A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (14 page)

Over the next several hours, Mrs. Morley often returned with a new cup of broth and to check on the patient’s progress. There was even an exchange of bricks, swapping the cold ones for those that had been newly heated. There still was no reaction from Rosalind and Freddie was encouraged, by Mrs. Morley, to down the broth for himself. He did so to keep the woman satisfied.

His stockings had dried some time ago, though he could not recall exactly when. By the time he was told his jacket had dried, Freddie relinquished Mrs. Morley’s shawl and pulled on Trevor’s brown coat. His boots were next and when he slid into those, not without some trouble for the leather had tightened, it occurred to him that a great deal of time must have passed.

When Drew entered with a mug of mulled wine and chunk of bread for him, Freddie presumed the next day had arrived, and with the lad’s return, better weather.

“Good mornin’, Mr. Freddie?” Drew handed Freddie his breakfast. “How is Miss Harris?”

“She’s . . . there’s been no change.” He wished there had been better news. “What time is it?”

“Almost midday.”

“Midday?” Freddie could not believe so much time had passed. He set the mug and bread aside to regard her more closely. Drew squatted on his heels and kept quiet.

Freddie gazed into Rosalind’s pale face. It was still ashen white, without expression. He turned his head and placed his ear close to her nose and mouth. Her breathing was shallow and regular. One could almost believe she were sleeping peacefully, yet Freddie knew differently.

“Why won’t you wake?” he whispered and straightened. What he would not give to look into her eyes and hear her stern set-down for something that was not his fault.

“Mr. Freddie?” Mrs. Morley sounded from the door. “Why don’t ye go wi’ Drew and collect some firewood? Ye need ta move about.”

“I can’t leave her.” Freddie looked from Rosalind to Mrs. Morley and back again. “Please don’t ask me to leave her.”

“Ye can, for just a bit. She’ll be fine.”

“What if she wakes while I’m gone?” Freddie needed to be here when she opened her eyes.

“I’ll be here, not ta worry. I won’t leave her. Not for a minute,” Mrs. Morley assured him. “Ye cannot make my wee lad go out in the cold by his-self, now can ye? What if the weather should take a bad turn?”

“Come on, sir,” Drew prodded. “It won’t take but an hour or so.”

Of course he should help. Freddie knew better than to decline, but there was Rosalind. He looked back at her lying there. The sight of her weighed on his heart.

“Very well, Drew,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“You’ll take your coat, now. We don’t need anyfing ta ’appen ta ye.” Mrs. Morley held a bundle in her arms, presumably something to replace his greatcoat to cover Rosalind.

Freddie slowly lifted his outerwear from Rosalind. He had hoped the action might wake her but no, she remained still. He ran his hand down her arm in farewell and whispered her name.

“Come now, Mr. Freddie. She’ll be fine.” Mrs. Morley stepped around him and placed a quilt over her. “I won’t leave her side until you return.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.” The woman smiled. “Now off wit’ ye. Her fire will go out if ye don’t get busy.”

“We’ll be back soon.” Freddie nodded and strode out the door. He pulled on his coat and headed to the kitchen with Drew close behind.

Chapter Fourteen

R
osalind drew in a deep breath. She felt warm, comfortable. She had not remembered sleeping so soundly in a very long time.

“Miss Rosalind! Oh, Miss Rosalind! Are you awake?” A familiar woman’s voice urgently called out to her. It was not Clare’s nor was it her—

“Are ye awake? Oh, thank the Lord!” It was Mrs. Morley. “Yer gonna be all right now.”

There was a bit of confusion why Mrs. Morley should be here. To be honest, Rosalind had no knowledge of where exactly
here
was. She struggled to open her eyes. Her eyelids were extremely heavy. She took another deep breath.

“Mr. Freddie’ll be mighty upset he’s not here when yer wakin’. He’s been waitin’ fer such a long spell.”

Freddie?
Why on Earth would Mr. Worth be at her bedside?

Rosalind finally managed to pry open her eyes and look around. She was not in her bedchamber at Thistles but . . . Rosalind wasn’t quite sure where she was.

“Yer at Penshaw, miss.”

“Penshaw?” Rosalind didn’t understand. “How did I come to be here?” She tried to sit up and found it difficult.

“Here, let me ’elp ye. Be careful, now. Easy . . . easy, there.” Mrs. Morley managed to get Rosalind upright and handed her a cup. “Have a bit ’o this, will ye?”

It was warm broth. Not what she expected first thing in the morning. But Rosalind knew she was not where she was supposed to be and it probably was not the time of day she thought, either.

“What’s going on? What’s happened to me?” Rosalind found it difficult to remember . . . anything at the moment. What had she been doing
before
she woke?

“Ye were wif Mr. Freddie deliverin’ food baskets, don’t ye remember?”

Not really, but it was believable.

“Ye were feelin’ very poorly. Out cold ye were, and Mr. Freddie brought you here.”

“Out cold? He brought me . . . here?” She still tried to pull the fragments of memory together and was not very successful.

“Mr. Freddie’s been a fretting ’bout ye sommin awful.”

“Has he?” Rosalind recalled how much Mr. Worth had been concerned for other people, strangers, and now her?

“Hasn’t left yer side since he’s brought ye.” Mrs. Morley shook her head and collected up the quilt. “How are ye feelin’, dear? Da ye want to lay down fer a bit more or . . .”

“I’d like to stand, if I can.” Rosalind moved around trying to find her balance.

“All right, let me help ye up, then.” With Mrs. Morley’s help, standing was easy enough. The woman pulled around a chair for Rosalind.

“Where is Mr. Worth now?” Rosalind held on to the back of the chair and discovered soon enough she needed to sit, then eased herself into the seat.

“He’s wit Drew out gatherin’ wood for yer fire. We’re almost out.”

“He hasn’t left my side, you say?” She couldn’t imagine him hovering over her.

“No. Been here since yesterday when he brought ye.” Mrs. Morley tilted her head. “He’s a bit sweet on ye, if ye ask me.”

“
Sweet
. . . don’t be ridiculous, Mrs. Morley.” Rosalind denied it, but the thought that he was so devoted as to have kept vigil pleased her. But it could not be for any other reason than . . . “I’m sure he was very concerned.” A chill went through her and she grimaced.

“Here, now. We may have been a bit hasty gettin’ ye ta yer feet.” Mrs. Morley reclaimed the quilt and rushed back to Rosalind’s side to wrap her. “Ye just need ta take it easy fir a bit. Mr. Freddie’ll soon be back and he’ll know just what ta—”

Bursting in from the door was Mr. Worth. The sides of his coat flew around his body in his rush to enter.

“I heard voices. Is it Rosalind—” He gripped the door molding as he rushed forward, bringing him to a stop.

His gaze landed on the empty pallet by the hearth and swung around the room until he spotted her. Moving to her side, he dropped to one knee to be face-to-face with her sitting in the chair.

“You’re all right.” He smiled, his gloved hands grasping the chair, looking from her cheeks, to her mouth, which returned his smile, and finally to her eyes. “Are you really all right?”

Rosalind felt a bit self-conscious at the intimate attention he paid her. She felt her face warm and replied, “Yes, I believe I am.” He smelled of the outdoors, wet wool, and cold.

“I am so very,
very
glad.” There was something different about Mr. Worth. Something
had
changed in his demeanor, and Rosalind could not tell exactly what had caused this.

“And I believe I have you to thank, if I am not mistaken.” She shied from his direct gaze.

“You have nothing to thank me for, I can assure you.” Only when his voice became thick and emotional did she dare to look back at him. He stood and moved away from her, turning his head to cough and clear his throat. “I cannot say what aftereffects you may suffer from your incident but when you feel up to it, and Mrs. Morley gives us her blessing, we will take you home.”

It was Rosalind’s turn to feel emotional. Mr. Worth was all that was amiable and considerate. What care and consideration he had for her welfare. The way he stared at her, it was not in a casual manner. Her racing heartbeat had nothing to do with her recent condition.

Rosalind liked having him near. He made her feel . . . she
felt
 . . . it must have been her imagination. After all, she had just been ill and . . . Rosalind could hardly believe it when she finally realized . . .

Oh, dear God, I believe I may be in love with him.

It was only a few hours later that afternoon when Mrs. Harris arrived with Harry and Gordon to check on Rosalind’s progress.

“Clare would have come too, you understand, except she is looking after Mr. Trevor,” Mrs. Harris explained. “And I hope that you will come home with us, too.”

“I believe I am well enough, ma’am.” Rosalind sat at a table sipping tea. Her gaze darted to the disapproving Mrs. Morley and a very amiable Freddie.

He expected she would not be able to guess the reasons for his contentment. But they were, in order of importance: Rosalind’s recovery, Rosalind’s full recuperation, and Rosalind’s affection.

Freddie had seen the smitten expression many times, usually on ladies for whom he had no interest. He well knew the signs: acute attention paid to the object of affection and the glint in the eyes of the affected person. If he were not mistaken, Rosalind had seen the very same glint in his eyes as well.

He had
never
felt like this before. The circumstance of almost losing her forever had brought his ardor rushing to the surface with incredible speed. He could no more hide or deny it than stop breathing.

And it was all too clear to him when Rosalind looked at him, gazed at him, she felt the very same. He wanted to shout from the rooftops!

But here was Mrs. Harris come to collect her charge with her guards. If she suspected something going on between them she did not say. Freddie leveled a stern look in her direction that kept her from accusing him of any untoward action and behaving like anything but a gentleman.

“What do you think you were doing out there
alone
with Mr. Worth?” She rounded on Rosalind.

“She was delivering food baskets to the villagers,” Mrs. Morley replied in Rosalind’s defense. “Sum of ’em ain’t as well off as those who are lordin’ it up in the big house, ma’am. Sum of ’em got leaky roofs and youngins ta feed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morley. Mrs. Harris is well aware of my visits.” Rosalind calmed her with a soothing tone.

“Well . . . of course, Rosalind is doing the right
thing
. . . of which I approve wholeheartedly. This fainting spell is most unsettling.”

“Miss Rosalind was frozen through and through.” He chanced a look at her and hoped when their gazes met it would not announce their mutual affection to those around them. “We are fortunate that Mrs. Morley’s ministrations were able to revive her.”

Freddie had no wish to go into how bleak her outcome had looked and how frightened he was she might not wake. Merely thinking of it caused the fear to return. He felt his eyes grow moist and his throat constrict.

“Well, it is over now!” Mrs. Harris proclaimed. “And we can take you home with no harm done.”

“Yes, ma’am. No harm done,” Rosalind agreed.

“I must thank you, Mrs. Morley, on behalf of Rosalind and our family. How grateful we are to you,” Mrs. Harris, with an imperious bow, declared.

Mrs. Morley nodded her thanks and kept silent.

“We will see you home now, dear.” She waved for Rosalind to precede her.

Harry and Gordon relayed Mrs. Harris and Rosalind, pushing each on a small sled, home to Thistles. Freddie walked alongside, catching a fleeting look and, every now and then, a glimpse of his beloved’s shy smile. How his heart soared!

He could not wait to return to Thistles and finally have a moment alone with Rosalind when the two of them could speak their minds and hearts. Would it be at the pianoforte as they practiced their four-hand piece? In the morning room as they gazed out the window at the frosty scene outside? Privacy for the two of them hadn’t been a problem in the past and he expected an opportunity would present itself soon enough.

All Freddie needed was to exercise a little patience.

Upon arriving at Thistles, he handed over his hat, coat, and gloves before straightening out his cravat, cuffs, and jacket, hoping to look his best. When, as a matter of habit, he slipped his hands into the pockets to straighten the jacket, he drew the two berries Miss Clare had given him the day before out of the right one.

Zounds!
He had thought it a foolish notion then but now . . . Freddie smiled wide. He had never seen a more welcome sight.
Thank you, Clare. Thank you very much.

Rosalind had been ushered to her bedchamber with much fuss. Clare had abandoned Mr. Rutherford to tend to her sister for over half an hour to see to the list of instructions given by Mrs. Harris. The fire had been lit in preparation for her recovery and she would not join the family in the dining room for dinner that night; a tray would be sent up. Also, Rosalind was to go straight to bed.

Rosalind thought it was ridiculous. All she wanted to do, all she could think of, was to see Mr. Worth. They might practice their four-hand piece or they could sit in the parlor and share tea or, as they had many times, enjoy a simple chat. She felt fine, quite back to normal, except for the odd chill that came over her every now and again.

She dearly wished to speak to him. Rosalind wanted to know, because she had felt a change in their . . . perhaps not
both
of them but in the way she regarded him. The anticipation of seeing him again made her feel giddy. She never felt giddy. And if Rosalind was confined to her bedchamber, a visit with Mr. Worth would be out of the question.

Rosalind would wait until the household had calmed and then go about her normal activity. If he did the same, she expected at this time of day he would be found in the parlor at the pianoforte.

Rosalind could not help gazing into the glass to check her appearance.
Her
 . . . gazing into the glass. Never in her entire life had she done such a thing. Checking one’s appearance was an act for a vain creature or . . . 
someone in love.
There it was again, that word . . . 
love.