A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6)

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Authors: Shirley Marks
touched the simple knotted linen at his throat and bristled slightly at the feeling of the overly generous cuff sliding from his wrist.
    This would do, he reminded himself.
    After dispensing coffee from a small urn, Freddie filled a plate and sat at the table, taking his time to browse through the various dated newspapers while he ate his morning meal alone.
    Some two hours later, he climbed the stairs to peer around the threshold of the open door of Trevor’s bedchamber. Inside he observed what he thought was a near miracle. Trevor stood, without holding on for dear life to the bedpost, but with his arm around Miss Clare Harris’s shoulders while Mrs. Harris, as chaperone, looked on.
    Miss Clare had her arm, perhaps both arms, around Trevor’s waist for balance. It was a believable excuse to explain their proximity. Apparently it was not disputed by her mother. Moving together slowly across the room, Clare spoke to Trevor, so softly Freddie could not make out her words.
    Freddie did not need to be the second third wheel in that group with Mrs. Harris’s presence. Therefore Freddie took himself off and it seemed he would be left to his own devices. If the past was any indication of what might soon happen, it could spell trouble for him.
    After descending the staircase Freddie walked past the front door and glanced down the length of a long corridor before stepping into what he considered a large parlor. Disguised as a piece of furniture, near a corner and against the wall stood a square pianoforte.
    What good luck! It had been ages since he’d played. Before Freddie knew it he was standing by its side. Upon further inspection he noticed it was a simple mahogany instrument sitting upon a French frame. He guessed it of an older make because it lacked pedals.
    This was not his house and he really should not proceed with . . . yet . . . glancing around he saw no one and knew most of the household were occupied elsewhere. He was the only person with idle hands. Idle hands that could be occupied without incurring debts or drinking himself into oblivion or making promises to a tempting armful of sweet-smelling female for a bit of companionship.
    Yes, he would proceed. After relocating the candlesticks and vase that sat on its surface, he lifted the lid to reveal the keyboard and floral garlands decorating the satinwood-inlaid nameplate.
    He pulled the chair back, sat at the keyboard and played one note. Middle C. The sound did not set well with Freddie’s ear and his eyes closed in sharp discomfort. He played the G beneath it and cringed again. Playing both together caused a rather sour reaction. The instrument was out of tune.
    He pulled a fob from his, rather Trevor’s, waistcoat. There hung a simple, unadorned metal cylinder with a loop at the top. It had been a while since he’d used the tool but it did not take a great deal of skill and it would give him a great deal of pleasure to be of some use while he resided at Thistles. He collected the fob and drew his metal-cased pencil from his jacket breast pocket. Inserting the pencil into the hole at the fob end of the cylinder, Freddie turned it until he felt it click. Now he had a useful hand wrench.
    He would have liked to ask permission to proceed with what he was about to do but with no one around . . . Freddie decided to go ahead anyway since there was clearly a need. Setting the tool aside, he removed his borrowed jacket and carefully folded it before laying it across the back of a chair.
    Returning to the instrument, he lifted the lid, set it on the stick, and peered inside. He was anxious to get to work. Freddie seated the hand wrench on the peg and pressed the middle C and closed his eyes, allowing the sour note to resonate in his brain. Then he tightened the peg before sounding the note again, repeating the process until it was in tune. He moved on to the G. Once he finished the two notes, he played both together, then made small adjustments until

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