A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6)

by Shirley Marks

  “No, Dawlish, I think I’ve had more than enough to drink.” It had been Trevor’s voice, in barely a croak, but what he said didn’t make much sense. “I’ll be drunk as a lord and it’ll take me twice as long to walk home as it took me to arrive. But no matter, oh, all right, send the footman around with the bottle, what’s the harm of one more glass?”

  Trevor stopped talking before Freddie could determine his friend’s exact location. Farther away from the phaeton’s wreckage than he would have expected, Freddie spotted a great disturbance in the surrounding smooth-fallen snow and hurried toward it. He rushed into snow so deep it came over the tops of his boots, turning into water when meeting his calves.

  “Lawks, it’s cold in here.” Trevor moaned in his delirium. He lay faceup in the snow with one arm, his head, and part of his torso exposed. “Have them stoke the fire, will you?”

  Freddie dropped onto his good knee and held his sore leg out to the side for balance, while half brushing, half digging into the snow until he uncovered his friend.

  “Enough. Enough . . . have done, I say.” Trevor swiped at Freddie with his free arm and thrashed about a bit. “I’m awake. I’ll get up. Only dozed off for a bit ’cause I’m in ma-cups, that’s all.”

  “We ain’t at Brooks, dash it,” Freddie replied, happy to see his companion unharmed, for the most part.

  “Wot?” Trevor lifted his head and seemed to come around. Freddie slipped his arm around his friend and helped him to his feet. “What’s to do? I’m all right, I say.” Trevor winced a bit as he stood and put his hand to the top of his head. “Where’s ma-beaver?”

  “I’ll find your hat in a bit. Are you hurt?” Freddie stepped away to take a proper look for himself.

  Trevor took a couple steps on his own, grabbed his left side with his right arm and cried out. “That’s a bit sore but it’s nothing, really.” He stared at the phaeton now embedded in a mound of snow on one side of the road.

  “Awww . . .” Trevor groaned, taking in the pile of broken wood and bent metal. “You’ve wrecked the thing.”

  “I know.” Freddie did not lament the loss of the vehicle as much as the loss of their only means of transportation.

  “Look at me, will you, Brent?” Trevor gestured to the deplorable state of his greatcoat, which hung open under both arms to his waist and had torn apart at the shoulders, never to be the same again. “I’m in ruin! Not fit to be seen by gentlefolk of any kind.”

  “Who the bloody hell is going to care, much less see you, out here?” Freddie adjusted his own coat, which had been damaged as well. “We can’t stay here. Let’s get moving. It’s deathly cold and we’re losing the light.”

  “We ain’t dressed for it, either.”

  There was no doubt that every item of clothing they wore had shared the same unfortunate fate, but the survivors’ physical condition was yet to be determined. The moans and groans they emitted, the complaints of various body parts, continued as they moved about.

  Trevor hobbled back to what was left of the phaeton, wincing with every other step. “Devil take it, I’d like to fetch ma-trunk but I best not get any closer. Don’t know how deep the snow is there.” He appeared quite worried on his side of the snowdrift.

  “There’s nothing for it, we’ll have to fetch it later.” Freddie could count on Trevor’s uncommon good sense not to press the matter.

  “I s’pose. So what are we to do now? Where are we to go?” Trevor sounded disheartened by this latest downturn to their previous lamentable situation.

  “We continue on to Penshaw, of course.” Freddie couldn’t quite sound cheerful about his edict, but what else could they do?

  “On foot? You’re mad!” No doubt it was Trevor’s good sense speaking once again.

  Freddie could not voice an argument and as far as he was concerned their options were very few. He would be glad to hear any that his companion could offer. “What choice do we have?”

  “None, I s’pose. We have absolutely no alternative but leg it the rest of the way.” The brilliant idea Freddie hoped Trevor would come up with never materialized. “Can’t imagine some farmer or some such coming down the road will stumble across us. Not in this weather.”

  “We have no choice, I’m afraid.” Freddie stared in the direction from which they had come. The tracks of their wheels, where they had run off the road, cut deep into the snow.

  “Say, look there! It’s your hat!” Trevor pointed off to one side.

  Freddie spotted the dark, flat brim of a beaver half embedded in the snow. He rubbed his gloved hands together before lifting the beaver and shaking off the white stuff. “Now to find the other,” he remarked and made to set it on his head, where it slid down over his forehead and past his ears. “Trev, this is your hat.”

  Trevor chuckled but it soon turned into a groan. “Hand it over, then.” He extended his arm but it did not stretch far from his body.

  “You all right?” Freddie eyed his friend. Need he worry about Trevor’s condition?

  “Just a bit sore, that’s all. Nothing that won’t work itself out.” He set his hat upon his head and straightened, working the stray kinks and knots from his neck and shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Give me your arm, will you?” Trevor reached out again. “Oh, look there. It’d be your hat.”

  “Quite right.” Freddie retrieved the second hat with the same dexterity as the first and set it upon his head. “Now we’re ready to be off.” With Trevor’s arm upon his for balance, Freddie led the way down the path in the same direction that the horses had fled.

  Not more than an hour had passed. Any hope Freddie might have had when they’d begun soon abated. With every passing minute, he grew more and more concerned for Trevor. Where Trevor had taken Freddie’s arm to steady him, Freddie now supported most of his friend’s weight.

  Traveling by foot, Freddie saw many signs telling the severity of the cold. The drifts stood intimidatingly high on both sides of the road. Snow balanced on the arms of the shrubs and trees. Ice formed on the ends, adding weight to the burdened branches, bending them downward.

  Drawing in the icy air made breathing painful; Freddie’s lungs burned. The benefit of the crisp weather gave them clear visibility. He wasn’t certain how long or how far they’d gone. The physical exertion did little to warm him. Trevor, who barely remained upright, wasn’t moving much. He hadn’t spoken during the last half hour. Freddie took this as a very bad sign and held on tight to his friend. He fervently hoped they would find refuge soon. Trevor needed warmth and time to mend.

  They needed to go a bit farther, that’s all. Keep walking for only a little while longer. They could do it . . . he could do it.

  Freddie continued onward. Another half hour passed before Trevor raised his head and groaned, becoming alert once again.

  “All right, then?” Freddie took this as an encouraging sign.

  “I don’t know . . .” Trevor stiffened, making an effort to walk. “Hey, wot’s that?”

  “Where?”

  “I think I see a roof.” Trevor nodded to someplace in front of them.

  The moon had come out and provided some illumination before the daylight faded. Freddie gazed out before them, and there was, indeed, something distinctly horizontal in the distance, as if it might be part of a building.

  “Let’s give that place a try, shall we?” With a newfound determination, Freddie renewed his grip around Trevor and they strode forward.

  Another ten minutes brought the house into view. It was a large, abandoned, old, desperately-in-need-of-repair type of house. Freddie scanned the roofline, what was left of it, and supposed there might be some part of the building intact where they might find refuge.

  “Must be vacant, don’t you think?” Trevor voiced Freddie’s exact thoughts. “Can’t imagine anyone living in there.”

  “No matter. It’ll be dark soon and we need shelter. We can manage here for the night and find Penshaw Manor in the morning when we can see properly.”


  “Agreed. Let’s go, then.” Trevor motioned Freddie on.

  They approached the building and the nearer they got, the more doubtful Freddie grew about the soundness of the structure. They stopped before stepping under the portico, and Freddie hoped it would not take that moment to tumble down around them.

  “It does seem a bit precarious, don’t it?” Again Trevor echoed Freddie’s thoughts. Freddie left Trevor to lean against the column lest his pounding on the door to announce himself should bring down part of the ceiling above.

  Freddie knocked, avoiding the crumbling bits of the wall. He could nearly see into the building.

  “Do you think anyone lives here?” Trevor whispered.

  “Can’t imagine, but it won’t do to go barging into the place without giving it a try first.”

  Many minutes went by before Trevor murmured, “Don’t seem as if anyone’s here,” sounding weaker than he had previously.

  Freddie tried the rusted door handle that turned easily enough, but the hinges protested when the door slowly opened. He had the eerie feeling it might be a ghosty or ghoulie. He almost felt embarrassed that such a juvenile emotion would well up in him. He pushed the door open and called, “Hello?” to whomever might inhabit this godforsaken dwelling. “Is anyone here?”

  There wasn’t a sign of a soul. Freddie stepped back, ready to gather Trevor to help him inside and get him out of the weather. Perhaps he could even manage to make a fire once they got settled.

  Trevor held up his hand. “Wait. Shhh—”

  Freddie stilled, making a concerted effort to listen. Then he heard it too. Not a voice but movement, quiet rustling, shuffling. An animal, perhaps?

  Someone . . . it was a man who approached. He wore a slouch hat, a threadbare heavy coat, and fingerless gloves. Stepping into view, he raised a lamp, illuminating the visitors.

  “Wot can I do for you gents?” came the gravelly voice.

  Freddie and Trevor exchanged glances.

  “We’re seeking shelter for the night, sir.” Freddie hoped the man would be gracious enough to provide at least that much for them.

  “Are ye, now?” One of the man’s eyebrows rose and he took in their shabby exteriors. “Ye be Quality, I’m guessin’.” He held his light closer to get a better look at the intruders. “An’ ran into sum trouble, I’d say.”

  “Yes, we did, sir,” Trevor replied, followed by a wince.

  “Well, there ain’t much, but me and the Mrs. have a roof over our heads in the back.” His eyebrow, which had returned to its normal position, shot up again, apparently to gauge the two visitors’ reactions. “Come on, then.” He bade them enter and closed the massive door. He motioned for them to follow, moving down the corridor toward the left. “It’s not fit to travel out there. ’Orrible cold, miserable, it be.”

  “And we had most wretched luck, our rig’s ran aground in a snowdrift.” Freddie was concerned about his arms and how much longer he could maintain his grip. Hoped they soon would arrive someplace where Trevor could rest.

  “Where ye gents headed?” The man did not bother to face them when he spoke.

  “Perhaps you might direct us in the morning.” Freddie began to feel a bit more optimistic that they’d found a place to stay the night and a local who might set them in the right direction. “We’re looking for Penshaw Manor.”

  “Wot?” The man stopped, swung around, and faced them. His chuckle grew into a great laugh that wracked his entire body. “Oh, my! Ho! Ho! Ye daft young nobs. Don’t ye know? This is Penshaw Manor.”

  Chapter Three

  This was Penshaw Manor?

  “Freddie . . . Freddie?” Trevor’s grip on his friend tightened.

  “I know, Trevor.” A sudden wave of shame and guilt came over Freddie.

  This was his house?

  He had been informed by his father the country house was in need of minor repairs, thus the generous increase of his quarterly allowance until the estate could sustain itself.

  Only minor repairs?

  It was his father’s wish that his son apply himself and learn something of estate management and making improvements, but instead Freddie had lost all his blunt gambling.

  This was Penshaw Manor?

  Freddie gazed about him with the new realization. This was not merely another crumbling pile. It was his crumbling pile. The tumbledown walls and ceiling became more imposing, not because of their decay but because the weight of their repair suddenly came upon him.

  “Come along, then, lads.” The man tamped down his laughter and urged them farther into the corridor.

  Freddie had his arm around Trevor and, by this time, bore nearly all of his weight. Just before he rounded the corner, Freddie detected the faint scent of wood smoke from a banked fire which conjured the promise of comfort and warmth. He soon stepped into a makeshift kitchen. He studied the interior in the dim light from the cooking hearth, half grateful he could not see the details of the room. Had this once been the dining room? A parlor?

  “Who’ve ye got thar, Jacob?” A sturdy woman, presumably his wife, appeared busy with a number of pots over the fire and straightened from her toil.

  The ornate fireplace, created for a fire that would gently warm a room, not blaze with intensity for cooking, held a dilapidated, makeshift grate. A large table provided a usable work area; various types of chairs lined the wall. Indeed every useable piece of furniture must have been brought here to add comfort to the inhabitants’ lives.

  “A place to sit!” Trevor reached out to grab hold of a chair back and eased into it with a groan. Freddie took that moment to straighten his own aching back.

  “We ain’t exactly made proper introductions but this here’s Mr. Freddie and Mr. Trevor. Been on the road and fell into a bit of bad luck, they has, with the bad weather an’ all.” Jacob moved into the room, set the lantern on the table, and motioned for the visitors to follow. “Ye don’t mind, de ye, Hetta?”

  “I don’t know what we’ll do, Jacob . . . two extra mouths ta feed.” She glanced up at them. Lines creased her brow and Freddie thought she might have it in mind to refuse. “There’s barely a roof o’r our heads but we canna turn them away. ’Tis Christmas, Jacob, we’s got to be welcomin’ ta strangers.”

  Today was Christmas? Freddie had lost track of exactly how many days had passed and had no notion of how close they had been to the approaching holidays.

  “How did ye manage ta get all the way out here? The pair of ye daft travelin’ in weather such as this?” Hetta wiped her hands and glared at the newcomers.

  “You two don’t happen to be looking for Lord Brent, are ye?” Jacob ground out and raised one of his eyebrows high, widening his eye to glare at them.

  “Lord Brent?” Freddie echoed the name Jacob had uttered with great contempt and disdain then glanced at Trevor.

  “Aye, the earl bought the place and don’t seem interested in settin’ ’is foot in it.” Hetta glanced at her pots and returned to minding them. “If ye be thinkin’ ta meet up with ’im, ye be addled in yer upperworks, fir sure.”

  “No, we had not thought of meeting him here and we’re not friends of his, exactly,” Freddie lied. “We attended the same school, Eton.”

  “No ’mount of schoolin’ gonna teach that nob carin’ ’bout others,” she mumbled and returned to her stove top.

  The distain in her voice alarmed him. Freddie had no wish to confess he was the detested earl to whom she referred.

  “I thank you, ma’am. Your hospitality has far greater value than the quality of the accommodations. Thank you for taking us into your home.” How she determined they were fit guests, Freddie had no idea. Their unkempt appearance told nothing of their character. He was extremely grateful for her kindness.

  “’Tis not our home, it’s just where we make do fir now.” Hetta glanced up at them then nodded to Trevor. “What’s wrong with yer friend, there?”

  “I’m afraid he’s come out the worse from the accident.” Freddie still det
ected the pain reflected in Trevor’s face. “He’s not bleeding any and we’re fairly certain nothing’s broken. Must have twisted something, I ’spect.”

  “Well, it’d be best if he keep quiet for a bit and let him mend, then.” Hetta addressed her husband. “Jacob, make up a pallet near the fire in the other room fir ’im. Find Drew and have ’im help ye, there.”

  “Aye, we’ll see ta it, Hetta,” Jacob replied.

  “We’ll get him comfortable first,” she suggested. “Then we’ll see ’bout gettin’ ye summin’ ta put in yer bellies. Perhaps Mr. ’amilton could have a look, if we can manage ta send word ’round ta him.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Jacob took hold of his lantern once again and with the jerk of his head motioned for them to follow. “You’ll be stayin’ down this way.”

  “Come along now, then, Trev.” Freddie helped his friend stand with considerable effort. He renewed his grip around Trevor’s torso and led him through the room in the wake of their host. “Is Mr. Hamilton a physician?”

  “No, but he knows quite a lot about carin’ fir cattle and sheep,” Jacob replied and left the room through the far doorway.

  “Oh well, that’s all right, then,” Freddie replied, regaining his hold around Trevor and half dragging him after their host. “Nothing but the best for you, Trev.”

  “Oi, lad, come ’elp yur father, eh?” Jacob yelled down the darkened corridor. No sooner had he ducked into the next doorway on the right than Freddie heard the scramble of small feet. The running footsteps grew louder then came to a sudden stop.

  “Wot is it, da?” a young voice inquired.

  “We’s got guests ’nd yur mum wants us to set ’em up.” Jacob paused then replied, “Aye, go ahead and get that fire lit. We’s got Mr. Freddie and Mr. Trevor ’nd Mr. Trevor’s hurt. ’E’ll need a place ta rest.” The sound of bumping and scuffling followed, the preparations for their stay. “Fir sure ’e’ll need a pallet, as comfy a one we can manage to rig up fir ’im, I ’spect.”