A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (15 page)

Oh, she did so wish to sort this out with him. Rosalind could wait no longer. She left her bedchamber, taking particular care not to draw attention to herself, and descended the staircase. Upon her arrival to the ground floor, she smiled when hearing music from the pianoforte.

He was there and, hopefully, he was waiting for her. When Rosalind walked into the parlor, Mr. Worth turned to face her and the music died away.

“Miss Rosalind! Miss Harris . . . how good it is to see you.” He stood and came to her side. “Will you sit with me?” He held his hand out to lead her to the sofa to sit in the very same place they had sat many times before. “I must say, you look very well. How are you feeling?”

Rosalind felt happy, nervous,
giddy.
“I am very well, thank you,” she said, projecting an outer calm.

“I expected you would be resting in your bedchamber at least for the remainder of the day.” Mr. Worth had not taken his gaze from her. There was an indescribable
something
about the intensity of his gaze.

“I assure you I feel perfectly fine. What I really wish to know is . . .” How did one go about asking another if he loved her? “I am a bit fuzzy about what happened after . . . after . . .” What was it she last remembered exactly? “We had left the Renfields’ house, I believe.”

“You cannot recall anything after that?”

“I do not think so.”

“You do not recall my calling your name?” He leaned toward her; one arm lay along the back of the sofa, his other hand rested upon his knee.

“No.”

“Your Christian name?”

“No.” Rosalind felt her cheeks warm at the thought of that. She wished she had remembered, and in an instant imagined how her name would sound when he spoke it.

“I had hoped you would and give me a proper set-down then I could continue to use it with your blessing.” His smile was a teasing one and she had never seen one of its like before.

“I am sorry. I cannot reprimand you for something I know nothing about.”

“What about your stay at Penshaw? Can you remember anything I said while you were there? When I tried to revive you?” His teasing smile faded and a bit of concern seeped into his tone. Mr. Worth looked away from her and toward the other side of the room.

“Did you speak to me? I’m afraid I cannot recall that either.” Rosalind let out a sigh.

“I see.” Mr. Worth looked more disappointed than worried.

“Is it so important?” She tilted her head, wondering what he was thinking. Oh, why could they not just speak plain? “What did you say?”

“I . . . um . . . was worried. Your condition frightened me,” he began. “I pleaded with you several times to wake, which you did not.”

“I am sorry,” Rosalind replied, feeling low. She could not have done as he asked.

“I told you . . .” He closed his eyes. “
I
missed you. I did not want you to leave me.” He opened his eyes and gazed into Rosalind’s. “When you collapsed into my arms and I thought you may never awaken, something happened to me. I realized how much you mattered, and when you woke . . .”

“You were not there,” Rosalind finished. “You had left my side to fetch firewood to keep me warm.”

Mr. Worth nodded. “I am sorry.”

“You should not say that. I must thank you for your care and concern for my welfare.” Rosalind placed her hand atop his resting on his knee. “If it were not for you . . .”

“Our acquaintance had not been long and I realize I have absolutely no right to say this but”—their gazes met—“I must tell you how ardently I respect and admire you.”

His words, the ones Rosalind had been so wanting to hear, had come tumbling from his lips. He cared for her. What she had not thought of was her response. Finally she said, “I, too, must admit my inclination toward you has altered.”

“Truly?” A spark of hope flickered in his eyes. “I realize that presently I am unacceptable since you know nothing of me, my family, my circumstance—”

“Please”—she placed her hand on his mouth to silence him and smiled at the touch of his lips on her fingertips—“can we not take a bit of time to become accustomed to our new situation? May I remind you only two days or so ago we could barely stand to share this very room.”

“I understand your meaning.” The excitement of their realized mutual affection was palpable. “And, lest we forget, you are still recovering.”

He lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips, and pressed on it a lingering kiss. It fairly took Rosalind’s breath away.

She had no idea if the affection between them was fleeting, because of their recent encounter, or if it would last. It was known to her that persons who experienced episodes of heightened drama, such as in a life-or-death situation, sometimes grew closer. Was it so for them? Or had that incident brought out their true feelings? It might be difficult to discern but Rosalind had no wish to rush to any sort of commitment.

This was very new . . . to the both of them.

He lowered her hand but still gazed into her eyes, leaning forward as though he meant to kiss her.

A little panic rose in her, whether she should allow him the liberty. She wished he would do so yet . . . she knew he should not. Rosalind’s eyelids lowered before she could make the conscious decision; soon it would be done.

“Here you are, Rosalind!” Mrs. Harris entered the room and the couple on the sofa sprang apart.

The lovely moment of their coze and impending kiss was irrefutably over. They stood, Mr. Worth still holding Rosalind’s hand, but appearing now as if he were merely helping her to stand.

“You should be resting in your room after your terrifying ordeal! What kind of a mother should I be if I allowed you to gallivant all over the house? No music practice for you this day, my dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rosalind kept her gaze cast downward.

“Mr. Freddie, of course you will understand,” Mrs. Harris went on.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he replied with a roguish smile that went apparently unnoticed by the elder woman.

“Will you do me the favor of escorting her up the staircase, sir?” Mrs. Harris pointed behind her.

“I would be happy to do so, ma’am.” He tucked Rosalind’s hand in the crook of his arm and she felt very safe in his care.

“You go to your bedchamber straightaway, is that understood, my girl?” Mrs. Harris leveled her index finger at her. “You will find Clare is waiting to help you settle in.”

“Yes, ma’am, at once.” Rosalind thought the scold was well worth the few private minutes in the parlor she shared with Mr. Worth.

“See that you do.” Mrs. Harris turned and left.

“Well, that certainly puts a period to our conversation,” he remarked.

“I’m afraid so.” Rosalind pulled her hand from his arm and strolled toward the corridor to leave.

Freddie watched her move from him. It was a sad sight, indeed. Just as she neared the doorway, he noticed how the threshold perfectly framed her. How the winter greenery mounted in the center of the archway created a striking picture. For the first time he realized there hung the mistletoe.

“Miss Rosalind? A moment, if you please.”

“What is it, sir?” She stopped and faced him, freezing the image for him to memorize.

Freddie realized she had no idea where she stood.
In the doorway, under the kissing bough.

“I would like to bring something to your attention.” He strolled toward her. “Do you recall Clare and Trev’s long toil in the dining room the other day?” He glanced upward and she followed the direction in which he stared. “You would not have me lose my second chance to claim my kiss, would you?”

“This is quite shocking, Mr. Worth,” she replied, sounding a bit breathless. “A kiss right here, out in the open, where anyone might see us?”

“A kissing bough is tradition. No one will think otherwise.” And he produced for her a white berry. She took it from him and appeared puzzled as to where he had acquired it so rapidly.

The intimate moment they had created while in the parlor some minutes ago had been disrupted by Mrs. Harris. Now he had a second opportunity, not as romantic, he admitted, but one he would not let pass.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, savoring this moment before leaning near to kiss her. Freddie drew in a breath and pressed his lips to hers. He opened his eyes, to gaze upon her blissful expression that told him she was pleased with her first kiss. Their kiss only left him wanting more.

“That was very nice, Mr. Worth.” Rosalind drew in a breath.

“Even though we have shared only a mistletoe kiss, does that not lend itself to a bit of familiarity? I think you might call me something other than
Mr. Worth
.”

“Would you prefer me to call you
Mr. Freddie
as the others do?”

“Call me what you will, my sweet. My name is Frederick.” He wanted to draw her into his arms, hold her tight, and sate the both of them with a long, heartfelt, breath-stealing kiss but today would not be that day. “Now take my arm and allow me to see you to the upper landing as I have been instructed. I have no wish to have my hair combed with a stool by Mrs. Harris.”

Chapter Fifteen

R
os? Ros-a-lind?” Clare called out and came running to the upper-floor landing.

Rosalind stood alone. She recalled that
Freddie,
for that is what she would call him now—
Freddie,
had escorted her, for her own safety, up the stairs.

“Are you feeling the thing? You look a bit flushed.” Clare studied her sister’s face, commenting on her complexion. “You don’t think you’re going to swoon again, are you?”

“Swoon? Why would I . . .” Oh, yes. Rosalind did recall there was a swooning episode just the other day. That was caused by something else entirely. “No, I don’t think I’m going to swoon.”

“Well, come inside and I’ll help you to bed.”

Rosalind did not wish to go to bed or rest or . . . to tell the truth she had no idea what she wanted at the moment. She simply allowed her sister to do as she wished.

“Mama told me to help you change into your night rail and help you to bed,” Clare informed her, taking Rosalind’s shawl and unfastening her dress. “A tray will be sent up for dinner so you needn’t bother to come down and— What is this in your hand?” Clare held up a white berry between her thumb and index finger.

“Where did you get this?”

“From Freddie.”

“
Freddie
? You called him
Freddie
.
Don’t you mean Mr. Worth?” Clare’s normally innocent demeanor altered into an older, all-knowing matron. “So he’s kissed you. You
allowed
him to kiss you. I knew it, I knew it! You find him agreeable, do you not? You’ve changed your opinion of him completely!”

“Yes, Clare, I do find him agreeable,” Rosalind admitted. “I find him much more than that and he . . . he . . .”

“He’s offered for you!” Clare nearly squealed and hopped with excitement. It was very unladylike.

“He has
not
offered for me. He has only confided his feeling to me. We are of like minds, have shared a kiss, only one, and have discussed nothing else. It is too soon. Far too soon for that, Clare.” Rosalind pulled her dress from her shoulders, readying herself to don her night rail. “As he told me himself, he is a stranger to me. I know nothing of him, of his family, or of his reputation. However, he did confess his warm feelings for me and I for him.”

“It was bound to happen, you know. I imagine you will marry soon, then. Perhaps after Trevor and I wed.” Clare, who must have known no such arrangement had been made between them or their families, spoke as if their settlements had already been agreed to and made. “Do you think that marriage might be difficult with a musician husband?”

Who said anything about marriage?

“Your life would be filled with song and happiness. That is quite a pleasant prospect, is it not, Ros?” Clare prattled on while she removed Rosalind’s dress and set it aside.

“I . . . I never thought about it. I quite thought myself on the shelf, you know.” Rosalind had never imagined she would marry. Her prospects here in the country were nonexistent.

“On the shelf? Oh,
pooh
!” Ever-optimistic Clare continued on, “Of course you’ll marry and you’ll be the wife of a musician.”

“I suppose there could be a worse choice of vocation. At least our life would be filled with music. What about you? How does Mr. Trevor intend to . . .” How did one ask about financial means tactfully?

“Trevor is the younger son of a viscount and has an allowance and expects his father will increase it once we marry. I am quite sure it will be enough if we economize.” Clare sounded hopeful. “I am hardly of an advanced age nor am I a spinster. But he thinks I’m beautiful! Unfortunately, I have very little dowry.”

“Eh . . . none to speak of, my dear.” Rosalind hated to be the bearer of bad news but what her sister said had been the truth. There would be no dowry for either of them.

“Perhaps so, but he does not care, he loves me.” Clare pulled back the counterpane to ready the bed for Rosalind. “I suppose you and Freddie will have to live on his meager earnings.”

And they would be meager, too. Married life as a musician’s wife did not promise to be a luxurious one. Rosalind wondered if he would supplement their income by teaching lessons. If it came to it, she supposed she could teach as well, perhaps music basics.

Rosalind slid into bed and covered herself. She really did not need to worry. There had been no talk of marriage between them, only the one kiss.

“So what do you advise?” Trevor leaned against the four-poster bed in Freddie’s bedchamber, waiting for his answer.

“Are you telling me this as a warning or do you wish me to extricate you from your fate before things go too far?” Freddie was the last person his friend should ask for advice. He was most probably in the biggest tangle of his life and it was growing larger as the days passed and now he had fallen in love. Since Trevor currently suffered a difficulty of his own, Freddie had no wish to encumber him, good or bad, with his own news.

“I am telling you because it is
ma
-intent to marry Miss Clare Harris and it is inevitable that the truth of who you are will come out. It has to. The family of my future wife resides in my best friend’s country estate.”

“I could sell Penshaw and never return to these parts,” Freddie offered, except he could never do that to the tenants, the people whom he promised to help out of their poverty.

“That’s the future. What I’m talking about is the present. How long do you think it is possible for you to remain and not be discovered as
His Lordship
?”

“It’s a day-by-day progression.” All Freddie wanted was to linger in his euphoric, newfound feelings for Rosalind. However, the ever-practical Trevor was correct. The truth, the truth about
him
, had to come out eventually. But why, Freddie wondered, must it happen at
this
moment? Sometime next week might be a better time. “I haven’t given it much thought, really.”

“Maybe you should.” Trevor’s talk of marriage was very serious business, indeed.

Was there a way for Trevor to marry Clare and Freddie to keep his true identity hidden from the Harris sister, nay, the family, and the entire population who inhabited the five miles around Penshaw Manor? The possibility seemed very, very remote.

And what of his budding romance with his dearest Rosalind? When she discovered who he was, who he
truly
was, Freddie was certain there would be no saving grace for the hated and detested Earl of Brent.

Yes,
later
would prove to be much better. Freddie would enjoy his time with Rosalind now, spend hours in her delightful company, contemplate the idea of a few more kisses, and defer the unpleasant news for maybe some time next week.

Freddie found the food at dinner lacked flavor. The mealtime conversation seemed uninteresting. Without Rosalind’s presence the whole evening dragged on and on. Freddie had never experience a duller stretch of time in his life.

“Mrs. Harris?” Freddie had had enough of pushing the food around his plate and set his utensils on the table. “Can you tell me who is making the food basket deliveries in Miss Rosalind’s absence?”

“Who?” Mrs. Harris’s face creased in thought. She chewed on a bite of ham. “I believe Clare has taken over that task, is that not right, my dear?”

“It is a good thing Mr. Trevor’s recovery was an expeditious one. It has freed my time to return to visiting the tenants,” Miss Clare informed him. “Harry and Gordon continue to help, you know.”

“I have offered
ma-
assistance as well,” Trevor added.

“But you are not yet well enough, sir,” Mrs. Harris declared. “We have you
and
Rosalind to care for now. Please do us the favor of cooperating.”

“Mr. Trevor, you are too kind.” Miss Clare smiled at him. “But Mama is right. You cannot.”

“I tell you, Freddie, these managing females will be the death of me yet!”

“Mr. Trevor, that will be quite enough.” Mrs. Harris chided him for his outburst.

“I would like to volunteer as well.” Freddie thought this was the first worthwhile bit of discussion they had had yet this evening. “I have accompanied Miss Rosalind on several visits and I have made the acquaintance of several of the tenants. I believe I could be of value.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Freddie,” Miss Clare replied. “I will keep that in mind. However, I believe your presence may be more valued at Thistles than handing out food baskets.” There was a knowing stare that accompanied her words.

“Will you not play for us this evening, Mr. Freddie?” Mrs. Harris’s request sounded sweet and inviting.

“Of course, I shall.” Freddie pushed away from the table and helped Mrs. Harris rise. He escorted her down the corridor to the parlor. He could not help but notice how far Miss Clare and Trevor lagged behind. There was also much whispering going on between them.

“It is too bad we do not have a foursome so we may enjoy dancing again. That was such great fun!” Mrs. Harris chattered. “I daresay when Rosalind is recovered we will have our happy little foursome once again. And perhaps we will dance during our Twelfth Night celebration. If you gentlemen do not know, our New Year and Christmas night festivities were both cancelled due to the weather. All our preparations wasted! But it was impossible to predict. When it comes to the weather, one never knows, does one?”

“Exactly,” Freddie agreed. He really hadn’t been attending Mrs. Harris and yet he could not make out Miss Clare and Trevor’s topic, either.

When all four of them had entered the parlor, Freddie turned to the trio to address them. “Does anyone have a particular request?”

It was not a surprise that Mrs. Harris had something to say.

Freddie climbed the stairs ahead of Trevor. Upon reaching the first landing he paused, looking down the corridor toward Rosalind’s room.

Tomorrow. He knew he would see her tomorrow.

“If you will excuse me, sir.” Trevor stood at Freddie’s bedchamber door. “I would like a moment of your time, if you please.”

“If you like. Pray, enter.” Freddie expected another round of hypotheticals regarding marriage to Clare. He had no new knowledge to impart and nothing could have changed between when they spoke before dinner and now. Freddie closed the door after passing through and did not need to wait long to hear what Trevor had to say.