Free A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) by Shirley Marks Page B

he was satisfied.
    Note by note, the C, G, D, E, and A, octave by octave, until he had completed all four and a half. It had taken several hours. Unbelievably, not one person had interrupted him. Freddie sat at the keyboard and tested his work by several runs of scales. His fingers were not moving as nimbly as he recalled. Then he moved on to playing arpeggios.
    Not bad, not bad. He discovered the majority of worn dampers and a few hammers were in need of repair. Freddie was limited to what he could do. With his current efforts the instrument would be playable without much offending the audience. Because of neglect the pianoforte would need to be retuned fairly soon.
    Feeling quite satisfied with his last few hours’ labor, Freddie disassembled his tools, replacing them from whence they came, slipped into his borrowed jacket, and took his place behind the keyboard, expecting a great improvement. He began to play a Scarlatti sonata. It was a favorite tune of his and it sounded quite splendid. Yes, this was much, much better.
    He switched to another piece, one with easier fingering. After some minutes he completed that and Freddie played a Beethoven tune. Oh my, he was enjoying himself. Great fun, this.
    “Rosalind, how delightful you—” A man, entering from a side door wearing a greatcoat, strode into the room. “I have never heard you play finer, my dear, I—” He pulled off his hat then stopped when he realized the musician was not whom he first believed.
    “I beg your pardon, sir.” Freddie stood and straightened his jacket. “As you can see, I am not Miss Rosalind.” The intruder was of an age to be the father of Miss Harris and therefore must have been her father.
    “I can see that for myself.” Despite his enthusiasm for the performance, it did not appear he cared for seeing a stranger at the pianoforte.
    “Mr. Harris, may I presume?” Freddie had not wished to cause any discomfort to his host. The two had, up until the present, had no chance to be properly introduced.
    “I am.” His skeptical expression waned. He set his hat aside and removed his gloves and scarf, placing them with his hat. “You must be one of the guests who’ve come to stay with us. The ones from Penshaw.”
    “I am,” Freddie replied. “Frederick Worth, sir.” He inclined his head, very pleased to make the man’s acquaintance.
    “Worth, eh?” Mr. Harris looked his guest from toe to head. He moved slowly into the room, closer and closer to the pianoforte.
    Freddie had not felt threatened by his host, but the notion that his family name might be known to the fellow had concerned him for a moment or two, or three.
    “Are you acquainted with the Earl of Brent?” Mr. Harris’s tone was full of suspicion. He unfastened the buttons of his outer garment very slowly, taking his time.
    “Ahem . . . I—” Freddie detested lying about that question.
    “Went to Eton, the both of you, eh? That’s what I’ve heard.” He shrugged out of his greatcoat.
    “Yes, sir. I attended Eton.” And with that reply he could answer truthfully.
    “Well, then. That’s all right.” The tension between them felt as if it had eased a bit. “Was that Beethoven you were playing just now? An early work?”
    “Yes, sir. It was.”
    “Splendid, my boy. Quite splendid indeed.” The older man chuckled, laid his greatcoat next to his hat, and neared. “Do sit and play another for me, will you?”
    “If that is what you would like, sir.” Freddie sat and wished Mr. Harris would make a request. “Is there something you especially wish to hear?”
    “Are you a professional musician?” He placed his hands on the pianoforte.
    “No, I am merely accomplished. My siblings and I are quite adept at playing musical instruments.” Freddie was known, by his family and close friends, to have both the talent of identifying an exact pitch of a note and the most exhaustive musical repertoire.
    “Are they, now? How very fortunate for your