A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (11 page)

“Whatever you think is best, Mama,” Miss Clare replied at the same time Trevor said, “That is a very good idea!”

Freddie quickly dashed to Miss Rosalind’s side of the doorway and without any urging from him, they continued swiftly, and silently, down the corridor to the parlor.

They arrived just as Maggie had finished placing a laden tray on the table to one side of the room. “I’ll be fetchin’ the tea in a moment.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Miss Rosalind sat and motioned for Freddie to do the same. He swept into the seat on the opposite side of the table from her.

“I am glad Mrs. Harris entered when she did,” he commented. “I don’t think Trevor would have behaved improperly but— He is a
gentleman
, after all.”

“It was becoming a bit awkward to eavesdrop on them.” She met his equally uncomfortable gaze.

“We were not exactly spying on them.” Freddie could make excuses and try to justify why they were standing outside the room in silence instead of making themselves known.

“No, we were not, but— Oh, dear.” Miss Rosalind placed her hands over the rising color in her cheeks. “It was difficult not to watch.”

“It all started off so innocently,” Freddie began.

“They were only conversing,” Miss Rosalind offered.

“Actually, they were conferring on how best to proceed to make a holiday decoration,” Freddie clarified.

“Yes, nothing was amiss at all,” Miss Rosalind agreed.

Freddie had quite given up the pretense that nothing more than polite conversation was happening and stated the obvious out loud. “They’re growing quite fond of one another, you know.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Does that concern you?”

“If you think my sister’s growing affection for a passing traveler we know nothing about is of any concern to me, then, yes, sir, you would be correct. It does.”

Freddie could not imagine anyone thinking ill of his friend. Trevor Rutherford was the single most admirable individual known to him. “I can vouch for Trevor, ma’am. As for his prospects, he is a younger son of a viscount, with no hope of coming to the title, but that does not make him any less a paragon among men.”

Miss Rosalind leveled an austere stare at him. “Do you expect me to believe this recommendation from his best friend whose own character is at best questionable?”

“Oh.” He had forgotten they were all strangers to one another. Otherwise, Miss Rosalind would know exactly
who
he was, which she did not, and currently he knew he wanted to keep it that way. For how long it would last, Freddie did not know. “I beg your pardon. I have forgotten our acquaintance is only but a few days.” He paused and glanced away. “Somehow it seems much longer.”

“That is because we have known
of
one another previous to your arrival to Thistles.” By her expression it seemed the recollection of their meeting brought unpleasant memories, as it did for him.

“Am I mistaken in my belief that we have moved past that unfortunate incident?” Freddie certainly hoped so. He regretted his behavior and these ill thoughts of her.

“I expect so. I have, at any rate.” Miss Rosalind drew her shawl snuggly about her shoulders, appearing chilled in what he considered to be a comfortably heated room.

Now that he took a closer look at her, he studied her dress. Made out of some heavy material that provided warmth, the garment looked to him that it might be worn out of doors, and was not fashioned for a day dress.

It had seemed to him she felt a chill in the room and sincerely hoped he was not the cause.

“May I make you up a plate?” he offered. “I see some nice ham from last night and there’s steam rising from that bread. Must be fresh out of the oven. We can place a bit of cheese on top, it will melt just enough to—” A glass of burgundy would really make this snack exceptional but he supposed his companion would not approve of drinking in the middle of the day. And truth be told, nor should he.

“It all sounds quite splendid. Thank you.” Miss Rosalind did not need to lift a finger. Freddie would set a portion of each on the small plate, arranging it just so. Maggie entered with a tea tray.

“Very good.” Freddie was glad to see a hot beverage arrive, certain it was much needed. “Maggie, would you be so kind as to pour for Miss Rosalind?”

“Very good, sir,” the kitchen maid replied and did so, leaving the cup and saucer on the table near her, then filled a second cup for him. “If there’s anyfing else ye’d be needin’?”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Miss Rosalind reached for her cup and cradled it in her hands. “Well, Mr. Worth, since we have been thrown together, will you not tell me a little about yourself? Or do you feel that is an intrusion?”

Oh, the dreaded
story of his life
. Freddie had no wish to go near the subject but knew he could, without mentioning his position in society or his family, tell the truth.

He set the first plate before Miss Rosalind and began to prepare a second for himself, taking his time. In reality he was not deliberating slices of meat but pieces of his life that might be safe to divulge.

“Of course. I grew up in the country, Essex, to be specific, in a well-to-do household. My father, Edward, and my mother, Sarah, had four children. I am the third born and have two elder and one younger sister.”

Freddie took a moment to take a bite of food, chew, and swallow. Miss Rosalind did the same, and unfortunately, waited patiently for his next words.

“My mother died when I was four. I don’t really remember her much. Her sister, my aunt Penny, came to look after us. She started us all on the pianoforte at a young age. My sisters continued their musical studies, going on to play several instruments each, leaving me, most happily, to accompany them until I went off to Eton. I believe my aunt took on the task of playing with my sisters after I left.”

“So your musical talent comes from your mother’s side of the family? What of your father, then?”

“I believe he is known to have a very fine baritone voice.” And that was all Freddie wished to say about the Duke of Faraday.

Miss Rosalind chuckled. “I take it he does not play?”

“That would be correct.” Freddie sipped his tea.

“Is your distaste for idle time inherited from your father?”

“Idle time?” He swallowed hard, caught off guard by her question.

“Yesterday you tuned the pianoforte and practiced all afternoon and this morning you had nothing better to do than find employment in the kitchen.” She gazed at him wide-eyed.

“I suppose that must come from my father, now that you mention it.” Freddie forced a bit of a thinking scowl as he answered. “He was always occupied with one task or another. Besides, I saw no reason not to participate in the running of the household, especially when Trevor and I were not exactly
invited
guests.”

“It was very thoughtful for you to do so, sir.” She lowered her head in gratitude.

“Besides, there is ample time to practice the pianoforte this afternoon. I saw no harm in giving up a few hours this morning.”

“Will you need to tune the pianoforte again before you play? It has been such a very long time since it has been tuned.”

“I should think it would not need it since yesterday.” He gazed at her, teasing, “You are more than welcome to prove me wrong.”

“Of course.” The flush of color in her cheeks at her acceptance of the challenge seemed to revive her. She set her teacup and saucer on the table, stood, and crossed to the pianoforte.

Chapter Eleven

R
osalind hadn’t quite thought of what she would play. She simply sat at the pianoforte, set her fingers upon the keys lightly, and began. It was an unnamed piece from her childhood from a page of music she had never seen and was not certain existed. Her rendition, even after not practicing it for many years, sounded splendid.

It had been a very long time since she had heard the sweet clarity of the notes. Rosalind felt her throat tighten with emotion and she blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes.

“I believe you are correct, sir. Indeed, there is no need to tune the pianoforte.” She did not wish Mr. Worth to see how the music had affected her.

“That tune was quite lovely,” Mr. Worth said softly. “What is it?”

“I don’t know its title, my mother taught it to me years ago.” Rosalind drew her shawl, which had slipped to her elbows, around her shoulders once again. “I haven’t thought of it, much less played it, in quite a while.”

“Miss Rosalind?” Maggie appeared at the doorway, drawing their attention. “Cook says all is ready.”

“Very well, thank you. I’ll be there shortly.” She rose from the pianoforte and turned toward Mr. Worth. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I must be going. I thank you for your conversation and company.”

“Are you to retire for the afternoon? Shall we practice our four-hand piece later, then?”

“No, sir. I am going out to deliver food baskets.” She quit the room and he followed her into the corridor.

“Out
there
?” He pointed, ostensibly, outdoors. “In this weather?”

“Hunger does not have a timetable and I do not intend to make one for my neighbors.”

“Surely it is someone else’s duty to see to these things.”

“Yes, but the Earl of Brent cannot be bothered by hungry tenants.” She heard the bitter tone in her own voice and resolved to correct herself. “My visits involve more than leaving food.”

“Oh—
him.
I . . .” Mr. Worth’s eyebrows rose and for some reason he appeared to be taken aback. “You must allow me to accompany you.”

“There is no need. Harry, as always, will be more than sufficient to aid me, thank you.” She continued to the doorway.

“Miss Rosalind”—Mr. Worth stepped forward, in a rush, to her side—“
Please,
I would very much like to join your party, if I may.”

“Truly, sir. It is not necessary.” Rosalind had no idea why he was so insistent he should come along. She had no intention of making Cook or Harry wait and moved down the corridor toward the kitchen. “The journey is quite usual for me, even in this weather.”

“Blame it on my
need to occupy myself
,” he replied, following at her heels. “As little as you know me, you know well enough I cannot stand by and remain idle.”

An hour later Freddie had managed to wear down Miss Rosalind’s resolve and he was allowed to join the small party. The three trudged down a path, not visibly well-worn, but familiar to the pair with whom he traveled. Each held a small lantern. He had donned his greatcoat, scarf, gloves, and hat, expecting to face the cold he had grown so vehemently to despise.

What Freddie had not expected were the deplorable living conditions he found the tenants on
his
estate endured. Even he could not fail to be profoundly affected when he witnessed, in the half dozen dwellings he entered, hungry, sick, and wholly neglected people. Miss Rosalind had not exaggerated their plight. Her hostility toward the Earl of Brent was completely justified, and Freddie felt he deserved her contempt.

Miss Rosalind finally announced this would be the last stop, the last he would need to endure, before returning to Thistles. There was none or very little speaking as they moved from one to the next dwelling. Miss Rosalind led the way, holding the lantern to light their way while Harry pushed the sled and Freddie, in his dejected state, brought up the rear.

“This is the home of John and Mary Walsh,” Miss Rosalind told Freddie while Harry unpacked the sled. “They live with their orphaned six . . . no— It’s five grandchildren now. They lost little Sally a few weeks back. She’d always been sickly and it wasn’t a surprise, still . . .” She placed the basket in the crook of her arm and filled it with small, paper-wrapped parcels given to her by Harry.

Freddie nodded in understanding and took several of the larger bundles to carry into the house. He did not think he could adequately respond to these strangers and hoped he could find his voice when speaking to the elderly couple. Would he be able to conjure a word or two of compassion or to comfort them for their loss and their situation?

Yes, guilt consumed him. Freddie swore to himself he would bear it.

The front door opened, and an elderly man peered through the narrow slit.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Walsh,” she greeted.

“And ta ye as well, Miss Rosalind.” He pulled the door open, motioning for her to enter. “Mighty kind of ye ta be calling, as miserable as it ’tis out. Come in, come in . . . get out of the cold. All ’o ye! Good ta see ye, ’arry.”

Freddie followed Miss Rosalind into the small dwelling, ducking his head as he passed through the threshold. Through the dimly lit interior he saw very little furniture, several chairs, and a small table which held a candle.

“And who might this lad be?” Mr. Walsh closed the door and hobbled slowly, with the use of a cane, to the meager fire in the crumbling stone hearth.

“I have brought one of our guests staying at Thistles, sir.” Miss Rosalind motioned to Freddie. “May I introduce Mr. Worth?”

“How de do, young man?” Mr. Walsh’s eyes crinkled and a warm smile creased his kind face.

“I am very glad to make your acquaintance, sir.” Freddie nodded, unable to tip his hat while laden with packages.

“Sit down, sit down, please.” The elderly man pointed to the chair closest to the fire. “Warm ye-self.”

“In a moment. Allow me to finish my deliveries,” Freddie replied with a chuckle. “Do have a seat. I will join you in a bit, sir.”

A circle of tattered-clothed and stockinged-footed children streamed into the room and soon gathered around Miss Rosalind. She laughed and greeted each by name.

“Now, you little ones behave!” Mr. Walsh called out. The five lanky youngsters squealed and giggled, giving not a care to their elder relative.

“Children, children!” An old woman came from the next room. “Miss Rosalind’s not a maypole. Why don’t you give her a hand with her basket?”

They continued to giggle and reached into the basket to lighten the load. Each pulled out a small package, looking large in their tiny hands, and then surrounded Freddie, taking the parcels he carried.

“All right, you children take those things ta t’other room, now, hear? Awww . . . Miss Rosalind, ye shouldna ’ave come. It’s terrible cold outside, and bound ta get worse.” Mrs. Walsh neared and took the basket from Rosalind.

“I feel perfectly safe when I have two strong men to escort me,” she reassured the older lady, then glanced toward Harry who now sat conversing with Mr. Walsh.

“Who is this gentleman? I do not fink I know him.” Mrs. Walsh studied him.

Miss Rosalind motioned for Freddie to come closer. “Mrs. Walsh, this is Mr. Worth. He and his friend Mr. Rutherford are guests at Thistles.”

“How do you do, ma’am?” Freddie removed his hat and bowed his head.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Walsh nodded. “Your friend be Mr. Trevor, hurt in an accident, is that right?”

“Yes, nearly a week ago now.” It took Freddie a moment to think of how she knew, but of course it was Miss Clare who spread the news of the strangers.

“How is he faring?”

“He’s coming along splendidly, thank you for inquiring.” Freddie bowed his head again.

“Aye, under Miss Clare’s tender care I expect he’ll come about soon.” The twinkle in her eye could not have escaped Miss Rosalind’s attention. It certainly did not go unnoticed by Freddie.

“I am afraid we cannot stay for long.” Miss Rosalind put an end to the discussion of her sister and Trevor. And that was Freddie’s cue to step away, whether or not they were making their exit at that moment. He quietly joined the men gathered near the hearth. Yet he could not keep from doing his utmost to hear the ladies.

“Will ye not sit, though, just for a bit? Is there time for a cuppa?” Mrs. Walsh drew a chair out for Miss Rosalind.

“I think not, thank you very much. We will need to leave soon. Even my two escorts cannot prevent the snow from falling nor the sky from growing darker.” She eased into the chair and motioned for her hostess to do the same. “I do want to know how you are going on? And Mr. Walsh? How is his hip?”

Freddie recalled Mr. Walsh had used a cane and now knew the man had a chronic problem that ailed him. The cold took its toll on old joints. Did he work? How could he care for his family? The children were quite young, not yet able to help. And how did he and his wife manage to feed so many mouths?

Freddie could not even begin to imagine. The Earl of Brent could not ignore the tide of guilt washing up against him again.

Rosalind wasn’t the only one late for dinner this night. Mr. Worth, who had accompanied her, now sat at the table and barely touched a bite of food off his plate. One would think after enduring the journey, and the cold, one would be famished, replenishing one’s fuel reserves, so to speak. He apparently did not feel the need.

Nearly everyone had finished their meal and laid down their utensils.

“Mr. Worth, did you not find the meal to your liking this evening?” Mrs. Harris was the last to set her fork and knife on her plate.

“No, ma’am. I beg your pardon, it is I who am lacking, not the meal.” He did not sound well and Rosalind wondered if he were ill. “I do not believe I am contagious, only feeling under the weather a bit.”

“My dear sir,” Mrs. Harris, in a voice of hauteur, informed him, “we are all
under
the weather.”

“Too true, ma’am.” Mr. Worth laid his napkin on the table. “I propose I play this evening to lighten our moods.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Clare exclaimed with glee but her adoring gaze quickly returned to Mr. Rutherford.

“I think that would be just the thing,” Mrs. Harris agreed. “Let us remove to the parlor, shall we?” She waited for Mr. Worth to offer his arm and made several suggestions on pieces he might perform.

Rosalind tarried, making certain Mr. Rutherford was steady on his feet. It appeared to her that Clare was truly all he needed and they proceeded, leaving Rosalind to trail down the corridor to the parlor alone. By the time she had arrived, the suggestions for their entertainment had evolved from sonatas and concertos to country dance.

“A
dance
?” Mr. Worth sounded incredulous. “You only managed to the stairs to join us yesterday, Trev, and now you want to attempt a dance?”

“I see your point, Fred, but I’m certain you could manage something not too vigorous?” Mr. Rutherford’s motivation was all too clear. He wanted to stand up with Clare.

“Trev . . .”
Rosalind could see Mr. Worth doubted his friend’s reasoning.
“Very well, I will do my best to accommodate you, if you will give me a moment or two.”