A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (12 page)

“Let us push the furniture back and roll up the carpet, shall we?” Mrs. Harris stayed Mr. Rutherford with a firm upheld hand. “No, Mr. Trevor, I’m afraid it is far too strenuous for you to attempt.”

“Perhaps we could call Harry and Gordon to take care of this?” he suggested.

“It is not necessary. We have two sturdy country girls here and they will make short work of this, I can assure you.”

Why did Mrs. Harris need to make it sound as if she and Clare were a pair of Amazons, which they certainly were not? Rosalind would have much appreciated aid from any males, with the exception of Mr. Rutherford for obvious reasons. The two sisters, with very little effort, moved the overstuffed chair out of the way. By the time they laid hands on either end of the sofa, Mr. Worth had joined them to help. He aided them with the larger pieces and took the major role in removing the carpet.

Mr. Worth sat before the pianoforte and began to play a tune that Rosalind recognized as “Golden Green.”

“Oh, yes! There are only four of us but I
daresay we will be able to manage,” Mrs. Harris exclaimed and waved to Rosalind. “Stand here next to me and Clare shall partner Mr. Trevor.”

Of course she will.

Rosalind and Mr. Rutherford circled around their partners at a sedate pace, coming into the center to touch fingertips and moving around one another before returning to their positions. Clare and Mrs. Harris repeated the steps while Rosalind made use of her idle time by glancing at the young couple who could not take their gazes from the other and then to Mrs. Harris who admired them with overwhelming approval.

Rosalind then glanced at Mr. Worth, wondering what he might observe during this auspicious occasion, and found him staring at her. Rosalind pulled her gaze from him at once and her breath caught at her discovery. She straightened her posture and returned her attention to the dance. When the next steps took her into the center, Rosalind dared to chance a second glance at him.

This time their eyes met in the briefest of moments and, without missing a note of the song, he flashed her the most roguish smile she could have ever imagined.

Chapter Twelve

F
reddie was a bit perturbed this morning when he discovered Miss Rosalind had left on her visits without him. Well, she had not exactly said he could not join them in the morning. Miss Rosalind had simply not told him what time she would be leaving the house. Nevertheless, it annoyed him.

He breakfasted alone. Miss Clare and Mrs. Harris still brought a tray to Trevor’s bedchamber every morning, claiming he must reserve his strength . . . for what? Dancing in the evenings, no doubt. It sounded like a fool’s regimen to him.

After Freddie finished in the breakfast room, he went to the parlor to retune the pianoforte. He had heard the odd, discordant note creeping into the music last night and would take this time to remedy the problem. He rid himself of his jacket, assembled his hand wrench, and propped the lid up to get to work.

He’d been at it for a good part of the morning, into the early afternoon. There were only a few more adjustments, a few last tweaks to be made. Perhaps if he were to—

“I should have known I’d find you here.” A voice sounded. Miss Rosalind’s?

Freddie straightened to welcome her. “Ow!” He hit his head on the raised lid of the pianoforte. He moved out from underneath it and clapped his hand on the injured area.

“Oh, dear, Mr. Worth.” She rushed into the room to his side. “Are you hurt?”

“Not precisely but . . .” He rubbed his head. It was not exactly free of pain.

“Here . . . I think it best if you sit for a moment.” Miss Rosalind led him to the sofa and saw him comfortably seated. “What were you doing there?”

“I just finished retuning the pianoforte and was contemplating the possibility of exchanging the less worn hammers with the heavily used ones.”

“I see.” Miss Rosalind looked at the square pianoforte. “It seems like a fair bit of work.”

“It’s not difficult but it’s time-consuming,” he replied honestly. “And we have that piece for four hands we need to practice if we have any hope of a decent performance. I would hate to disappoint your father.”

“You’ve found a suitable piece, then?”

“I do believe so. Would you care to have a look? Attempt it, perhaps?”

“If you are feeling up to it?”

“I believe I will survive my head injury. Shall we have a look?” Freddie stood and waited only briefly for Miss Rosalind to join him. They crossed the room to the pianoforte and while she sat, on the right side, he retrieved the music and placed it before them.

She allowed her shawl to slide from her shoulders to rest in her elbows and took a bit of time to look over the notes, chords, and notations. He found sitting next to her, at this proximity, exceedingly difficult for concentrating on their task. He could feel the warmth of her arm close to his. Every now and again he caught the pleasant fragrance of her hair. His reaction to her came as a bit of a surprise to him.

“I expect you have already played through this?” Miss Rosalind did not look at him as she spoke.

“Certainly,” he replied.

“Then you will be patient with me while I struggle through the first several times?”

“Of course.”

She blinked rapidly and squinted as if she were tired or having difficulty focusing on the page itself.

“Are you ready to proceed?”

She placed her fingers upon the keys, preparing herself to play.

“All right, at half-speed, then, we’ll begin. Two, three, four.”

Seated side by side, Freddie and Miss Rosalind played slowly. They passed the first phrase, the second, and just as they came to the end of the section she moved her left hand and—

“Ow!” Freddie jerked his hand away from the keyboard when the side of her left hand collided with his right. “You are determined to cause harm to me this day.”

“I am so very sorry.” Laughter accompanied her words. “I beg your pardon. It is not in any way funny.”

“No, not at all.” Freddie rubbed his hand and wondered if she held some sort of sharp object in hers to cause this much pain to him. “Why, then, do you find this so amusing?”

She covered her mouth with both hands trying to suppress her mirth. Then she took hold of one end of the shawl and held that to her face. She was wiping away her tears . . .

Miss Harris could not have been
that
cruel to think causing him pain would be humorous.

“Is this retribution of some sort? I thought you no longer thought of me as that despicable fellow you knocked over in the snow.”

“I do not, sir. I believe we have moved far beyond that misunderstanding.” Her laughter stopped and she sniffed. She stood and moved away from the pianoforte. “Honestly, I do not.”

“Then why do you take pleasure in my injury?” He lifted his right hand slightly, indicating the aching appendage.

“I think . . . I
think
 . . .” She paused to gather her thoughts and to retrieve her handkerchief from the wrist of her garment. “I must not be feeling quite the thing. A bit overtired, perhaps.”

“Perhaps it is time to relinquish your goodwill visits, or some of them, to others?”

“Clare still spends an inordinate amount of time with Mr. Rutherford and his rehabilitation.” She had not exactly refused his suggestion but there was clear hesitation in her tone.

“I thought you might consider accepting my participation in this matter.” He watched her expression for any clues that might tell him how she felt about his idea. He went on. “It must be as clear to you as it is to the rest of us that you are fagged to death. To the point of delirium, if your recent behavior is any indication.”

Miss Rosalind could not mask her emotions. Her eyelids slid closed and the muscles of her face relaxed as if her greatest secret had been revealed and she could finally let fall her brave facade.

“Very well,” she said at last. “I suppose we can make some arrangements. We do not have Clare to aid us but Harry and Gordon are at our limited disposal and I expect the four of us will contrive.”

“Excellent.” Not only would Freddie have something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides practicing on the pianoforte, but he would be making the acquaintance of, and become better acquainted with, the neighbors and tenants of the estate, something that was becoming more important to him.

“If you will excuse me, I shall have a word with Harry and Gordon and see how we can best manage the afternoon visits among the four of us.”

“I am at your disposal, ma’am.” He bowed. The sharp pain in his hand had faded, and the lump on his head was now a mere throb. Freddie allowed his arm to return to his side.

Miss Rosalind, having overcome her laughter fit, left the parlor to see to the arrangements.

Not more than two seconds passed before Miss Clare came into the room. She looked over her shoulder toward the direction of her sister, presumably as not to be seen by her sibling.

Miss Clare’s surreptitious behavior put Freddie on instant alert. What was she up to?

“Good afternoon, Miss Clare,” he said.

“And to you as well, Mr. Freddie.” She came fully into the parlor and swung around him as to keep her eye on the door.

This seemed to Freddie suspicious as well.

“I am glad to have the chance to speak to you alone.”

“Is there something wrong with Trevor?” Freddie rushed to her and took hold of her hands. She could not relay the words quickly enough for him. All of a sudden the fun and playfulness of her odd appearance was no longer amusing. If Trevor had taken a turn for the worse . . . Freddie should never have allowed his friend to dance the night before. What a foolish thing to allow; Freddie had only himself to blame. Why had he—

“No, no, no. Trevor is fine, I assure you. It is only that . . .” She glanced at the doorway again before she spoke. “The kissing bough Trevor and I have created is about to be placed above that doorway.”

Freddie glanced over his shoulder to glimpse the unadorned threshold.

“Is there any particular reason you are giving me advance notice?”

“Well, I thought perhaps you and Rosalind might . . .” Clare’s cheeks flushed. The color grew deeper as she spoke, or it was perhaps the mere words she had wished to say to him but could not manage to voice.

Rosalind and him?
Ahem . . . no, he did not think that was a possibility. The two of them had come a long way from despising one another but he was nowhere near
stealing a kiss
nor would she permit such an action. He released his hold on Miss Clare’s hands and straightened.

“I can hardly think that your sister and I will ever be at the point where kissing is needed in our relationship. Thank you all the same.”

“But you don’t know Rosalind like I do,” Miss Clare informed him. “She likes you. She may not even know she likes you but she does. I can see it when she looks at you.”

By the way Miss Clare stared at Trevor, Freddie wondered how she could ever notice anything else.

“I have saved these for you. They came loose during construction and there were no kisses associated with these so I think they are safe to use.” She opened her small fist, where two round, white berries resided. He raised his arm to hers and Miss Clare tilted her hand, rolling the berries into Freddie’s empty palm. She closed his fingers over them to prevent their escape. “I think you will need these so keep them safe. You may need to use a little deception to make her believe you’ve plucked them from the bough.”

Freddie had had more than enough practice at misdirection these last few weeks.

He stared at the two small, white berries knowing from where they had come and for what purpose they were meant. “I cannot accept these,” he said. “I cannot think it right to—”

“Perhaps not at the present, Mr. Freddie. Ros . . . you must trust me on this. Her opinion of you is changing and there may come a time when you will wish you had these. By then the berries may have been all consumed and I do not wish to deprive my sister of her kisses.”

Her kisses? From him? Hardly.
He did his utmost to keep from scoffing for he had no wish to decry her kind gesture. It was true Miss Rosalind’s character had improved in his estimation but hardly to the point where he would look upon her with any romantic affection.

No, that was not what he would wish for in this particular situation. A more than civil regard for her, or any other female at this point in time, would complicate matters far more than they already were. But he realized it was best not to mention any of the above.

“Very well, I will take these.” Freddie never intended to use them and thanked Miss Clare for her kindness.

Rosalind, along with Harry and Gordon, decided to split the final journey of the day. The two servants would take the easternmost and farthest part of the route while she and Mr. Worth would visit the homes around the orchard. They would all return to Thistles at a reasonable hour for a small family celebration of the year’s end.

Neighbor Sarah Kerr had seemed much improved, despite the poor and constantly degrading living conditions. Either the cottage needed to be repaired this spring, which was doubtful, or she and her husband would need to relocate, equally doubtful.

Mr. Worth showed much empathy, more than Rosalind expected, and seemed to take their circumstance to heart and, after leaving the Kerrs, confided in her that a solution to their dismal situation would certainly be found. Rosalind wondered, because of his connection, if he would intercede and contact the Earl of Brent on behalf of the family?

Rosalind thought that quite gallant of him, if it were true, that he would see them set up better next year. She had not thought it possible that he would take her neighbors’ welfare to heart as he had. They were strangers to him. Perhaps she had been even more wrong about him than when she’d formed her first opinion.

Rosalind had met his gaze several times as she pondered his motives. Why had he cared so much for these people? He needn’t embroil himself in their problems but he had. While she could understand the wants and needs of the tenants, Rosalind could not understand why it had become such a concern of his.

Their final stop at Renfield cottage, with their four children, lasted for a good half hour. They had entered their home and sat with the family. Rosalind found a place by the fire to warm herself and it had helped her feel a bit better, although not much. By the end of the visit she realized she had not contributed to the conversation. It had been Mr. Worth who inquired as to their health, their welfare, and their current problems. He had, quite literally, stepped in when she had failed to do so. And Rosalind was at a loss as to why. She realized there was some difficulty attending and her ability to communicate was nearly impossible.