way the colours of the sofa were reflected…”