A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (9 page)

Her father turned to face her. “Rosalind, do come join us!” He waved her to his side. “Mr. Freddie, here, is a master musician!”

“That is not quite true—” He raised his hand to intercede, to no avail. Rosalind well knew the futility in the attempt.

“Oh, nonsense, my boy. One only has to listen to you to know I am right!”

“It is best not to contradict my father,” Rosalind spoke around her parent to Mr. Worth.

“I see,” Freddie replied then said no more.

“I think you should take advantage of our guest’s presence, my dear. I’m certain he could improve your playing in a few lessons.”

Rosalind had no intention of having
lessons
but kept her opinion to herself.

“I’ve come up with a brilliant idea!” Mr. Harris nearly shouted in his excitement. “You must play at our upcoming festivities!”

“I am happy to do so, sir, if that is what you wish.”

“It would be a great showpiece if you could play together . . . a duet . . . a piece with four hands.” He looked from Rosalind to Mr. Worth. “What do you say?”

Rosalind kept from pointedly looking at the guest’s expression but it seemed to her he did not react.

“What’s that you say, sir? Are you up to the task?” Mr. Harris put Mr. Worth on the spot.

“If we can find an appropriate piece to play and Miss Harris is willing, I would be more than happy to comply.”

“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Harris clapped his hands together. “I cannot think of anything more wonderful! What a treat this will be for our guests.”

“I do not know if we are in possession of such a piece, sir,” Rosalind was quick to remind him but would, even against her personal wishes, cooperate. She had no wish to spend any more time than she was obligated to with their guest. Performing together would place an additional burden on her time and place her in a proximity to him that she could not like.

“Come now, girl. You know we must have something. We’re bound to.” Mr. Harris moved to the built-in bookcases where one of the drawers held their many sheets of music. He pulled a handful from the drawer and riffled through it in a bit of a frantic manner while returning to the pianoforte. “Should be right here somewhere. We must have something.” The lot slipped from his hands, spilling onto the lid. “You’ll find some such there, or over there.” He waved behind him where he had left the drawer open. “I’ll leave you two to it, then, shall I?”

There was nothing for either Mr. Worth or Rosalind to say on the matter.

Her father nodded to them, flashed a smile, winked, murmured a “Good. Good,” and left.

Mr. Worth glanced to his left where lay the sheet music. “Are you a willing participant, then?”

Rosalind sighed. “If my parent bids me to do so, then I must do my utmost to comply.”

“I could claim there was no music to be found.”

“I would not have you lie on my behalf, sir.” He looked to be relieved at her pronouncement. “However, you may find it challenging to find a piece that I could play.”

“Your father led me to believe you were most capable.”

“He may have exaggerated.” Although he never complimented her skill to her, he always made exaggerations to those outside her family. “He can be very single-minded at times.”

“Will you do me the honor of playing for me so I may decide for myself?”

“As you wish.” Rosalind drew out the piece she had most recently been practicing. “I was rehearsing this for our Christmas party.”

“I would be delighted to hear it.”

“I only mention it to warn you that I can play nothing better.”

“Understood, please continue,” he said while standing next to the pianoforte.

How could she be expected to play her best with her audience standing so near? Rosalind placed her music on the stand, sat at the keyboard, took a moment to collect herself, and then began. She heard the difference before the end of the first measure. Rosalind’s keyboard skill had not improved but somehow the music had. It sounded quite lovely, really.

How was it that
 . . .

Rosalind stopped. “The pianoforte’s been tuned.” She stared up at Mr. Worth. “Are you responsible?”

“Well . . . I’m afraid so.” He was reluctant to admit it.

“When did you have time to send for—” There was no one local who could have— Rosalind found this all a bit perplexing. She narrowed her eyes, wondering about what was possible and what might be probable. “Did
you
—”

“I’m afraid I did. I beg your pardon for taking the liberty . . . I did not think . . .” He sounded apologetic. “There was no one about and I . . . ahem . . . For lack of a proper excuse, ma’am, my hands were idle and I found an occupation.”

“And how well you did, sir. I must commend you on your work.” Rosalind played a chord, allowing the harmonious notes to resonate.

“It’s a fairly old instrument and has not been tuned in some time.”

Was that his professional opinion? He had been correct. “It was my mother’s and now I am the only one who plays.” She smiled at the thought of playing again. “I cannot recall when this instrument has sounded this good.”

“I am happy that I can be of some service. To be honest I am pleased your father has given me a task.”

“Rest assured your talent will not be unappreciated. As you know, Mr. Harris is a great music enthusiast, as are Mrs. Harris and my sister. I am certain they all will relish an evening’s entertainment, if you are so inclined. And we have Twelfth Night celebration approaching where there will be ample opportunity to perform before our guests.”

“I will be very happy to do so. Now for our music.” Mr. Worth turned his attention to the sheet music piled on the pianoforte lid. “From the little you played I believe you are more than capable to learn and perform with me. You can easily read music and with a little practice we should be able to do as your father asks, sit side by side and play.”

Chapter Nine

F
reddie and Miss Harris both sorted through the many sheets of music over the next several hours. They looked for any piece written for four hands and placed them to one side for further scrutiny. They were interrupted when one of the male house servants entered and informed Freddie he was needed by Trevor.

Miss Harris excused herself, stating she had spent enough time on this particular folly and that it was inevitable she would see him soon enough. Freddie got the distinct impression she still did not care for his company. It was of no matter.

How could Freddie expect her to find him agreeable when he could not find himself so?

The person Freddie was now was not the same person she had met at the edge of the woods. After much thought and consideration, he had come to the realization that he had led less than an exemplary life. These past weeks had proven quite lowering and he was determined to change his ways.

His plans for reforming his character were not for Miss Harris’s benefit. And she, he felt quite strongly, would not be any sort of determining factor as to his metamorphosis.

Still, he would be amiable and all that was agreeable during his stay. After all, Miss Rosalind was a member of the family of the gracious household who took in him and Trevor, both strangers, during their holiday season. Freddie was beyond grateful to them and would remember this kindness when he revealed himself to be the owner of the estate, the Earl of Brent.

He paused in the corridor outside Trevor’s bedchamber to allow Mrs. Harris to pass. He did not think she was in a hurry but she did decidedly have a purpose and had not paused to offer much of a greeting. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Good afternoon.”

“I do hope so,” she replied but it did not seem to Freddie she was addressing him. “I must see that proper dinner arrangements are made.” Then she turned her gaze up at him. “You will make certain that Mr. Trevor is on time for dinner, will you not?”

“I will do my utmost, ma’am.” Was Trevor to join them this evening? Is that why Freddie had been called, to act as his valet once again? Once Mrs. Harris was out of sight he continued into his friend’s bedchamber.

Inside Miss Clare stood across the room and Trevor, sporting a green-printed banyan that was clearly not his, walked slowly toward her. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really. I am quite capable of doing this on my own, I assure you.”

Freddie kept a quiet watch. Why Miss Clare had not seen him standing behind Trevor was all too clear: Trevor was the only man who existed in her world.

“There, you did it!” Once he arrived into her awaiting arms, she kissed Trevor on the cheek. The two of them remained unnaturally quiet. If Mrs. Harris had not abandoned her post as chaperone, the buss and the following inappropriate silence as the two stared into each other’s eyes, followed by deep sighs, would most likely not have occurred.

Freddie had to say something to announce his presence without giving them a horrid shock. “I’d imagine you’ll be dashing from one end of the house to the other with that type of encouragement, Trev.”

“Mr. Freddie!” Clare moved quickly away from Trevor. “We did not see you there.”

“No, we didn’t,” Trevor concurred.

Freddie looked from one not-so-innocent face to the other. “I can see that you two only have eyes for the other.”

It was a shame Trevor could not admire the heightened blush on Miss Clare’s cheeks.

“I think I should make certain there is an extra place set at the table this evening. Mr. Rutherford is to join us, you know.” Clare smiled and nodded curtly at the two men. “If you will please excuse me.” She graced Trevor with a lingering gaze before stepping out of the room.

“You sent for me, did you not?” Freddie’s question hung unanswered in the air while Trevor leaned to his right, making certain he had captured every moment of Miss Clare’s presence before her departure. “Trev? Trev-or?”

“Wot’s that, Fred?” Trevor blinked and gave a great sigh. The fellow was completely smitten and floating among the clouds.

“I’m wondering why you sent for me.” Freddie would need to be very patient. His friend was no longer part of this world. His new language contained only heavy sighs, lingering gazes, and delicate, fragrant flowers.

“Mrs. Harris must have. It was not I,” Trevor clarified and wrapped the insufficient material of his banyan across his midsection. Now that Miss Clare was absent he was feeling the chill of the room once again. “She wanted to make certain I was properly dressed and on time.”

“Am I reduced to your valet now?” Freddie could not help but raise his eyebrows at his hostess’s presumption.

“She don’t know who you are, remember?” Trevor made his way to a chair and eased into it.

“I am pleased that you have made great strides, literally, in your recovery.”

“Oh, I feel much better.” He took a deep breath, something he was previously unable to do, then exhaled without a grimace.

“I can see that you do.” Freddie smiled. He had never seen Trevor so affected by a female before. It was rather amusing.

“I cannot tell you how much I look forward to seeing her next, Fred. The sound of her voice when she says
ma
-name. It is truly music to
ma
-ears. I fear it will not be long until I have totally lost my heart to her.”

As if that had not already happened.

“Do you know she read to me this afternoon?” Trevor took hold of the bedpost, not out of need for physical support but because his swelling heart inhabiting his mortal body was becoming burdensome. “It was
poetry.
”

“Really? And you enjoyed it?” Trevor had always been more bookish than Freddie but this affinity for
poetry
was an entirely different thing.

“Thoroughly.” A silly smile appeared on his lips. His eyelids lowered, casting a dreamy facade.

“And exactly what kind of
poetry
did she read?”

“Who knows . . . but she sat right next to me, wanted to keep me company. Clare was afraid I would be bored, but how could I be bored with her in the room? She is an angel.”

An angel . . .
Freddie sighed. His friend’s heart was lost for sure.

There were a few young gentlemen of their acquaintance who were prone to falling in and out of love many times during a Season. He and Trevor had scoffed at such tomfoolery in years past but now it had happened to Trevor. Cupid’s arrow had never taken aim at one of the Rutherford boys’ hearts. Mrs. Harris had every right to think Trevor would not be ready for dinner on time. He simply sat there in a daze.

“I may not be able to see the color of her eyes or hair but there ain’t nothing wrong with
ma
-hearing,” he commented with a smile.

“Let us see what we can do to get you ready for dinner, shall we?” Freddie tried to rouse his friend from his dreamlike state. “We’re to see Clare and her family belowstairs, you know?”

“
Clare . . .
” the stricken mooncalf lowed.

“That’s right, now let’s move along.” Freddie nudged Trevor to straighten so he could
remove the banyan.

Even though they had only been there for twenty-four hours, the future between the two lovers was clear. Freddie thought it best not to mention their impending departure lest his friend break down in tears before their hosts. Clearly Trevor could not see beyond the
next
time he was to meet his beloved, and perhaps for now it mattered not.

Well before their day of departure arrived, Freddie expected Trevor’s common sense would return and he would realize what he had to do. Surely he would propose, knowing his father, Lord Rutherford, would be happy to see one of his sons take the step of matrimony.

As for the Harris family, the blessing for the marriage would not be too long off and Freddie felt certain the subject would be broached to the would-be bride before the Cumberland snow had a chance to melt.

Even as Rosalind rushed from one dwelling to the next, she knew very well she would arrive late for dinner. With Clare focusing her time with Mr. Rutherford’s rehabilitation, it fell upon Rosalind’s shoulders to visit the tenants and deliver the much-needed food baskets. She’d done her best to keep each tenant stay short but it was near impossible to limit her time, especially since she knew it might be days until her next visit.

Upon return to Thistles, Gordon took charge of the sled they’d used and Rosalind raced up the servants’ staircase to her bedchamber to change out of her traveling clothes. Her maid stood waiting with Rosalind’s long-sleeved, blue frock, having both the lace and white ribbon which seemed more adornment than a simple dinner at home, but there was no time to change into another gown. Rosalind took a moment to sit and regain her composure while having the curling iron touch up her hair. Loose curls draped artfully over her forehead and a smooth chignon captured the wayward strands that had come loose from her outdoor journey.

“Thank you, Sally. I think I’ll leave the shawl.” Rosalind draped it over the back of the dressing table chair. She already felt a bit warm from rushing about and could not see bringing it with her to the dining room.

“A handkerchief, miss.” The maid held out the small folded linen.

“Yes, I’ll be needing that.” Rosalind retrieved it, tucking it into the wrist of her sleeve. She had developed a slight sniffle since the last heavy snowfall and pressed it often to her nose. Stepping swiftly through the door and to the staircase, she descended and came to an abrupt stop on the ground floor. Rosalind took a breath to calm herself and then headed to the parlor where the family and guests gathered to wait for dinner.

Mr. Worth stood when Rosalind appeared at the threshold.

“No, Mr. Trevor, do not even attempt it!” Clare warned Mr. Rutherford, laying her hand upon his arm to stay him. “You do well enough sitting right there.” It was true. Their guest looked a bit stiff, as if being very careful not to cause himself injury.

“Rosalind, dear,
there
you are!” Mrs. Harris announced in a much louder voice than Rosalind thought necessary.

“Good evening. I apologize if I have kept you waiting.” Rosalind noticed Mr. Worth stepping toward the end of the sofa to make room for Rosalind to sit next to him. She hesitated but did so nonetheless. Once seated, Mr. Worth sat, at what she considered a respectable distance, as well.

“Thank you,” she replied to his courteous gesture. “I am so very happy to see how much you have improved and that you are now able to join us, Mr. Rutherford.”

She had not yet made his acquaintance nor even seen him, for that matter. When he arrived, Gordon and James had both helped him up the staircase and to his bedchamber straightaway with much effort. Thinking back to that time, when she had mistakenly thought Mr. Worth was his friend Mr. Rutherford, it occurred to Rosalind now that she may have been wrong not to countenance the offer of hospitality to the strangers. It had appeared Mr. Rutherford had been rather bad off.

“I cannot take all the credit, Miss Harris. Miss Clare, here, has been indispensable to my recovery.” He glanced at her sitting next to him, and could probably no more keep his adoring expression concealed when he gazed upon her than stop his heart from beating. For Mr. Rutherford, it seemed, the presence of Clare’s two family members and his friend simply ceased to exist when he gazed at her.

And if that were not enough, Clare returned his ardor.

It made the atmosphere in the room, at least for Rosalind, fairly uncomfortable.

Mr. Worth, as if also sensing the awkwardness, cleared his throat. “I believe our meal is waiting for us.”

“Yes, Mr. Worth, you are correct.” Mrs. Harris stood and glanced at Clare.

Clare leaned toward Mr. Rutherford and whispered, “Are you ready? Can you stand? Shall I help you?” She aided Mr. Rutherford to his feet and she, along with Mrs. Harris, carefully escorted, or rather, led, him to the dining room, leaving Mr. Worth to offer Rosalind his arm. Of course it was up to Mrs. Harris to play chaperone, which unfortunately, left Rosalind, to her dismay, obliged to walk with Mr. Worth into dinner.