Freddie followed Miss Rosalind into the small dwelling, ducking his head as he passed through the threshold. Through the dimly lit interior he saw very little furniture, several chairs, and a small table which held a candle.
“And who might this lad be?” Mr. Walsh closed the door and hobbled slowly, with the use of a cane, to the meager fire in the crumbling stone hearth.
“I have brought one of our guests staying at Thistles, sir.” Miss Rosalind motioned to Freddie. “May I introduce Mr. Worth?”
“How de do, young man?” Mr. Walsh’s eyes crinkled and a warm smile creased his kind face.
“I am very glad to make your acquaintance, sir.” Freddie nodded, unable to tip his hat while laden with packages.
“Sit down, sit down, please.” The elderly man pointed to the chair closest to the fire. “Warm ye-self.”
“In a moment. Allow me to finish my deliveries,” Freddie replied with a chuckle. “Do have a seat. I will join you in a bit, sir.”
A circle of tattered-clothed and stockinged-footed children streamed into the room and soon gathered around Miss Rosalind. She laughed and greeted each by name.
“Now, you little ones behave!” Mr. Walsh called out. The five lanky youngsters squealed and giggled, giving not a care to their elder relative.
“Children, children!” An old woman came from the next room. “Miss Rosalind’s not a maypole. Why don’t you give her a hand with her basket?”
They continued to giggle and reached into the basket to lighten the load. Each pulled out a small package, looking large in their tiny hands, and then surrounded Freddie, taking the parcels he carried.
“All right, you children take those things ta t’other room, now, hear? Awww . . . Miss Rosalind, ye shouldna ’ave come. It’s terrible cold outside, and bound ta get worse.” Mrs. Walsh neared and took the basket from Rosalind.
“I feel perfectly safe when I have two strong men to escort me,” she reassured the older lady, then glanced toward Harry who now sat conversing with Mr. Walsh.
“Who is this gentleman? I do not fink I know him.” Mrs. Walsh studied him.
Miss Rosalind motioned for Freddie to come closer. “Mrs. Walsh, this is Mr. Worth. He and his friend Mr. Rutherford are guests at Thistles.”
“How do you do, ma’am?” Freddie removed his hat and bowed his head.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Walsh nodded. “Your friend be Mr. Trevor, hurt in an accident, is that right?”
“Yes, nearly a week ago now.” It took Freddie a moment to think of how she knew, but of course it was Miss Clare who spread the news of the strangers.
“How is he faring?”
“He’s coming along splendidly, thank you for inquiring.” Freddie bowed his head again.
“Aye, under Miss Clare’s tender care I expect he’ll come about soon.” The twinkle in her eye could not have escaped Miss Rosalind’s attention. It certainly did not go unnoticed by Freddie.
“I am afraid we cannot stay for long.” Miss Rosalind put an end to the discussion of her sister and Trevor. And that was Freddie’s cue to step away, whether or not they were making their exit at that moment. He quietly joined the men gathered near the hearth. Yet he could not keep from doing his utmost to hear the ladies.
“Will ye not sit, though, just for a bit? Is there time for a cuppa?” Mrs. Walsh drew a chair out for Miss Rosalind.
“I think not, thank you very much. We will need to leave soon. Even my two escorts cannot prevent the snow from falling nor the sky from growing darker.” She eased into the chair and motioned for her hostess to do the same. “I do want to know how you are going on? And Mr. Walsh? How is his hip?”
Freddie recalled Mr. Walsh had used a cane and now knew the man had a chronic problem that ailed him. The cold took its toll on old joints. Did he work? How could he care for his family? The children were quite young, not yet able to help. And how did he and his wife manage to feed so many mouths?
Freddie could not even begin to imagine. The Earl of Brent could not ignore the tide of guilt washing up against him again.
Rosalind wasn’t the only one late for dinner this night. Mr. Worth, who had accompanied her, now sat at the table and barely touched a bite of food off his plate. One would think after enduring the journey, and the cold, one would be famished, replenishing one’s fuel reserves, so to speak. He apparently did not feel the need.
Nearly everyone had finished their meal and laid down their utensils.
“Mr. Worth, did you not find the meal to your liking this evening?” Mrs. Harris was the last to set her fork and knife on her plate.
“No, ma’am. I beg your pardon, it is I who am lacking, not the meal.” He did not sound well and Rosalind wondered if he were ill. “I do not believe I am contagious, only feeling under the weather a bit.”
“My dear sir,” Mrs. Harris, in a voice of hauteur, informed him, “we are all under the weather.”
“Too true, ma’am.” Mr. Worth laid his napkin on the table. “I propose I play this evening to lighten our moods.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Clare exclaimed with glee but her adoring gaze quickly returned to Mr. Rutherford.
“I think that would be just the thing,” Mrs. Harris agreed. “Let us remove to the parlor, shall we?” She waited for Mr. Worth to offer his arm and made several suggestions on pieces he might perform.
Rosalind tarried, making certain Mr. Rutherford was steady on his feet. It appeared to her that Clare was truly all he needed and they proceeded, leaving Rosalind to trail down the corridor to the parlor alone. By the time she had arrived, the suggestions for their entertainment had evolved from sonatas and concertos to country dance.
“A dance?” Mr. Worth sounded incredulous. “You only managed to the stairs to join us yesterday, Trev, and now you want to attempt a dance?”
“I see your point, Fred, but I’m certain you could manage something not too vigorous?” Mr. Rutherford’s motivation was all too clear. He wanted to stand up with Clare.
“Trev . . .” Rosalind could see Mr. Worth doubted his friend’s reasoning. “Very well, I will do my best to accommodate you, if you will give me a moment or two.”
“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 pos
ture 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
Freddie 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—
&nbs
p; “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.”
A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) Page 10