A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6)

by Shirley Marks

  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 gratefu
l 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.

  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 lib
erty. 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.