Redeeming a Rake (26 page)

“Thomas…” All eyes turned to look at the
Duchess. “…if you must antagonise your brother have the courtesy to
wait until he is in comparable health.” Geoffrey ogled his mother
in shock before turning to stare at his brother who looked equally
stunned by the unprecedented reproof.

“As you wish Madam, I had not realised he
was so delicate. May I ask my brother what sort of condition his
health is in? I would not wish to upset him.” The Duchess raised a
disbelieving eyebrow and continued gracefully eating her food.
Thomas dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned towards Geoffrey.
“Sophia sings your praises and now the Duchess defends you; if you
think I’m going to join the choir think again.” Geoffrey’s stunned
expression slowly transformed into one of keen amusement. “What’s
so funny?”

“I’ve always envied your lovely tenor.
Thomas looked at Geoffrey with suspicion. “It’s true, I’ve always
wished I could sing like you.” A warm feeling filled Geoffrey chest
as his older brother visibly struggled with the complement. He’d
never realised kindness could be so disarming.

“He’s right Thomas; you have a lovely
voice.” Sophia reached out to squeeze her brother’s arm. “It’s been
ages since we’ve heard you sing. Perhaps after dinner you’ll
perform a few songs? I’ll play for you.”

“Yes…sniff…let’s hear you sing; it’s better
than…sniff…picking our teeth.” Thomas looked more bewildered by the
attention. He scowled at his brother, but Geoffrey was smiling at
his food.

Geoffrey’s shoulders were almost relaxed
when his Aunt looked up from her apple tart. “Have you heard what
Lady Penelope has been saying? It’s utterly ridiculous of course,
but I suppose considering certain circumstances it might be
possible.” Geoffrey tensed back into a knot, his fork hanging in
midair as he was forcibly reminded of the previous day. “She says
Your Grace proposed yesterday afternoon and that she’s refused you.
I dare say you’re not the most virtuous of men, but she’s given a
rather lurid list of reasons for spurning a ducal coronet. We all
know about her brother of course, everyone knows you beat him
senseless; you probably spared the family destitution. I’m sure I
don’t know why she doesn’t thank you for it.”

“I did not ask her to marry me. I asked her
forgiveness for ruining her…family. Can we speak of something
else?”

“Why Geoffrey, you sound upset. Are you
afraid Mrs Spencer will learn of your many thoughtless
ejaculations? I remember hearing a rumour…”

“Thomas!” The Duchess had a steely look in
her eyes. “Geoffrey’s sins are not suitable topics for the dining
room when ladies are present. Perhaps you’ll tell us about your
travels? What did you think of Italy? Did you find a suitable pair
of tapestries?” She briefly met her son’s thankful gaze and
returned to her lemon ice. Thomas willingly shared some of his more
salubrious adventures, leaving Geoffrey to savour the sound of his
mother using his name in-between unpleasant memories of the
previous day. Standing abruptly, he excused himself. Strolling
through the hall towards the stairs he was approached by a footman
holding a letter.

“This arrived by special post while you were
sleeping Your Grace.” Geoffrey took the letter and bit back a
blistering reproof. He could have been reading his angel’s letter
instead of staring at the clock for hours. “Why the devil didn’t
you bring it to me?”

“The Duchess didn’t want your sleep
disturbed.” Geoffrey rushed up the stairs to his study feeling
giddy. Could his mother really care? He looked at the picture of
his smiling friend, took a deep breath and tore open the
letter.

Dearest Geoffrey,

Can my plain features bring anyone such
pleasure? If thoughts can be traced onto paper, I hope you can see
in my sketched eyes what I feel for my dearest friend. I’m sorry
your head is still hurting. I wish I could ease the pain. I can
only advise you not to do anything that will cause you extra pain.
Remember, yelling will only make your head ache and convince your
servants you’re a tyrant.

Could you possibly miss me more than I miss
you? I long to see your pale blue eyes; to have you close enough to
reach out and know that you’re not just a lovely dream. If you find
yourself in my corner of the Kingdom I’d be very pleased to receive
you. I have every faith that you’ll be a perfect gentleman. I pray
this letter reaches you quickly that I may have the honour of a
visit from my friend that much sooner.

Sincerely,

Tolerance

Geoffrey collapsed into his chair and
pressed his lips to the precious paper. He read the letter three
more times before accepting that she’d finally given him permission
to step back into her sunlight. The letter fell into his lap as he
stared at her picture. He could be on the road within the hour. The
cold emptiness in his chest was filling up with something warm,
something that made him smile. His birthday was four weeks away,
but there was the matter of his gift for Tolerance tying him to
London. If everything went well he hoped to sign the legal papers
making him her sister’s guardian as soon as they fell on his desk,
but he didn’t know when that would be. He bit his lip and wondered
if he could survive another four weeks in darkness. If he could
wait it might prove to her that he was changing, that he could
control his passions, but would she come to his ball? He folded her
letter and tucked it into a pocket. Picking up his quill, he held
it over the inkwell. He’d have a trunk packed just in case…no he’d
have the carriage waiting. If she didn’t attend his birthday ball,
he’d be on the road before the clock struck nine. With the decision
made all he had to do was invite her and hope that she’d attend.
His quill scratched across the paper until he felt he’d said
everything he could say. His signet pressed into the cooling wax
sealed his future with hope.

Clutching the letter, Geoffrey returned
downstairs and placed it in the footman’s hand, “I want this sent
off first thing in the morning by an express postal coach.” The
servant respectfully bowed, but as soon as Geoffrey turned his back
the letter was tossed on top of the large pile of letters and
forgotten as the footman rushed to complete his nightly chores.

Geoffrey sauntered back into the drawing
room where his brother and sister were singing a duet. Catching his
mother’s eye, he nodded his head in acknowledgement. Smiling he sat
down and half listened to the music as he daydreamed of his
birthday ball. He clapped politely with the other listeners as the
musical entertainment finished and accepted a cup of chocolate from
the footman.

Even his brother sitting down opposite
couldn’t dilute his bliss. “Geoffrey’s been sipping some sort of
happy-potion while we finished dinner. I hope you don’t smile at
your friend like that, it makes you look like something out of a
nightmare.”

“Did you receive your letter Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey’s chest felt so full of happiness
he was sure it would burst. “Yes, thank you Mother.” It was the
Duchess’s turn to look startled.

“What do you think the virtuous Mrs Spencer
could have written to put such a smile on Geoffrey’s face? Oh come
now little brother, where’s your frightful smile gone? Have I upset
you?”

“Mrs Spencer is a virtuous woman and you’ll
give her due respect or I’ll call you out.”

“I’m trembling. Who’d protect her from
wicked men if you died at the end of my blade? Perhaps I could
persuade her…” Thomas lowered his voice to a whisper so the Duchess
wouldn’t overhear. “…that one bastard is as good as another.”

Geoffrey felt his emotions boil as he glared
at his brother, but he took a deep breath and tried to look at the
man sitting opposite as his mother had described him earlier, a
first born son with no birthright. The truth burst into Geoffrey’s
brain like fireworks. His brother was jealous. Geoffrey sat back
and stared at his sneering sibling. There was bitterness in the
corners of his brother’s mouth and pain imbedded in pale blue eyes.
Holding his brother’s gaze, he sipped his hot chocolate and
wondered if life had been more difficult for Thomas than the large
man let on.

***

Thomas cringed as his younger brother’s eyes
filled with pity. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all
Geoffrey’s. The ever present shame burned in his throat. He sneered
at his brother as he jumped to his feet. “I hope you rot in
hell.”

“Thomas? What’s wrong?” He ignored the
Duchess and stalked from the room before his emotions betrayed him.
Alone in the hall, Thomas shrugged on his overcoat and waved the
footmen away in irritation. The last thing he wanted was his
embarrassing emotions witnessed by backstabbing servants. Pulling
on his hat he caught sight of the letter addressed to Mrs Spencer.
He looked back down the hall to see it was empty. Impulsively he
slipped the letter into his pocket.

Half an hour later Thomas was sitting alone
in front of a fire in his rented bachelor rooms. His manservant had
gone to bed. There was no one to witness his angry fingers tearing
open his brother’s love letter.

Dearest Angel,

I sit here overwhelmed by your goodness. If
my writing is abysmal it’s because my hand won’t stop shaking. My
insides feel warm just knowing that I’ll soon be basking in your
sunlight. I give you my word, tarnished though it may be, that I
will never again forget my manners. Being banished from your
sunlight has been worse than being denied food. The past few months
have been a frozen agony not knowing when or if ever I’d see you
again.

I want to order my carriage and rush to your
side, but obligations tie me to London for the next few weeks. Pray
believe me, I’d rather be on my knees in your drawing room than
anywhere else on earth. I shall live in hope that I will at least
see you in one month’s time at my birthday ball. Please come. Your
presence is the only thing that will take my mind off the
depressing fact I’m well over half way to the grave. It will begin
at 6:30, but you may arrive at any time convenient for you. My
house will be filled to the attic with family. Just thinking about
it makes my head ache. Most of the guests will be in London for
Sophia’s wedding which takes place that afternoon. I’m trying to be
accommodating, though I flatly refused to share either my bed or my
room with some fossilised cousin who snores in his sleep. At least
I offered the Duchess use of The Ancient House. When she dryly
commented on the lack of furnishing, it’s completely empty, I told
her we could hire trundle beds. If the wretches can’t afford to
make their own arrangements what do they expect? I’m not going to
give up my bed to sleep on some bug infested straw filled sack.

I’m afraid there is only one person I’d give
up my bed for. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’d use it even if I
was a thousand miles from the said piece of furniture. Forgive my
ranting Sunshine; I’m just jealous it isn’t my wedding they’re
coming to celebrate, but knowing I’m back in your good graces will
make the love-birds company more bearable.

I hope you’ll come to the ball. Supper will
be served at 9:00 and at 11:00 there will be a private performance
of Etherege’s ‘The Man of Mode’. The Duchess chose it. I think
she’s laughing at me; one of the main characters wears pale blue
ribbons. She’s dug out some moth eaten rags from the court of
Charles II and insisted the actors wear them. I never realised she
was so thorough. At 1:30 there will be more dancing until the early
hours.

Please say you’ll come and make my birthday
special. If you wish, I’ll ask the Duchess to reserve a few rooms
at a nearby hotel for you. Your presence will make it so much
easier to be civil to my relations. I could have strangled several
of them this evening. My brother, Thomas, is back from Italy and
being his usual odious self. I wish he’d stayed there. Just having
to look at him across a room ties my stomach in knots. I don’t
think he’s ever spoken a single pleasant word to me in my life,
though the way the Duchess defends him he’s obviously pleasant
enough to her. I wish my father’s beloved whore had accepted his
marriage proposal as soon as he got her with child. Thomas would
have made a better Duke and father might not have hated me so much.
I might have grown up a better man, worthy to beg… Angel, I pray
you will…no, I can’t write it. I’ll leave those words for another
day and pray that when I speak them I shall have more courage and
faith than I do now. I wish I could press my lips to your hand and
express my gratitude for your kindness, for your faith in me. If I
were to lose everything but your friendship, I’d consider myself
the richest of men.

Your adoring and most obedient servant,

Geoffrey

Thomas’s felt his cheeks burn as his eyes
tore away from the paper and cursed himself for picking it up. He
wished he’d never seen the blasted letter; it was one thing to
assume your brother hated you, it was another to read that he
thought you odious. And when had the Duchess defended her husband’s
bastard? At least he wasn’t the only one jealous of Sophia’s
happiness. He’d been away for five months and she hadn’t given him
her whole attention for five measly minutes. Even while they were
singing she’d smiled at Bamford. She was going to move away and
he’d never get to see her unless he tramped up to Bamford’s pile
and put up with a hundred screaming brats. She’d have her arms full
of babies and no time for her brother ever again. Geoffrey, the
inconsiderate worm, had ruined everything. Sophia had promised that
if she never married she’d come live with him. It was the reason
he’d never given her a portion of his inheritance. A few more years
and his wretched ruin would have finally felt like a home, but now
she was going to marry and he wouldn’t have anyone who cared for
him. He’d end up like the worm, begging some plain woman to keep
him company. He threw down the letter and paced back and forth
across the room and stopped to stare down at the pathetic looking
piece of paper. It looked sad, as if it were pleading to be sent
off. He swore loudly as he bent over and scooped up the letter.
Carrying it over to the mantelpiece he carefully started picking
off the wax seal. He’d use a fresh glob of wax and the woman would
never know the difference. Thomas swore loudly as a small piece of
wax stuck fast causing him to tear the letter. Furious with himself
for trying to send it on he scrunched it into a ball and hurled it
into the fire making him feel worse. Unwanted thoughts crowded into
his brain. He didn’t care if the upstart Mrs Spencer didn’t learn
about the ball until it was too late. He didn’t care if the Duchess
cared about him. He didn’t care if his brother hated him. He didn’t
care! A long shuddering breath mocked his attempts to deceive
himself.