A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6)

by Shirley Marks

  Her kisses? From him? Hardly. He did his utmost to keep from scoffing for he had no wish to decry her kind gesture. It was true Miss Rosalind’s character had improved in his estimation but hardly to the point where he would look upon her with any romantic affection.

  No, that was not what he would wish for in this particular situation. A more than civil regard for her, or any other female at this point in time, would complicate matters far more than they already were. But he realized it was best not to mention any of the above.

  “Very well, I will take these.” Freddie never intended to use them and thanked Miss Clare for her kindness.

  Rosalind, along with Harry and Gordon, decided to split the final journey of the day. The two servants would take the easternmost and farthest part of the route while she and Mr. Worth would visit the homes around the orchard. They would all return to Thistles at a reasonable hour for a small family celebration of the year’s end.

  Neighbor Sarah Kerr had seemed much improved, despite the poor and constantly degrading living conditions. Either the cottage needed to be repaired this spring, which was doubtful, or she and her husband would need to relocate, equally doubtful.

  Mr. Worth showed much empathy, more than Rosalind expected, and seemed to take their circumstance to heart and, after leaving the Kerrs, confided in her that a solution to their dismal situation would certainly be found. Rosalind wondered, because of his connection, if he would intercede and contact the Earl of Brent on behalf of the family?

  Rosalind thought that quite gallant of him, if it were true, that he would see them set up better next year. She had not thought it possible that he would take her neighbors’ welfare to heart as he had. They were strangers to him. Perhaps she had been even more wrong about him than when she’d formed her first opinion.

  Rosalind had met his gaze several times as she pondered his motives. Why had he cared so much for these people? He needn’t embroil himself in their problems but he had. While she could understand the wants and needs of the tenants, Rosalind could not understand why it had become such a concern of his.

  Their final stop at Renfield cottage, with their four children, lasted for a good half hour. They had entered their home and sat with the family. Rosalind found a place by the fire to warm herself and it had helped her feel a bit better, although not much. By the end of the visit she realized she had not contributed to the conversation. It had been Mr. Worth who inquired as to their health, their welfare, and their current problems. He had, quite literally, stepped in when she had failed to do so. And Rosalind was at a loss as to why. She realized there was some difficulty attending and her ability to communicate was nearly impossible.

  She trudged next to the sled, carrying the small lantern, illuminating their way home. Mr. Worth continually spoke, expressing his outrage at the poor living conditions of the families he had met that day. He stopped, turned back, and called to her.

  “What is it?” It seemed as if he were speaking from very far away and had somehow progressed quite a bit ahead of her.

  Rosalind had not noticed how or when it had happened.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Harris?”

  “I feel . . . I feel . . .” But she never finished her sentence.

  The lantern she carried slid from her fingertips. The numbness that hovered about her, making it difficult for her to think and speak all day, had finally made it to her core. She stopped in her tracks and with the slight waver in her posture she realized she could no longer go on. Before her eyelids closed the last image she saw was Mr. Worth rushing to her side in time to catch her before she fell onto the snowy ground.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miss Harris? Miss Rosalind?” At first Freddie’s panic was over her loss of consciousness. When she did not wake he grew even more alarmed.

  Pulling off a glove with his teeth, then tucking it under his arm, Freddie pressed his hands to her ashen-colored cheeks. Her face felt like ice under his barely warm fingertips. He was cold; she felt frozen.

  He leaned near, turning his cheek toward her face, her nose and mouth in particular. “She still breathes.”

  Uncertain about what he should do, other than finding a place to warm her, Freddie knew her life depended on his next actions.

  “Wake up, Miss Rosalind! Listen to me, you have to wake up! Come on, now. Open your eyes, if you please.” He righted the lantern she had carried, that had, thankfully, not gone out, bringing it closer to watch for her reaction. There was none.

  He laid her down gently, leaving her for just a moment, to ready the sled for her transport. He untied the bundle of empty baskets and moved them aside before returning to carry her to the sled.

  Freddie set her on the tiny surface of the transport. He strapped her in, just as they had Trevor the day he had been transported to Thistles from Penshaw.

  As he worked at securing her, he wondered about their direction. They were still a good half hour from Thistles, if he could lead them straight there without getting lost. Without Rosalind’s leading them, getting lost was a distinct possibility.

  About ten minutes back, Freddie had thought he recognized the small orchard where he and Drew had collected firewood, where Miss Rosalind had knocked him down in the snow. How could he have forgotten that? From that spot, Freddie felt fairly certain he could find his way to Penshaw Manor. He believed it to be a better destination. By his recollection, it was much closer than Thistles.

  He was careful to tuck her limbs and skirts to her side. Unbuttoning his greatcoat, Freddie shrugged out of it then swung it around to place it over her for warmth. He hoped she would benefit from the heat it retained from his body.

  Freddie had his gloves on tight and his scarf snug around his neck. After turning up the collar of his jacket against the cold, the added exertion of propelling the sled forward would have to do to keep his own blood flowing.

  “I think we’d best be off to Penshaw, my dear.” Freddie spoke loudly to her all the while hoping to wake her, if only by the irritation of his voice. “Do not hesitate to tell me if you object to my using your Christian name, will you, Rosalind? I intend to do so unless you tell me otherwise.”

  And how dearly he wished to hear her chastise him for taking such liberties without her consent. With the incapacitated Miss Rosalind secured, Freddie pushed with all his might toward what he had believed to be the direction of his Penshaw Manor. On his way past where she had fallen, he lifted her lantern off the snow and stowed it on the sled.

  He had to hurry!

  Freddie had been pushing hard for the last twenty or so minutes but it felt as if it had been hours. He did not speak and concentrated all his energy on propelling the sled forward as fast as he could.

  It did not matter how his lungs burned from drawing in the cold air; it did not matter how much his arms and legs ached from pushing the sled through the snow. All he cared about was getting to Penshaw.

  As bad as their situation was, things could have been worse. The weather, for once, did not encumber them as it might have done. And if luck were on their side, Freddie, for once, would have made the correct decision to proceed in this direction.

  “Mr. Freddie?” a young voice in the distance called out to him. Soon a small figure came into sight.

  “Drew, is that you?” Freddie returned. “Thank goodness, you’ve come along.”

  The sight of Freddie, who slowed his pace only minutely, must have alarmed the lad. He dropped the armful of wood he had collected and rushed to meet him.

  “Is that Miss ’arris?” He jogged alongside the sled, staring at the lifeless body.

  “It’s Miss Rosalind,” Freddie replied, huffing between words. “She’s bad off. She needs to get out of the cold and get warm. Will you rush home and tell your mum to prepare a pallet and stoke the fire for our arrival?”

  “At once, sir, at once. Right away.” Drew raced off in the direction he had come and called back to Freddie, “’Urry, sir. ’urry!”

 
Freddie pushed the sled with all his might. He felt a surge of energy, knowing with Drew’s presence that he was going in the right direction. When he arrived at Penshaw, Mrs. Morley would be ready to envelop Rosalind with the same healing embrace she had with Trevor.

  “I’ll soon be there,” Freddie assured him. “Quick, now, go!”

  It had seemed to him the weather had grown colder but without his coat it was difficult to tell. The cold had well permeated his jacket. The journey took another good half hour, perhaps longer.

  Mrs. Morley met Freddie at the side door, gripping tight to her shawl with one hand and holding open the door with the other.

  “Thank God, Mrs. Morley!” Freddie managed between heaving breaths.

  “Ah, no!” Mrs. Morley exclaimed upon seeing Miss Rosalind’s precarious condition. She took the greatcoat from Freddie, who had lifted it from the sled. “The poor dear.”

  Freddie pulled off his gloves and unfastened the straps holding Rosalind steady. He then lifted her into his arms.

  “Quick now, bring her inside.” Mrs. Morley backed away to give him room to pass. “I’ve stoked the fire in the room where we kept Mr. Trevor.” She remained behind to close the door.

  Freddie hadn’t yet caught his breath but would not allow that to delay conveying Rosalind to her awaiting nest. He preceded Mrs. Morley down the corridor to the library where he placed Rosalind on the prepared pallet near the hearth.

  “We need to get her out of those cold things,” Mrs. Morley instructed.

  Freddie fumbled at the fastening of her bonnet. His fingers felt numb and too large and he struggled with the knot.

  “Here, step away and let me take care of it.” Mrs. Morley moved around him to Rosalind’s side and knelt.

  Knowing the futility of his efforts, Freddie allowed Mrs. Morley to accomplish the task he could not. He removed his hat and unwound the scarf from his neck, still trying to catch his breath.

  As he unfastened the buttons of his jacket, he kept careful watch of Rosalind. Only then had he realized the frosty veneer that had covered him while traveling melted when he entered the house, soaking the garment, and soon his flesh.

  Mrs. Morley unfastened Rosalind’s cloak, allowed the ends to fall away, and drew off her gloves. He had hoped the warmth of the room would revive her but saw no noticeable difference. Mrs. Morley pulled a blanket and laid his greatcoat over the patient.

  “Here.” Freddie handed her his scarf. It had to be of help since they had so little on hand.

  “I’ve got a few warm bricks under the pallet and the fire is puttin’ out good heat.” Mrs. Morley stood and gazed down. “I don’t know what else we can do fir her.” Her attention shifted to him. “Ye’d better get out of yer wet things if ye don’t want to catch yer death.”

  He peeled off his jacket and set it to one side. The waistcoat was next and then his frozen boots.

  “Here, take this.” Mrs. Morley removed her shawl and wrapped it around Freddie’s shoulders. “If Miss Harris wakes and compliments ye on how well ye look, ye’ll know she’ll be all right.”

  “She’s not moving.” Freddie was worried. There was not any reaction, no sighs, no groans, nothing.

  “After Drew came by ta tell me wots happened to Miss Harris, I sent him straightaway for Thistles ta let her family know.” Mrs. Morley shook her head slowly. “It’s a good fing, iff’n he waited any longer he wouldn’t haf made it.”

  Freddie hadn’t given a thought about Drew and at the same time, realized it was a good thing Mrs. Morley had taken the notion to send her son ahead to Thistles. The Harrises would not need worry as to Rosalind’s location, only her condition. Hopefully they would think her recovered at Penshaw when Freddie knew that was not so.

  “You stay wit her ’n I’ll fetch summin’ warm for her to drink.” A shawl-less Mrs. Morley headed out the room but spoke as she left, “Weather’s gettin’ worse and it’s started to snow again. I know the ’arrises will take good care of ma boy, fir ’e’ll not see home tonight.”

  Nor would Miss Rosalind.

  Freddie settled next to Miss Rosalind on the floor then took up her hand in his. He rubbed her cold hands gently, one at a time, within his own. He hoped she would recover, recover soon.

  Mrs. Morley, who had retrieved another shawl, returned with some warm broth that they tried to persuade Rosalind to swallow without success. The cup was set to one side and Mrs. Morley left Freddie to keep watch over the patient.

  If Rosalind did not wake soon . . . Did the amount of time she lay unconscious have any bearing on if she would wake at all? The realization that she might not open her eyes came as a shock to him.

  What would Freddie do if he could not hear her voice, look into her eyes, or see her smile again? He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. A well of emotion knotted in his throat. Rosalind’s death was inconceivable to him. It could not happen.

  He recalled that it had been only a few hours ago when he caught her staring at him. He hadn’t known why and it saddened him to think he might never have the chance to learn the answer.

  Somehow his ill fortune had affected her. It wasn’t fair. She was thoughtful and all kindness. To have this happen to her was inexcusable. Freddie looked about in the dim light at the dilapidated condition of the Penshaw Manor library. This was a horrible, horrible place. She did not belong in a room such as this, much less to take one’s last breath here. She deserved far better.

  “Miss Rosalind, you must wake. You must come back to us. To your family, to your friends, to . . .”

  Me . . .

  “I did not know how precious you were—” There was a catch in his voice. “I cannot lose you. Not now.” He held her hand within his and rubbed it softly, staring at her, willing, hoping her eyes would flutter open. They did not.

  Freddie allowed the surplus of moisture to pool in his eyes and cared not who might see him shed tears.

  Over the next several hours, Mrs. Morley often returned with a new cup of broth and to check on the patient’s progress. There was even an exchange of bricks, swapping the cold ones for those that had been newly heated. There still was no reaction from Rosalind and Freddie was encouraged, by Mrs. Morley, to down the broth for himself. He did so to keep the woman satisfied.

  His stockings had dried some time ago, though he could not recall exactly when. By the time he was told his jacket had dried, Freddie relinquished Mrs. Morley’s shawl and pulled on Trevor’s brown coat. His boots were next and when he slid into those, not without some trouble for the leather had tightened, it occurred to him that a great deal of time must have passed.

  When Drew entered with a mug of mulled wine and chunk of bread for him, Freddie presumed the next day had arrived, and with the lad’s return, better weather.

  “Good mornin’, Mr. Freddie?” Drew handed Freddie his breakfast. “How is Miss Harris?”

  “She’s . . . there’s been no change.” He wished there had been better news. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midday.”

  “Midday?” Freddie could not believe so much time had passed. He set the mug and bread aside to regard her more closely. Drew squatted on his heels and kept quiet.

  Freddie gazed into Rosalind’s pale face. It was still ashen white, without expression. He turned his head and placed his ear close to her nose and mouth. Her breathing was shallow and regular. One could almost believe she were sleeping peacefully, yet Freddie knew differently.

  “Why won’t you wake?” he whispered and straightened. What he would not give to look into her eyes and hear her stern set-down for something that was not his fault.

  “Mr. Freddie?” Mrs. Morley sounded from the door. “Why don’t ye go wi’ Drew and collect some firewood? Ye need ta move about.”

  “I can’t leave her.” Freddie looked from Rosalind to Mrs. Morley and back again. “Please don’t ask me to leave her.”

  “Ye can, for just a bit. She’ll be fine.”

  “What if she wak
es while I’m gone?” Freddie needed to be here when she opened her eyes.

  “I’ll be here, not ta worry. I won’t leave her. Not for a minute,” Mrs. Morley assured him. “Ye cannot make my wee lad go out in the cold by his-self, now can ye? What if the weather should take a bad turn?”

  “Come on, sir,” Drew prodded. “It won’t take but an hour or so.”

  Of course he should help. Freddie knew better than to decline, but there was Rosalind. He looked back at her lying there. The sight of her weighed on his heart.

  “Very well, Drew,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “You’ll take your coat, now. We don’t need anyfing ta ’appen ta ye.” Mrs. Morley held a bundle in her arms, presumably something to replace his greatcoat to cover Rosalind.

  Freddie slowly lifted his outerwear from Rosalind. He had hoped the action might wake her but no, she remained still. He ran his hand down her arm in farewell and whispered her name.

  “Come now, Mr. Freddie. She’ll be fine.” Mrs. Morley stepped around him and placed a quilt over her. “I won’t leave her side until you return.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise.” The woman smiled. “Now off wit’ ye. Her fire will go out if ye don’t get busy.”

  “We’ll be back soon.” Freddie nodded and strode out the door. He pulled on his coat and headed to the kitchen with Drew close behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rosalind drew in a deep breath. She felt warm, comfortable. She had not remembered sleeping so soundly in a very long time.

  “Miss Rosalind! Oh, Miss Rosalind! Are you awake?” A familiar woman’s voice urgently called out to her. It was not Clare’s nor was it her—

  “Are ye awake? Oh, thank the Lord!” It was Mrs. Morley. “Yer gonna be all right now.”