Dancing the Maypole
Share/BookmarkRedeeming a Rake
Geoffrey Lyndsey Grayson, the thirteen Duke of Lyndhurst, is trapped in an emotional winter. His childhood dream of finding love is frozen under thick sheets of ice along with his heart. He feels nothing but discomfort as he passively waits for death to end the nothingness. Receiving a summons to his mother's latest ball, he decides he might as well attend as sit there and die. Stepping into the ballroom his eyes are drawn to a woman wearing a pale blue silk dress and rubies in her white blonde hair; she's wearing his colours. Meeting her gaze he feels a strange sharp pain through his forehead. He has to meet her to see if she can make him feel anything else. He tries to aproach her, but the horrified crowd unconsiously swirls around her keeping the young woman out of reach. Shunned in his own ballroom he stands alone watching her dance. He knows it's too late for love. Geoffrey's kind heart and youthful beauty were lost on the road to depravity, leaving a repulsive empty shell. When the young woman breaks several strict social rules and aproaches him to introduce herself he's suddenly enveloped in warmth as if he's stepped into the sunlight. Confronted by the smiling Widow Spencer's friendship the ice begins to melt, reviving his heart causing agonising guilt. He doesn't deserve the smiling woman, but he'll do anything to convince her that he's willing to change, but redemption will cost him dear.
The young Widow Spencer has no wish to remarry, but tucked away in her heart is a dream to find her childhood hero. She never saw his face and failed to learn his name. He was an elegant hand wearing a large ruby ring whose small act of kindness gave birth to hope that helped her keep smiling and dreaming even when hell threatened to swallow her whole. She's attending the Duchess of Lyndhurst's ball when a deathly hush falls over the gathering and she turns to see the never mentioned Duke of Lyndhurst dressed in pale blue silk ornamented with numerous rubies. Meeting his gaze she's rocked by an inexplicable wave of pleasure. She must speak with him, whatever the cost.
Background to Redeeming a Rake
A rakehell is someone really bad. A man who sleeps around may have few morals, but that doesn't make him a rake! Englishmen who earned this dishonourable title were the worst of the worst; men who seemed hell-bent on destroying themselves and as many other people as possible. I freely admit these men absolutely fascinate me. I don't know if it's because I have a high moral standard for myself and I'm curious what goes on over the other side of the fence or if it's just part of my unquenchable desire to understand people. It's probably a combination.
So being irritated I thought, well I can stand here and rant to myself (which is all too often the outcome) or I can write my own version. Clearly it was the latter. And standing there I knew his name was Geoffrey. When I was twelve I fell in love with a boy who is the essence of Geoffrey. I can still smell his musty scent. It was my first day of Junior High. I didn't notice him until he spoke and then my world changed with a snap of the fingers. The intelligence and personality in the voice electrocuted me. He teased me mercilessly and I adored it and loathed it in equal measure. I ignored him and watched him and listened. He was like a human magnet pulling my eyes, pulling me. The intensity of my feelings frightened me. By high school, every time I saw him I'd get this stabbing pain through my forehead like someone invisible was literally trying to electrocute me. And the magnet kept pulling, but I knew that if I gave in I would have no morals because I would just fall apart at his feet. I was determined I wouldn't become another statistic of teenage pregnancy. All those years I never said a single word to him. I don't think this was so much self control as fear of either a positive or negative outcome. They say our brains don't fully develop until we're twenty-five and I have to say for me that was true. I definitely wasn't a woman until I was twenty-five, but I have sweet memories of being twelve and feeling like a woman and thinking I was a woman and I think in a way with him I was.
I don't actually know anything about the boy's family or background other than my own observations, but yes the first time I saw him he was wearing red and blue! Special memories - and so of course I've folded them into the darkness of Geoffrey's being. Logic? It's not always an appropriate reaction.
The heroine of the story, Tolerance Spencer, is not me! Just for the sake of clarity, I don't see myself as an angel and anyone who's had to live with me would agree heartily with that assessment. She looks like one friend who the first time I saw her I thought she was one of the plainest women I'd ever seen, but as I got to know her she transformed and when I saw her last I thought she was lovely. She was no angel either, but she had a lovely spirit. But the core of Tolerance is this woman I met once. I'd heard about her, and every time I was told how amazing she was I made polite noises and thought, yeah whatever! I shall never forget meeting her. She was very plain and obese, but she blew my mind. I sat at the table and tried not to stare as I sat stunned. She was glowing; the woman was so loving and good I could feel sunlight emanating from her. I could have put out my hands and warmed them! She was the most stunning woman I have ever met! I have met and known a lot of really good women, but I have never met anyone like her. She was a stunner! And get this, her husband was a tall good looking man; a smart man!
The theme of the story is, as the title suggests, a sinner finding redemption. I do believe “wicked” people can change, be forgiven, heal and become really good people if they want to. It's not easy, but it is possible and it does happen. My favourite redeemed rakehell in real life was John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680). He debauched and drank himself into an early grave, but he did sincerely begin the repentance process on his deathbed. He's one of my beautiful dead Englishmen. He's the man who inspired Charlotte Bronte's Rochester! She would have read Dr Gilbert Burnet's The Life and Death of John Rochester or whatever it's called. I can't remember the exact title. I don't have my own copy yet. I didn't actually know Lord Rochester existed until I was almost done with the second version of Redeeming a Rake so it was another one of those freaky coincidences to learn that Rochester had a habit of wearing sky blue ribbons.and he's the man who inspired the role of Dorimant in Etheredge's play, Man of Mode. The character is the one who wears sky-blue ribbons. What's really scary is all this info is in my head.
All my stories have themes and morals, but this one was dictated by the theme of the story. I never know how the story will unfold. I'd never write anything if I knew what was going to happen. I tried that with my very first book; the poor thing did get finished and then shelved in the tomb of first novels. For me writing is like reading a choose your own adventure story except that the characters know what they want and they get really irritated if I try to make them go down the wrong plotline.
This story had to be written twice after I dropped my laptop with the entire book on it that hadn't been saved. That was a traumatic experience. I'd never advise anyone writing to drop two years work into oblivion, but I'm now glad it happened because the original story wasn't right. I wasn't glad while I was working through the ensuing depression and agonising rewrite, but such is life. Geoffrey and Tolerance are better people for it and so am I. The trial is a blessing and the blessing is a trial! I hope you enjoy the story! I did.
