Redeeming a Rake

by Cari Hislop

“Like what?”

  “I do not know Mrs Spencer intimately Your Grace. I could not tell you what would impress her. Perhaps if you read through her letters something might come to you.”

  ***

  A few hours later Geoffrey was shaved, bathed and ready to face the world. With a full stomach he ventured out in search of something for his angel. Half way through the fruitless morning he entered a shop and was forced to stop behind three young women blocking the passage as they argued over which ceramic tea service to buy for their mother. After several tedious minutes he loudly cleared his throat drawing six wide eyes in his direction. They were three beautiful young ladies who shared the same curly brown hair. Giggles filled the shop as they moved to let him pass. Geoffrey suddenly wondered what his angel’s younger sister looked like. When was the last time she’d seen her sisters? He stopped so abruptly the large woman behind him jostled him into a table full of porcelain sending several pieces smashing onto the floor. The entire shop turned to stare at the clumsy man who looked like an angel of death in a long flowing black caped coat. On being informed of the identity and reputation of his careless customer, the shop owner bowed low and begged The Duke of Lyndhurst to disregard the broken pieces. Geoffrey’s pale cheeks looked rouged as he paid for the broken items and then majestically escaped the whispers and stares.

  Outside in the sunshine his thoughts returned to his angel. He knew she had two sisters. The older one was married, but the younger one was still at home. He stopped mid-step on the busy parade and was nearly pushed off his feet by several young bucks strutting down the centre loudly arguing over the most pleasurable way to celebrate a birthday. His eyes narrowed in irritation as he gripped his stick and loudly cursed them to hell, but they were too engaged in their conversation to notice his rage. He muttered under his breath on the general decline of manners and rudeness of youth in particular and hurried home haunted by thoughts of his fast approaching fortieth birthday. Geoffrey knew exactly what he wanted to be doing on his birthday, but the closest he’d come to making love to his angel would be sitting in his study staring at her portrait feeling morose. The fact his sister’s wedding had been planned for the same day didn’t help. The house would be bursting with wedding guests. He grimaced at the thought. He’d have no peace for days with blonde Graysons and black haired Strattons cluttering up every corner. The Ancient House with all its ghosts almost appeared a tempting alternative. He was handing the footman his gloves and hat when the whole plan erupted into his head. He knew exactly how he was going to spend his birthday.

  The footmen shivered with dread as their master laughed quietly for no apparent reason. They could only assume some unlucky person had felt his wrath. For all of Geoffrey’s changed ways, weeks in bed with the curtains drawn had taken a toll on his looks. His face was an unhealthy pallor with lavender circles framing his eyes. He always ate at least two large meals a day, but his slender frame was losing muscle from lack of exercise. With his black hair slowly being replaced by grey strands and pain etching new lines into his face, he looked every inch a devil.

  “Have the kitchen send a tray to my study and tell Hawkings I wish to see him as soon as it is convenient…please.” Servants scurried in several directions as they hurried to placate their devilish master. His tone of voice made it clear he didn’t wish to wait till anyone felt it remotely convenient. Scowling in irritation, Geoffrey stopped a passing maid and asked if the Duchess was at home.

  “I believe she’s in her parlour with the housekeeper Your Grace.”

  “Thank you…” Geoffrey stopped himself from rebuking the young wench. He’d already loudly instructed the housekeeper several times that the maids were to cease looking at him like he was going to eat them. His dream of being married included the angel convincing the female staff that he wasn’t going to ravish them. He pushed thoughts of his angel away and knocked once on his mother’s closed door before opening it. He was ignored as his mother continued giving instructions to the cook and housekeeper. Geoffrey conquered the urge to demand immediate attention and politely sat down to wait as his mother’s voice rose and fell. A bitter taste filled his mouth; she spoke more kindly to her cook then her own son. Twenty minutes later the servants closed the door leaving him alone with his mother. Jumping out of his seat he leaned over her desk and drummed his fingers as he waited to be acknowledged.

  “Are you a duke or a dustman? Stop making that din. Have you come in here to make a noise or did you want something?”

  “Good morning Duchess, as always it’s such a pleasure to be in your company.”

  “If you must snarl at someone hire a whore. At least she’ll have remuneration at the end of her ordeal.”

  “Why can’t you be pleasant to me for once? All you had to say is, ‘Oh it’s you Lyndhurst. I’ve noticed you’ve been ill. I hope you’re feeling better today.’ Then I could be civil and say, ‘My head does feel better today Madam, thank you.’ Someone nearly bashed my skull in. You could at least pretend to care.”

  “If you want my pity, you’ll have to wait at the end of a long line of more deserving cases.”

  “I shouldn’t be at the end of any line, I’m your son.”

  “I’m unlikely to forget it after twenty-two painful hours in childbed.”

  “You didn’t always hate me. I remember you holding me in the nursery. I remember father pulling me out of your arms and throwing me at the nurse. Why did you marry him? Did you think being a Duchess would compensate for being chained to a monster?”

  His mother finally turned to look at him, her angry brown eyes filled with pain. “I married him because I loved him, but his virgin bride was too frigid for his liking. I didn’t know he was planning to petition parliament for a divorce until after I gave birth to a boy with pale blue eyes. His plan to hire several impoverished friends to testify that I’d known them all in the biblical sense about the time the child was conceived was ruined. He couldn’t refute being the father of a child with his peculiar eyes, so he was stuck with me. He beat me every time he learned I’d shown you any affection. When that didn’t stop me from spending time in the nursery he started hitting my baby. I ignored you to protect you. I’m sorry Lyndhurst, but I’ve ignored you too long to start mothering you now. I did what I could; I begged my mother to leave her fortune to my beautiful boy through a trustee who wouldn’t be bought off or frightened by your father. She offered to give you a home, but when your father found out he threatened to kill me. My mother wouldn’t put my life in danger.” Geoffrey stared at his mother in disbelief as she quickly regained control of her emotions.

  “That bastard!”

  “Don’t be vulgar. Was there something you wanted or did you crave cosseting?”

  “All these years…I thought you hated me.”

  “By the time your father was dead it was too late. My beautiful boy had taken to vice like a rat to the gutter. There was nothing left to love.”

  “I’m trying to change. I don’t want to be a rat in the gutter.” His mother raised an eyebrow and continued dipping her pen in the inkwell. “Mrs Spencer believes I can change.”

  “She is eminently tolerant. Now if there’s nothing else I have letters to write.”

  “I wish to celebrate my fortieth birthday with a ball and supper.”

  “On the day of your sisters wedding? Don’t be absurd.”

  “The house will already be crowded with bored family members. If Sophia isn’t beginning her wedding tour till the following morning make it a wedding ball. I only have one friend.”

  “Very well, let me know the particulars and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you.” His mother bent over her letter silently dismissing him. He closed the door behind him and continued to his study. Finding Hawkings waiting patiently made Geoffrey scowl. He wanted to be alone to think. He quickly dispatched his long-suffering secretary on another seemingly impossible mission to rescue Tolerance’s younger sister and sat staring at the large p
ile of letters from numerous stewards. One was complaining about a neighbour hunting partridge in the half grown corn with a large pack of dogs while another was bemoaning the river running through the estate. He couldn’t get enough men to clear it properly and was worried about seven cottages being flooded. In another letter the tenants renting the Hall were complaining the roof needed repairs. Normally Geoffrey could draw up a mental map of any property he owned with a list of accompanying attributes of acreage, annual rent rates, suitable crop rotations, how much he’d spent on the property in the past and how much profit he was likely to have at the end of the year if the harvests were good, but his mental catalogue was in complete disarray. Hawkings had given him a list of all the properties he’d returned to their original owners, but some of them he couldn’t remember ever owning. It made his brain hurt to think about it. As soon as he was healthy enough he desperately needed to tour his estates and make a new mental list, preferably with a tolerant wife in tow. His ability to remember almost everything he learned and then calculate the odds of any given event had received a severe blow. His head hurt just thinking about trying to think.

  He rubbed his eyes and set about attacking the pile of letters that would only get bigger if he went back to bed and pulled a pillow over his head. Three hours later he was nearly done when there was a knock on the door. He glared at the unseen hand, but made an effort to swallow his irritation. With his luck the kitchens were on fire. “Come!” The door quietly opened and closed despite the unwelcoming roar. Geoffrey looked up from signing his name and dropped his quill in surprise. “Duchess?”

  He held his breath as she silently inspected the changes to the room, her eyes resting on the framed sketch of his friend lying on his desk waiting to be picked up and admired.

  “I understand she rejected your offer of marriage.”

  “Mrs Spencer has no desire to become the property of another thoughtless tyrant.”

  His mother turned to look him in the eyes, silently acknowledging the pain in his voice. “I see.”

  “After she politely refused me I insulted her. I was angry because I knew she would have married me before I had my head bashed in. She banished me. I have to change or she won’t have anything to do with me. I thought if I had a ball on my birthday she might come if only for the other Geoffrey. She loves him…the me I can’t remember.”

  “I’m sorry. That must hurt.”

  “It does.” Silence deadened the room as Geoffrey strained his brain trying to think of something to say. “Are we having guests for dinner?”

  “Thomas is back from Italy, he sent a note this morning that he’d join us for dinner.”

  “Do we have to feed him?”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “He’s a fiend!”

  “He longs for your acceptance. He’s a first born son with no birthright or even legal entitlement to his name. You should at least pity him; we’re all the family he has. His mother’s people will never acknowledge him. Heaven forbid they should admit they spawned a brazen hussy who preferred being a Duke’s whore to a Duchess. Your father begged her to marry him, but she preferred her freedom. I don’t think she loved him. It probably amused her to have a duke in her pocket. Poor Thomas, he looked forward to being presented into Society. He was sure that his mother’s people would love him once they met him. When I introduced him as their grandson they stared past him and refused to acknowledge his existence. They broke his heart with a cut direct. Thomas couldn’t speak or eat for a week and then went wild with rage. I’m surprised he didn’t kill them.”

  “If Thomas wants a family he can go make one.”

  “He’s tried. He’s not as young or handsome as he once was and he’s spent most of his money on that draughty castle he calls Rochester’s Ruin. He doesn’t have the funds to tempt the sort of young woman he feels a duke’s son deserves.”

  “My heart bleeds.”

  His mother raised a single eyebrow at his sarcastic words and returned her gaze to the portraits of his friend hanging on the wall. “I’ll never forget his little face when he first saw you. He was so excited to have a brother he kept petting your head. I was sure he’d rub all your hair off. He tried to become the man your father demanded, but Thomas has a gentle side. Give him a chance. He’s not your father.”

  “He polished the floor with my face too many times to deserve my pity.”

  “As I remember, Thomas didn’t go unscathed. At least he never tried to shove you out of an upper story window. If you’d succeeded, your father would have killed you.” She walked silently around the room allowing Geoffrey time to remember the day she’d smashed a family heirloom over his head. He’d always assumed she’d done it because she loved Thomas. She stopped back in front of his desk and stared him in the eyes. Geoffrey squirmed as his soul was examined in detail. Without another word she quietly left the room.

  Staring at the picture of his smiling angel he could almost hear her voice saying that he should do something kind for his brother. The thought made him scowl. He didn’t want to do anything for his brother. Did the smile in the picture suddenly fade into a slight frown? He was seeing things. His head pounding he abandoned his study and escaped to his bed where he tried to sleep the afternoon away without success. Lying in bed, he watched the clock’s hands slowly travel from number to number as the hours inched their way into oblivion until his stomach insisted he dress for dinner.

  Footmen stood beside the open drawing room doors, sentinels at a portal into a living nightmare. Geoffrey’s immediate view of the room placed his mother, several old harpies and an antique dandy straight ahead in the middle of the room on four sofas that formed a square. The dandy creaked as he turned to examine Geoffrey through a monocle. Conquering the compulsion to run to the fireplace and pretend to ignore the room he formally bowed in the direction of the sofa. “Good evening Duchess, Auntie, Cousin, Cousin.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thomas, standing near the piano with Sophia and Bamford, turn to look in his direction. Geoffrey ignored the larger man and tried to pretend he was politely listening to the older people.

  “Cousin? Honestly! The youth of today…”

  “My son has forgotten that one doesn’t address a peer in that familiar manner.”

  The ageing dandy pulled out his snuff box and put a pinch on the back of his hand.

  “I heard…sniff…that he’s…sniff…forgotten the last…sniff…twenty years.”

  “Can you imagine Clarence…waking up thinking you’re twenty, looking in the mirror and seeing Lyndhurst’s face?”

  “I would…sniff…be damnably upset seeing…sniff…that face in my mirror!”

  Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed as he forcibly reigned in his temper. “How blessed both of you are not to have to ever endure such torment. However, you’re mistaken; I’ve only forgotten the last four years.”

  “How unromantic…sniff…I prefer to think…sniff…you’ve forgotten twenty.”

  “You have my permission to think what ever you like.”

  “Dem, I don’t need…sniff…your permission to think…sniff…Sir!” Geoffrey tensed as his brother joined the group.

  Three inches taller, Thomas looked down at Geoffrey and smiled; his contempt veneered with a kindly expression. “Ah, the prodigal son has returned to burrow back into the family nest. Did that hovel burn down or did your collection of pale blue breeches outgrow their chest of drawers?”

  One of the old ladies hid her snicker in a scented handkerchief as the ageing dandy guffawed. Geoffrey swallowed his angry retort and glared up into pale blue eyes. “My breeches are much obliged for your concern. As for my hovel, it’s free if you need a cheap place to rent.”

  Grayson opened his mouth to reply to the sarcastic jibe, but the footman announced the dinner’s first course was laid. Geoffrey sighed with relief as the family focused on filling their plates from the numerous dishes artfully arranged on the table, but as conversation resumed he was once again the main
topic. Thomas waited until Geoffrey was in the middle of chewing a particularly tough bit of beef to make his next attack. “What a tragedy that your usually excellent memory has failed you. It must be distressing to wake up and discover you’ve forgotten the only woman who’s ever loved you.” Geoffrey could only keep chewing as his anger simmered. “I understand Mrs Spencer has abandoned London for the country. I wonder what sort of delights could have drawn her away from the capitol. Perhaps she’s found a new friend?” Geoffrey swallowed his food and prepared to wage verbal war.