She’d barely made it halfway when the door to the library opened. She spun around, squelching the urge to run and hide. She was not a child found in a room she wasn’t allowed inside. She was a guest and had as much right to be in this room as anyone else. She could only hope whoever was entering the room was not someone who would want to talk extensively. Talkers could be so tiresome at times. When one was intent upon reading, for instance.
She saw the back of the intruder before she saw his face. When he swiveled around, letting the door shut behind him, she realized why he’d entered backward. Both of his arms were filled with small logs. But she recognized his face immediately. It was her footman!
Well, not precisely her footman. The poor man didn’t belong to her or anything of the sort, but she’d come to think of Mr. Lucas as someone special since their initial meeting in her bedchamber yesterday morning and her scene in the dining room last night. She was delighted to see him now. Especially since they were alone.
She’d worried all night that perhaps he had been aghast at her behavior in the dining room. She’d been hasty when she’d done it. He might well have got in trouble for spilling wine upon a guest. Hadn’t Mr. Humbolt implied that Mr. Lucas had got a scolding from Lord Clayton? Frances intended to find Lady Clayton this afternoon and set the record straight. Last night Frances had hurried downstairs to deliver an apology and had been relieved to see Mr. Lucas.
Well, at first she was embarrassed that he’d had to catch her fall, but then she was relieved. Then, she’d blushed profusely after realizing he’d had his arms around her waist. In fact, she’d replayed the moment in her mind again and again until she’d fallen into exhausted slumber.
For some reason it had been important to her to apologize to him most of all. She could only hope he didn’t think too badly of her now. But here was an unexpected opportunity to apologize once more…privately.
“My lady,” he said as soon as he saw her standing there. “My apologies for the interruption.”
“No interruption,” she replied. For the second time she realized his speech was cultured. She took a tentative step toward him. “Mr. Lucas? That is your name, isn’t it?”
He lowered his gaze to the floor and nodded. “I’ve come to stoke the fire,” he announced, making his way toward the large fireplace with the wood in his arms.
“Of course.” She swallowed. “Don’t let me keep you.”
He continued toward the fireplace and set the logs on the floor next to it.
Frances watched him. The law books could wait. Mr. Lucas was far more interesting at the moment. There was something about him that made him stand out from all the other footmen she’d ever encountered. No, not just footmen, all other men. It wasn’t just his looks, which were quite extraordinary. It was also the way he carried himself, the twinkle in his eye, as if he knew things he wasn’t telling. He seemed a bit irreverent too. She liked that about him. She liked it a great deal.
He took off his jacket and laid it aside. Clad only in his white shirt and emerald waistcoat, he squatted down and began to place the logs on the fire one-by-one. His back was toward her and she stared at him egregiously, completely unable to stop watching the muscles work in his shoulders as he lifted each log.
Oh, dear. What was happening to her? She’d never had such impure thoughts about any man before, let alone a man she barely knew. One she should leave be for half a score of reasons.
Even though she told herself to turn and walk away, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As a result, when he finally stood and turned, she nervously spun in a circle in an effort not to be caught staring. She nearly ran into the desk that she’d quite forgotten was directly behind her. With an oomph, she fell back onto the highly polished dark wood floor. She landed on her elbows and her bum; the breath knocked from her chest.
He was at her side in a flash, gently placing his hand on one of her elbows and helping her to stand. His deep voice sounded in her ear. “Are you quite all right, my lady?”
Several silent awkward moments passed before she was able to drag enough air back into her aching lungs to speak. “Ye…Yes, I’m fine,” she eventually managed. She pressed a hand to her throat and hoped that her blush didn’t make her too awfully red. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt, to be honest.” She gave him a tentative smile, which he immediately returned, his white teeth flashing.
She bit her lip and glanced away. “After last night and now this, you must think I’m terribly clumsy.” She smoothed a hand down her middle and then righted her skirts.
“Not at all.” He let his hands drop away from her and she frowned, continuing to stare at him.
He stood at attention; his brow furrowed. “May I help you with something, my lady?”
Dear heavens. Why did she have to be such a complete ninny in front of this man? She stared up at him at a loss for words, searching his handsome face as if she needed to memorize it. “No, nothing…. It’s just that… .It’s just that I . . .” She barely knew what she was trying to say and every second that ticked by made the whole thing that much more uncomfortable. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me yesterday,” she finally blurted, “in the bedchamber, I mean, and to apologize again for my atrocious behavior at dinner last night.” There. At least she’d managed to apologize again. Even if she’d just made a mess of the words.
His lips quirked. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again promptly.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “What?” She turned her head to the side to watch him from the corners of her eyes. “What were you about to say?”
“Nothing, my lady.” He shook his head slightly, still standing at attention.
“No, please say it,” she prompted. Oh, dear, perhaps he wasn’t telling her because he thought she was silly. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she was silly. Anything but that.
“It’s not my place to say anything, my lady.” He continued his rigid posture, looking past her head toward the windows. The picture-perfect footman on the job.
Hmm. Obviously, she’d have to do some prodding if she were going to get him to tell her his true thoughts. No doubt he felt as if he couldn’t be honest with her because she was a guest. “You’re wondering why I caused you to spill the wine on purpose?” she prompted.
He inclined his head to the side. “I have my suspicions.”
She eyed him carefully. “Which are?”
He finally met her gaze, but his back remained ramrod straight and his arms remained folded behind his back. He stood with his feet braced apart, almost as if he were standing on the deck of a ship. “My guess is that you were eager to leave the room,” he said.
She couldn’t help the smile that popped to her lips. “Was I that obvious?”
He inclined his head. “You seem to have quite an aversion to Sir Reginald, my lady.”
Frances laughed. She’d never had such a candid and inappropriate conversation with a servant, but for some inexplicable reason it felt as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be standing with this footman in his employer’s library discussing why she disliked the suitor her mother had chosen for her. She bit her lip. “I suppose you must think I’m terribly ungrateful.”
His chin inched slightly higher. “Why would I think that, my lady?”
She sighed. “Because Sir Reginald is an excellent prospect, or so my mother tells me. I should be flattered that he’s paying me attention, instead of fleeing from it.”
Mr. Lucas dropped his gaze. The look on his face was no longer one of amusement, it was more like…empathy. “I’m certain that’s not for me to say, my lady. But I will say that it seems to me it might not be the best choice to marry a man whose surname is the same as your Christian name.”
“That’s precisely what I’ve been saying,” she replied with another laugh, delighted that she’d finally found someone who agreed with her on the topic. “Mama refuses to listen.”
“Well, she should listen,”
he replied. “It seems as if it could cause a variety of problems.”
She blinked at him as if he couldn’t be real. She’d never met a man who thought the way she did. The men she met tended to either say things she heartily disagreed with or things that bored her silly. She honestly couldn’t recall talking to a gentleman who’d truly made her laugh before. She’d already laughed multiple times in Mr. Lucas’s presence. It felt odd but wonderful.
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” She gave him a tentative smile. “But even if his name was different, I fear I wouldn’t be interested in Sir Reginald.”
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “That’s none of my business, my lady. I—”
Oh, dear. Had she made him uncomfortable? She hoped not. She clasped her hands together in front of her and took a deep breath. For some reason it was important to her to make Mr. Lucas understand that she wasn’t some spoiled, ungrateful little debutante. “It’s not that I think I can do better,” she blurted. “I’m certain Sir Reginald will make a fine match. I just…hope it won’t be with me.”
For the first time, Mr. Lucas let his body relax and he stared at her with a serious look in his eye. “Any gentleman of the ton would be lucky to have a lady like you at his side, Miss Wharton.”
She gazed at him for a few minutes. Oh, heavens. The man was a dream. What a perfectly lovely thing to say. She wanted to sigh. She wanted to thank him. She wasn’t certain either would be appropriate.
She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “I know it must be difficult for you to appreciate my feelings,” she continued, forcing herself to carry on with her explanation. “It’s different for my class.”
“How so?” He tilted his head to the side. His dark-green eyes seemed to look into her soul.
She splayed her hand in front of herself as if it might help explain. “As a servant, you are allowed to marry as you desire. You don’t have to worry about silly things such as dowries and titles and families. It’s all quite a lot of nonsense, I assure you.”
His brows shot up. Was it her imagination or had the hint of a smile come back to tug at his lips? “Indeed, my lady.”
She rubbed a hand across her eyes. Oh, dear. She must sound like the biggest ninny in the world complaining about her privileged life to a man who was in service. What had she been thinking when she said all of that? Clearly, she was an awful, thoughtless person. She wouldn’t blame him if Mr. Lucas turned his back and never spoke to her again.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she added, casting her gaze to the expensive rug that covered the floor. “I know I must sound daft.” She shook her head. “The fact is that my mother’s choice of a suitable husband for me and mine are not aligned. Regardless, I’m certain you don’t wish to hear about it. No doubt you’re quite busy today.”
Mr. Lucas walked back over to where he’d left his coat. He bent over and scooped it from the floor and, heaven help her, she watched the seat of his breeches the entire way. He turned back to face her. “On the contrary, my lady. I’ve never seen anyone go to such lengths to avoid another person.” He pulled the coat over his broad shoulders. “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you wish to marry Sir Reginald? The gossip in the servant’s hall is that he’s quite wealthy.”
Frances nodded so vigorously a few curls came loose from her chignon. “Oh, he’s wealthy,” she said with a sigh. “But, unfortunately, I don’t love him.”
Chapter Eight
One of the large doors to the library creaked open and Lucas and Frances scattered apart like dice thrown on the deck of a ship. Lady Winfield soon stepped into the room, scanning the space until her gaze alighted upon her daughter.
“How did I know I would find you here?” she said to Frances, an exasperated tone in her voice.
Lucas turned back toward the fireplace. The older woman may not have recognized him at dinner last night, but he’d met Lady Winfield before, and he didn’t dare do anything to call attention to himself. He was already jabbing at the fire with a poker by the time the lady reached her daughter’s side.
“Do you need something, Mama?” he heard Frances ask.
“Yes, come with me. The gentlemen will return from their ride soon and we may be able to catch Sir Reginald’s attention if we go for a walk through the garden.”
Lucas turned his head to see Lady Winfield already marching toward the door, obviously expecting her daughter to fall into step behind her.
“Sounds delightful,” Frances said in an exaggerated voice, which indicated it sounded anything but. She glanced back at Lucas who gave her a quick wink.
Frances rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Cannot wait,” to Lucas’s amusement, before following her mother from the room.
Lucas watched Frances go, blinking as if she were a figment of his imagination. Had he heard her correctly? He could have sworn the lady had mentioned love. In fact, it sounded as if she prized it over a marriage of convenience. Truly? Or was she only opposed to the match because she didn’t happen to fancy Sir Reginald?
Setting the poker aside, Lucas glanced at the settee near where she’d been standing. A pink shawl lay atop the piece of furniture. He jogged over to it and picked it up carefully, rubbing the fine fabric between his fingers. He lifted it to his nose. It smelled like her. He closed his eyes. He’d been affected by that flowery scent from the first moment he’d been in the bedchamber with her yesterday morning. Peonies.
He’d have to find her and return the shawl. He wasn’t certain how or when, but he’d figure out a way. Carrying the shawl back over to the fireplace, he stared into the increasing flames. He’d already decided that he was beginning to like Miss Wharton. She was funny, she was intelligent, and she obviously didn’t fancy herself above speaking kindly to servants. She’d apologized to him not once but twice.
For the first time since all this had begun, guilt began to creep into his conscience. If he did come to have feelings for this particular young lady, what would he do? Show up at the events of the ton this autumn and introduce himself to her as the Earl of Kendall? That would go over like a rowboat in a hurricane. He could hardly expect that she would fall into his arms. No. She’d be angry with him for lying to her, and she would have every right to be.
The Footmen’s Club experiment had already got convoluted. Damn it. Why had he thought this charade was a good idea again? Oh, yes. Ale had been involved. At the moment that’s all he remembered.
Somehow in his imagination before he’d come here, he’d seen himself as merely being cleverly disguised as a servant and doing nothing more than observing the young women who were potentially looking for suitors. The plan had never been to interact with them and certainly not as much as he already had with Miss Wharton. She was certain to recognize him in future.
Clearly, he had not thought his strategy through well enough. If he had any hope of salvaging the game, he needed to stay away from Miss Wharton. At least far enough away to keep from, say, having another private conversation with her. He stared down at the shawl in his hand. He glanced around for a few moments before he strode over to the large desk near the back wall. He opened one of the bottom drawers and laid the shawl inside. If Miss Wharton happened to return to the library tomorrow and if he saw her again, he would merely return her shawl to her. He would not have another long conversation with her. That would only be asking for trouble. The last thing he needed was trouble.
Also on the subject of potential trouble, Lucas had made a decision. He might as well use his time at the house party effectively and find a way to speak privately to Sir Reginald about the Employment Bill. Such a meeting would be no small feat. It would require Lucas to change his appearance and dress as a nobleman. He’d have to remove the livery and the powdered wig, and hopefully find Sir Reginald alone or in the company of only males, so as not to alert the female portion of the guest list to the appearance of the Earl of Kendall. That would only make for awkwardness as the bevy of matrons went about trying to toss the
ir eligible darlings in his path, the avoidance of which had been the entire reason for his charade as a footman in the first place. It would be damned inconvenient to be both the Earl of Kendall and Lucas the footman at the same party, but Lucas refused to squander the opportunity to speak to the knight. He would simply have to work out the details when the time came.
Lucas’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the library opened again and Bell strolled in. Ostensibly, Lucas had come to the library to deliver more logs to the fireplace, but that had mainly been an excuse to be here at this hour to meet his friends. They had all agreed to convene to discuss their first day as servants. Thankfully his friends had been late. Wait. No. Bell was never late. Lucas glanced at the clock that sat on the desk. Bell was precisely on time.
Clayton entered next, directly upon Bell’s heels. “Good morning, Lucas,” the viscount called in his most jovial tone.
Lucas clicked his heels together just as Mrs. Cotswold had instructed him and promptly bowed. “My lord.”
That sent Clayton into a fit of laughter. “Good God, man. You don’t need to carry on the charade when it’s just us.”
“On the contrary,” Bell interjected. “It only stands to reason that he would behave as a footman as long as he’s in this home. I know from experience it’s much less trouble than switching from role to role. That can be confusing and cause mistakes.”
“Yes, well, speaking of that—” Lucas began, intent upon telling his friends of his plan to shed his servant’s garb and speak to Sir Reginald.
“I heard you nearly got sacked on your first night,” Bell interrupted, a slight grin on his lips.
Clayton was smiling too. “Yes, Lucas, we can’t very well employ a footman who spills wine on ladies’ gowns.”
Lucas folded his arms behind his back and braced his feet apart. Very well. He’d been expecting this ribbing all morning. “I suppose I should be grateful that Theodora didn’t sack me.”
The Footman and I Page 7
