Read Online A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) by Shirley Marks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirley Marks
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meal he refused Mrs. Harris’s generous offer of port, along with the continual plea that he excuse the absence of her husband. Mr. Harris should have joined them but had been otherwise engaged.
Freddie could not complain about his dinner company and, at the risk of being a poor guest, he could no longer ignore the lure of his bed. A real bed.
After thanking his hostess for her hospitality, it was all he could do to climb the staircase. He cracked open the door of Trevor’s bedchamber and looked in on him, making certain he rested peacefully. The banked hearth kept the room comfortable and the drapes drawn tight around the four-poster kept the sleeping Trevor warmer still. The rhythmic snoring told Freddie his friend slept soundly within. Freddie had no doubt he would soon sleep just as well that night.
Once in his own bedchamber Freddie gladly took advantage of the pitcher of water on the dressing table for his evening ablutions and undressed, making preparations to retire to his bed. His stomach was pleasantly full of the best meal he had had since taking his seat at Brooks’s gaming table, just before he lost that monkey to Lord Albans almost a month ago.
Upon further reflection, five hundred pounds would not make a noticeable difference in what was needed to restore Penshaw Manor. Unfortunately, Freddie had lost far more than that small amount in the months preceding that evening, and he had dwelled upon the consequence of his actions since that time.
He had no complaints. Trevor would show a marked improvement in his recovery, there was no doubt, and Freddie, who had not deserved the improved environment, appreciated it nevertheless. Feeling remarkably better than he had in weeks, Freddie pulled back the counterpane and slid between the sheets, blowing out the candle on the bedside table before committing himself to bed.
Only moments before his head settled on the pillow, his unguarded thoughts swept through the confusion of meeting the two Harris sisters versusTrevor’s description of the girl he fancied. Reflecting on the people he had met that afternoon, Freddie finally settled on the image of Miss Rosalind Harris.
Wrapped in her Norwich shawl, Rosalind sat in the small parlor and gazed into the fire. How had her opinion of Frederick Worth been so wrong? Besides mistaking him for his friend Mr. Rutherford and believing he had somehow tricked Clare into an invitation to their home, Rosalind discovered Mr. Worth was not rude, as she had once believed.
“Rosalind? Did you not hear me, dear?” Mrs. Harris’s raised voice called rather sternly to gain her attention. “I would like your opinion.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. I do believe I was woolgathering.” She drew her shawl around her shoulders, making up her mind to concern herself with Mr. Worth no longer.
“I was just saying to Clare that Mr. Worth has the most exquisite manners, do you not agree?”
And Rosalind had only now become determined to banish all thoughts of their guest.
Mrs. Harris gazed at her quite expectantly yet she continued without giving a chance for an answer. “He has such polish and I must say I admire him greatly. If I were a young lady, as you two are, I do believe I might set my cap at him.”
Two gasps and a “Mama!” from Clare and “Never say so!” from Rosalind followed.
“I could almost imagine he would fit right in with the haute ton . Oh, he might be mistaken for a top-of-the-trees Corinthian if it were not for his dress. There is something not quite right there. But one cannot fault him for his deportment. I’m certain he would be found in all of the finest drawing rooms in London. Quite certain. I suppose him to be a great catch, I would venture to say.” Her glazed-over stare accompanied the fingering of her draping lace trimming. “The man must come from a distinguished family, I am sure. What he is doing in these parts, who is to say?”
“You know I cannot set my cap for him,
Freddie could not complain about his dinner company and, at the risk of being a poor guest, he could no longer ignore the lure of his bed. A real bed.
After thanking his hostess for her hospitality, it was all he could do to climb the staircase. He cracked open the door of Trevor’s bedchamber and looked in on him, making certain he rested peacefully. The banked hearth kept the room comfortable and the drapes drawn tight around the four-poster kept the sleeping Trevor warmer still. The rhythmic snoring told Freddie his friend slept soundly within. Freddie had no doubt he would soon sleep just as well that night.
Once in his own bedchamber Freddie gladly took advantage of the pitcher of water on the dressing table for his evening ablutions and undressed, making preparations to retire to his bed. His stomach was pleasantly full of the best meal he had had since taking his seat at Brooks’s gaming table, just before he lost that monkey to Lord Albans almost a month ago.
Upon further reflection, five hundred pounds would not make a noticeable difference in what was needed to restore Penshaw Manor. Unfortunately, Freddie had lost far more than that small amount in the months preceding that evening, and he had dwelled upon the consequence of his actions since that time.
He had no complaints. Trevor would show a marked improvement in his recovery, there was no doubt, and Freddie, who had not deserved the improved environment, appreciated it nevertheless. Feeling remarkably better than he had in weeks, Freddie pulled back the counterpane and slid between the sheets, blowing out the candle on the bedside table before committing himself to bed.
Only moments before his head settled on the pillow, his unguarded thoughts swept through the confusion of meeting the two Harris sisters versusTrevor’s description of the girl he fancied. Reflecting on the people he had met that afternoon, Freddie finally settled on the image of Miss Rosalind Harris.
Wrapped in her Norwich shawl, Rosalind sat in the small parlor and gazed into the fire. How had her opinion of Frederick Worth been so wrong? Besides mistaking him for his friend Mr. Rutherford and believing he had somehow tricked Clare into an invitation to their home, Rosalind discovered Mr. Worth was not rude, as she had once believed.
“Rosalind? Did you not hear me, dear?” Mrs. Harris’s raised voice called rather sternly to gain her attention. “I would like your opinion.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. I do believe I was woolgathering.” She drew her shawl around her shoulders, making up her mind to concern herself with Mr. Worth no longer.
“I was just saying to Clare that Mr. Worth has the most exquisite manners, do you not agree?”
And Rosalind had only now become determined to banish all thoughts of their guest.
Mrs. Harris gazed at her quite expectantly yet she continued without giving a chance for an answer. “He has such polish and I must say I admire him greatly. If I were a young lady, as you two are, I do believe I might set my cap at him.”
Two gasps and a “Mama!” from Clare and “Never say so!” from Rosalind followed.
“I could almost imagine he would fit right in with the haute ton . Oh, he might be mistaken for a top-of-the-trees Corinthian if it were not for his dress. There is something not quite right there. But one cannot fault him for his deportment. I’m certain he would be found in all of the finest drawing rooms in London. Quite certain. I suppose him to be a great catch, I would venture to say.” Her glazed-over stare accompanied the fingering of her draping lace trimming. “The man must come from a distinguished family, I am sure. What he is doing in these parts, who is to say?”
“You know I cannot set my cap for him,
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