Redeeming a Rake (25 page)

“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 pile 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.