Lucas was torn between smiling and frowning. This young woman had a fascinating way with words. Everything she said was unexpected. He found himself looking forward to her next sentence. But he didn’t like to hear that she predicted trouble from Sir Reginald. Had the knight said or done anything ungentlemanly toward her?
“Would you like me to tell him to stay away from you, my lady?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Lucas realized how impertinent they must sound. As an earl, Lucas had every right to say such a thing, but as a footman…it was another matter entirely. Blast. He wasn’t off to the best start at this charade, was he? Not to mention, he could hardly tell Sir Reginald to stay away from her while dressed as a footman. For the first time all morning, Lucas was seriously doubting the intelligence of The Footmen’s Club experiment.
The young woman took a step closer to him. She seemed to study his face. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. …?”
“Lucas,” he blurted. Damn. Now she’d think that was his surname. What was it about this young woman that had him so flustered? Normally, he was much more self-possessed than he was acting at present.
“Mr. Lucas,” she replied, “but I don’t think that’s necessary. I can handle Sir Reginald on my own. As long as I see him coming first,” she added with a whimsical laugh.
“As you wish, my lady,” Lucas said. He’d been there long enough. He should leave before her mother arrived and found them in the room together unchaperoned. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the door the young woman was once again blocking.
“Will there be anything else, milady?” he asked in his most obliging tone. Mrs. Cotswold had drilled into him that a proper servant never left a room before asking if there would be anything else.
“Oh, I…” The young lady blushed again, and he found himself wanting to touch her soft-looking skin.
“Well, then, I’ll just…” He gestured toward the door.
“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” She blushed an even deeper shade of pink. His hand was on the door handle when she said, “Wait, I—”
He turned and knocked her outstretched hand, which apparently had held some sort of a coin because it fell to the wooden floor with a smack.
They both bent to retrieve it at precisely the same moment. He said, “My apologies,” while she said, “Oh, dear.”
They knocked heads with a heartythunk. He was the first to scoop up the coin while they both profusely apologized to one another as they lifted themselves up, rubbing their skulls. He made to hand back the coin and she pushed his hand away. The warmth of her fingers burned him even through her glove.
“No. No. Keep it. That was meant for you,” she said, still blushing profusely.
“I couldn’t possibly take it, milady. Not after having nearly knocked you to the floor.”
“No, please. You’ve earned it. Thank you for your discretion about Sir Reginald,” she added, with a nod.
“My pleasure, milady.” Lucas hated to take her money. He felt like a scoundrel, but the longer he waited, the more chance they would have of being discovered together. Worth’s words rang in Lucas’s ears. The duke had been all for taking monetary gifts from guests. Worth had said he looked forward to it. In fact, he’d bet the Footmen’s Club that he would get more gifts than any of them. That was a bet Lucas and Bell could hardly refuse. Worth was the least likely of any of them to be paid for exemplary service. They’d readily agreed and now it was the thought of the bet that had Lucas sticking the coin in his pocket. That and the fact that were he a real servant, he’d gladly accept the gift. No use appearing unnecessarily suspicious.
“Thank you, milady. I must go.” He patted the coin in the pocket of his emerald waistcoat.
“No, thankyou,” she replied. “It’s the least I could do.”
Lucas pulled open the handle. “Would you do me one favor, my lady?” he asked, knowing he was being wholly inappropriate but unable to stop himself.
She blinked at him. “What favor?”
“Will you tell me your name?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “My name?”
“Yes, I do hope you don’t think it too forward of me.” Suddenly, he felt awkward for asking. But his purpose had been twofold. First, he truly wanted to know her name so he could make some discreet inquiries about her and her family. Second, he’d decided that asking an inappropriate question might just be the best way to discover how she truly felt about servants, and thereby gain a glimpse into her character. If she was churlish to servants, he was about to find out.
She pushed the curl off her shoulder and a wide smile appeared on her face. “I suppose it’s only fair to tell you my name after you’ve been so kind to share yours,” she replied. “I’m Frances, Frances Wharton.”
“Thank you, milady.” He bowed. There. Not only had she not been offended by the question, she’d bestowed a gorgeous smile on him. So far at least, Frances Wharton seemed like a nice young lady indeed.
Lucas left the room and pulled the door closed behind him. He hadn’t exited a bit too soon, either. James was just coming out of the other bedchamber and Lucas joined him on his way back down the staircase to see to the next coach.
Pulling it from his pocket, he tossed the coin in the air and caught it in his fist. Frances Wharton? She hadn’t used the word ‘lady,’ yet she must be of the Quality or she wouldn’t have been invited to the house party. Not to mention she was dressed as a lady, spoke like a lady, and had been treated like a lady by Thea. Interesting, then, that she hadn’t included that word when telling him her name. She also hadn’t felt it necessary to blurt out her father’s name. Wharton? Hmm. Seemed Lucas knew a baron with that surname. A grin spread across his face. Yes, indeed. Frances Wharton might just be one young lady to keep an eye on.
CHAPTER FIVE
That night at the long table in Lord Clayton’s elegant dining room, the empty seat to Frances’s right caused her no end of worry. Her mother sat on the other side of the void, watching Frances while smiling and nodding like an inhabitant of Bedlam. Mama clearly knew something that pleased her about the seat’s future occupant. Which could only mean one thing. Sir Reginald was on the way. The theory stood to reason. He wasn’t occupying any of the other seats at the dinner table and Frances’s fervent wish that he had taken ill and would not be coming at all was dashed when Lady Clayton said in a loud voice for the entire table to hear, “Sir Reginald should be here any moment.”
