A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6)

by Shirley Marks

  “Thank you kindly, Mrs. Morley.” Freddie accepted the cap, replacing his once-fashionable hat with the warmer one, and then the knit gloves.

  “Ye look lik’ a daft quiz of a flash cove in that cap but it’ll do.” She turned to face the corridor and yelled, “Drew lad, Mr. Freddie, he’s going wit’ you to gather wood.”

  “All right, Mum,” came the quick reply shouted from beyond. The scampering sound of feet heading in their direction soon brought sight of the boy. He stopped next to Freddie and gazed up at him. “You ready ta go, sir?”

  “I am.” Freddie had taken the good-natured ribbing and pulled Trevor’s coat around him. It felt a bit baggy and hung a bit longer than he was used to. No matter, he was ready to step outdoors.

  “This way, then.” Drew motioned to his mother. “Ta, Mum.”

  “Behave yurselves, now,” she replied.

  Freddie followed Drew outside. It had not grown any more pleasant. It was every bit as cold as he remembered. However, after this task he knew he would return to the warmth and comfort of Penshaw Manor, such as it was. It was no thanks to his own efforts, but Mrs. Morley would see him nicely housed and fed.

  Drew walked purposefully from the house, snatching up a rope tethered to a small sled without stopping.

  The few hours of cold could be tolerated, happily so. Freddie glanced from side to side and all around him. Nothing looked familiar. “I take it you know where you are going?”

  “We’s headed to the far orchard.”

  “That wouldn’t happen to be anywhere near the place where my rig crashed, would it?” Freddie had to sidestep the sled and lengthen his stride to catch up.

  “No, sir.” Drew showed no sign of slowing and his pace remained quick.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where my vehicle is by chance?” Freddie now walked side by side with his companion.

  “Yur rig is over by the road west of the house, just after the river crossin’.”

  “How do you know?” Freddie thought the boy’s description wasn’t a mere guess. It sounded as if Drew knew exactly where the phaeton lay.

  “’Ave already been out this mornin’, sir,” Drew replied.

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you’ve seen my rig out near the road?”

  “Yes, sir, I ’ave. Whole thing’s covered in snow. But it’s there.”

  “You didn’t manage to collect the bags from the back, did you?”

  “No, sir. My mum sent me to do summin’ straightaway. She didn’t tell me to fetch no bags.”

  “You’ve the right of it. Best do what your folks ask.” Freddie had learned that lesson in the most difficult manner. “Maybe you can take me there later?”

  “If you like.”

  “Good.” Freddie smiled. He walked companionably alongside Drew and soon they were singing to pass the time. Then they were laughing at jokes they took turns telling one another. Whether the cold had lessened or the distance they were to travel was not as great as Freddie believed, it appeared to him they had arrived at the far orchard in no time at all.

  It was easy to find firewood. Small bits lay on the ground; snow had covered the trees and many dead branches had snapped from the weight. There were entire trees that had fallen, and cutting that into useable pieces took more work. The two of them gathered, chopped, and stacked the wood onto the sled. Freddie found it just as tolerable even if he, as the larger and stronger of the two, had managed the lion’s share.

  With his last armful of wood, Freddie headed back to the sled where Drew waited to help stack the load and strap it down for the journey back to Penshaw. He glimpsed the young man kneeling by the sled and, when turning about to start in his direction, he stepped forward two steps before coming into contact with—

  A woman’s scream split the air; the firewood flew from Freddie’s arms, knocking him off his feet, causing him to land, quite undignified, in the snow. His attention immediately focused on the lady in a brown cape, her eyes wide with shock. A tendril of her brown hair had escaped from under her hood.

  “I am sorry I stepped in your path and you knocked me over,” he said in what was clearly not an apology.

  The lady’s once-wide eyes narrowed and focused on him. Her lips parted to reply, or what Freddie thought might have been a reply, when Drew interrupted.

  “Miss Harris!” Her escort, pushing a small sled, slid to a stop.

  “Are ye all right, ma’am?” Drew came running to where the collision had taken place.

  She soon regained her composure and it appeared to Freddie that she fared better than he. Drew and the escort retrieved the few items that had fallen from Miss Harris’s basket, leaving the armful of firewood Freddie carried scattered on the ground around them.

  “I am quite unharmed. Thank you,” she said to Drew and lowered the edge of her basket. He replaced her items from the ground that had dislodged as a result of the collision.

  Freddie was left, on the ground, off to the side, to get to his feet by himself. He brushed the snow off his lower limbs as if he were knocking travel dirt from his trousers and boots.

  There was no escape for Freddie from the angry sideways glare she leveled at him as she secured the items in her basket and strode away with her escort in her wake.

  What kind of rude person treated another in such a harsh manner when the incident was clearly her fault?

  The man was an utter rudesby!

  Rosalind steamed about her encounter with a stranger dressed in an ill-fitting coat and tight knit hat all the way home. Who was he? Only a stranger. She had every right not to trust or acknowledge him. Why Drew Morley kept company with him she would learn from him later.

  Removing her outer garments and laying them out to dry, she returned her basket to Cook. Rosalind’s anger regarding the stranger finally subsided by the time she had gone abovestairs and changed her clothes. As she descended the staircase, Rosalind heard voices below. No doubt Clare had finished with her rounds and returned.

  “Clare?” Rosalind joined Cook and Mrs. Harris, all vying for her sister’s attention.

  “Was there enough bread for the Lowther family?” Cook had wished to send larger portions but the size of Clare’s deliveries was already as much as she could manage. The Harris family wished to share their holiday bounty with their neighbors, especially since none of them attended Christmas supper. “I thought we should send more. Ah, next time, then?”

  “How was Sarah Kerr?” Mrs. Harris did not wait for an answer but continued to query her daughter. “You did stop by to see her, did you not?”

  Clare did not answer, only stared while Rosalind worked on the clasps of her outer garment, not making much progress.

  “Are you ill, dear?” Her mother frowned and tilted her head. “You do not seem as if you are feeling the thing.”

  “Cook, will you have tea sent into the parlor?” Rosalind removed Clare’s scarlet cloak and handed it to one of the kitchen maids. “Come, Clare. Let us go inside and sit, shall we?”

  Clare smiled and she went along calmly. Rosalind led her to the sofa, thinking all along her sister may need to recline if her condition did not improve.

  “Clare. Clare?” Rosalind had never seen her sister behave in such an odd manner. “What is it, my dear? Has something happened while you were out?”

  As Harry, one of their servants, had accompanied Rosalind, Gordon had gone with Clare, as an escort and to supply the main transport of the many bundles of food they had planned to give out that day. Surely the manservant would have watched out for and protected her if needed.

  “Where was Gordon?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Gordon. Was he with you? He didn’t leave you, did he?”

  “Gordon? No, he was there.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Happened?” Clare’s eyes widened and her expression became somewhat unfocused and dreamlike. “Oh, Ros, he had this horrible accident and was tossed in
to the snow. The poor man is hurt but I think he is wonderful.”

  Tossed in the snow? To whom had Clare referred? Surely not Gordon. The sisters were acquainted with the very same people and as far as Rosalind knew, her sister had no such tender feelings for any of their neighbors.

  “Of course you have not met him yet.” Clare sighed. One of those off-into-the-distance affairs she had displayed since her return. “I daresay, you cannot have, for he has only arrived yesterday, you understand?”

  “He’s a stranger?” Her sister’s words could not have alarmed Rosalind more. She had met a stranger and he was not in any way an appropriate person for either of them to share an acquaintance. He was a rudesby and a ruffian.

  “I find him all that is agreeable,” was all Clare said and slid quietly into a calm state smelling completely of April and May.

  Then the import of her sister’s words hit Rosalind. Clare was referring to him; the very same man Rosalind had run into, literally. Him—that horrid, rude man.

  Chapter Five

  You’ll not make it there first!” Freddie gave Drew a good-natured push to give the impression he wished to impede the lad’s progress down the corridor to the library.

  Drew, being smaller, quicker, and much younger made a mad dash ahead of Freddie, easily entering the room first with great, loud bursts of laughter from both of them. They stood by the blazing hearth warming themselves after the hours spent that morning outdoors.

  It took some moments before Freddie noticed Trevor sitting quietly off to the side in a chair. A knitted shawl draped over his shirt-clad shoulders as if he were an aged man. His eyes were open wide and he had the oddest expression. Not one of pain or shock at the sudden loss of privacy by a boisterous duo.

  “Trevor, you all right?” While Freddie felt relief at seeing his friend sitting upright, he also experienced some trepidation with his response. “Trevor?”

  “Freddie . . .” He blinked, facing his friend. “When did you arrive?”

  Drew snickered and elbowed Freddie who answered, “Only just.”

  Trevor mumbled something.

  “What’s that you say, there?” Freddie took a step toward him as if being physically closer might make it easier to understand him.

  “Brown hair. She has the most beautiful brown hair,” Trevor repeated. “And her eyes . . .” Then all he could manage was a sigh.

  “I fink Mr. Trevor might be talkin’ ’bout a girl,” Drew whispered to Freddie. “Maybe Miss ’arris.”

  “I’m afraid of that, too.” He turned Drew away from Trevor and toward the door. “Why don’t you see if you can give your mother a hand with our refreshment, make sure it’s hot, now.”

  “Right enough, sir.” Drew headed off to the kitchen without hesitation.

  “And maybe a poultice for Trev,” he yelled after the boy. Turning back to Trevor, Freddie made his way in that direction and muttered, “I think he must be delirious.”

  “Fred, you’re here.” Trevor woke from his trance as if he’d just noticed his friend. “Did you see her?”

  “Uh . . . the lady with the brown hair? Would that be Miss Harris?” Freddie settled in a chair near Trevor. How could he feel so drawn to a lady who repulsed Freddie so?

  “Mrs. Morley brought in this angel wrapped in a plain brown cape and made proper introductions. ‘Miss Harris, this is Mr. Trevor. He came ta us last night feeling mighty poor. Is there summin’ you can do for him?’ And then she looked at me with those eyes.” Trevor glanced up at Freddie. “Those beautiful eyes, Fred.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure they were quite lovely.” Freddie would not disagree with his friend’s assessment, only when Miss Harris turned her gaze in his direction it was with contempt. No doubt that one man’s beauty was another man’s virago.

  “I wanted her to know ma-name, ma-true name, and proceeded to correct Mrs. Morley, ‘I am Trevor Rutherford, ma’am.’ I could not manage to get to ma-feet to properly make her acquaintance as I would have liked. ‘Pray remain seated, sir,’ Miss Harris said, and motioned for me to stay with her delicately gloved hand and she came to ma-side.” Trevor seemed to melt at the very recollection. “She told me, ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am sure, but you must remain still. I have heard you are not well and they have asked me to have a look at you to offer ma-opinion. Do you have any objection, sir?’”

  Freddie thought Mr. Hamilton, the local animal healer, was to come, not a beauty who would mesmerize and bewitch Trevor.

  “She was absolutely delightful.” Trevor’s strange delivery and vacant gaze was most alarming. “Miss Harris, that is.”

  Miss Harris? Delightful was not the word Freddie would use in describing the wandering woman. Clearly she had just come from visiting Penshaw Manor when Freddie had met up with her. Under different circumstances he might have thought her amiable enough when he first set eyes on her, but after their exchange this morning in the far orchard, it was his opinion that neither one had cared for the other.

  “I wanted to impress her and put up a brave front, you understand?” Trevor need not have sought out Freddie’s approval. “Don’t want to appear weak in her eyes, but I can tell you it was dashed-difficult. I tried to explain that I had been in a carriage accident yesterday and although I did not seem to have broken any bones, I . . . Well, I wasn’t exactly certain how I had injured ma-self. She asked if she could examine me.” Trevor’s eyes slid shut. “Oh, her touch, her touch . . .”

  Freddie was not certain he wanted to hear any further details.

  “She was so very gentle. She tried not to cause me any further pain and her fingers were feather light but she managed to find exactly ma-problem.”

  Freddie kept silent, waiting to hear the results of said examination.

  “She speculates I have injured the muscles in ma-ribcage.” He ran his hand along his side with some dismay. “And here I sit in my shirtsleeves. It would not surprise me if I’ve given her a terrible disgust of me.”

  Trevor was smitten with Miss Harris. How could he find her so agreeable when Freddie thought . . . all he could do was shake his head.

  Mrs. Morley entered with the refreshment tray that Freddie had highly anticipated. He could smell warm wine and cinnamon mingled with other spices.

  “We’ve got mulled wine brought o’r from Thistles. Now go on and give tha’ one ta Mr. Trevor, there,” she instructed her son, who followed carefully cradling a mug in both hands. Drew made his delivery to Trevor and returned to his mother for his, and Freddie’s, reward for their morning chore.

  “I think you will be quite delighted to hear, Mr. Trevor, ye’ve been asked to stay at Thistles as soon as yer able ta travel. Mrs. Harris just sent word.”

  “Miss Harris, you say?” Trevor perked right up at the mention of her name.

  “I said Mrs. Harris, she’d be ’er mother and mistress of Thistles.” Mrs. Morley regarded him with disbelief.

  “Am I to reside under the same roof as . . . as . . . that angel?” Trevor uttered with mingled awe and disbelief.

  “Since that is where she lives, I s’pect so, if it’s Miss Harris ’oo ye mean.” Their hostess’s expression softened. She smiled, glanced heavenward, and mumbled, “He’s smitten, that’s fir sure.”

  Trevor touched his cravat, primping, and cringed when his hand came upon his shawl. He glanced down at his shirt-clad torso. “I cannot arrive dressed like this!”

  Neither of them had had the satisfaction of a proper neckcloth for a good week. Their overworn, limp linen had been wound around their necks and simply tied. The jackets and coats they had worn were being repaired but were not even remotely close to their original perfection.

  “I need ma-luggage,” Trevor announced. “I’ve an extra set of clothes there.”

  “You’ll need much more than that,” Freddie replied under his breath.

  “I will not appear before Miss Harris and her family in this dreadful condition!” Trevor rounded on Freddie. “And you should t
hink about your appearance as well. Your father and sisters would be appalled if they could see you.”

  Freddie’s appearance was the least of his problems regarding his family.

  “Not to worry, Mr. Trevor.” Mrs. Morley’s soothing tone must have been employed to calm him. “I’ll send Drew ta fetch yur bag just as soon as the weather lets up and ye’ll have yur new duds soon enough.”

  Trevor relaxed against the back of the chair.

  “I thank you, and your son, for taking such pains on my behalf.” Trevor gazed skyward and mumbled, “I cannot imagine what has made me so needy of late.”

  “Well, then, let us see wot’s goin’ outside, shall we, Drew?”

  “Aye, Mum.” The lad hopped to his feet and glanced at Freddie, bidding him farewell. Mrs. Morley left the tray and followed Drew out the door.

  Freddie took a deep drink of his wine and stared at Trevor, who still held his untouched mug.

  “I cannot believe that I am to reside under the same roof as she, and see her every day.” Trevor’s mood markedly improved before Freddie’s eyes. “I can only dream of having her near, of standing up with her.”

  “Em . . . Trev, you’ll need to be steady on your feet before you can think of dancing with her.”

  “Yes, yes, you are right, Fred. Well . . . you know what I mean.” Trevor shifted about on the chair then reached out with his hand. “Could you . . . your arm, if you please.”

  “Of course, Trev.” Freddie drained his mug, set it on the table, and moved closer to aid his friend.

  “Don’t know how I managed to get into that chair.”

  “I’m sure with Miss Harris’s presence you were feeling no pain.” Freddie set Trevor’s mug to one side before sliding his arm around his friend’s waist and helping him to the pallet near the fire. “I’m certain you will continue to improve once you arrive at Thistles. You’ll have a proper bed there and soon feel quite the thing.”

  “Yes, a bed.” Trevor winced and eased on his back. “It shall be very nice.” The lackluster reply illustrated his fatigue.