CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The hour Frances spent in the quiet library with Mr. Lucas the next morning was the most enjoyable hour she’d spent since arriving at the house party. He was witty, he was kind, he was intelligent, and he was every bit as irreverent as she’d first guessed him to be. Best of all, the man actuallylistenedto her. She sat there, going on and on about the evils of the Employment Bill, and instead of making an excuse and hurrying from the room, he sat next to her and looked into her eyes as she spoke. He asked questions to clarify certain points, and he nodded and murmured to demonstrate that he was paying attention.
Mr. Lucas had proven himself a more well-behaved gentleman than any of the titled lords of thetonshe’d met. None of the gentlemen of her acquaintance truly paid heed to her words the way Mr. Lucas did. Oh, they humored her, and patted her on the hand, and sent her off to sit with the wallflowers again while they found other amusements, but not one of them had appeared to be truly contemplating her points when she’d enumerated the reasons why the Employment Bill was so awful.
Once Frances had made her case, she stared hopefully at Mr. Lucas, fully expecting him to agree with her on all points. After all, how could one not see the truth in the arguments she’d made? But instead of readily agreeing with her, he said something entirely unexpected. “If I were to guess what a nobleman might say in response,” he began, “I suppose he would say it would behoove him to support the bill so that he could fulfill his duties to the many people who rely upon him.”
Frances stared at him as if he’d just turned into a dragon. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “If I were a nobleman, I might say the bill was helping by lowering the cost of wages and ensuring I didn’t have to employ someone who wasn’t holding up their end of the agreement. I’d be able to employ more people and fulfill my commitments to those who already work for me.”
Frances rolled her eyes. “Honestly, has Lord Clayton been telling you this drivel?”
Mr. Lucas cleared his throat. “Is it not true that men like Lord Clayton have obligations to fulfill? Surely your father has mentioned it to you if you’ve spoken to him about the bill.”
Frances clenched her jaw. “My father has never fulfilled an obligation in his life.” The words flew from her mouth before she had a chance to examine them.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Lucas said, giving her a look that did indeed indicate he was truly sorry. There was no pity in his gaze, however. Good. She detested pity.
She shrugged. “No need to be sorry. It’s harsh but true. Our lands are mortgaged and we’ve dismissed most of our servants.” Frances knew she shouldn’t be telling anyone these things, but somehow, she felt safe with Mr. Lucas. Somehow, she felt as if she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge it.
“If that’s the case, then the bill would help to put more money back in your father’s pocket,” Mr. Lucas continued.
Frances pressed her lips together tightly. “My father’s pocket is empty because he’s gambled everything away. I’d rather put money in the pocket of the hardworking servants he’s forced out onto the streets.”
Mr. Lucas’s voice lowered, and a note of regret sneaked in. “Is it that bad?”
She lifted her chin and looked away. She refused to cry but she had to blink back tears. “We have only Albina and Mrs. Wimberly left.”
He leaned forward and touched her hand. Fire shot up her arm. “I’m sorry, Frances.”
It was the first time he’d called her by her Christian name. She wanted to do the same. She blinked away the tears once more. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.” She tried to paste a fake smile on her face. “It occurs to me, I don’t know your Christian name.”
He glanced away, not meeting her gaze and waited a few moments before he said, “Lucas is my Christian name.”
She frowned. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? Here I’ve been calling you Mr. Lucas all this time.”
“I thought it would be too forward of me to correct you. Not to mention I shouldn’t have given you my Christian name to begin with.”
“What’s your surname then?” she asked.
He glanced away. His gaze scanned the room. “Uh, it’s…Wood. Lucas Wood.”
She nodded. “Well, that’s easy to remember. Now, Lucas, you must tell me, you cannot possibly be in favor of the bill.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “There are many aspects to it that perhaps you, I mean,wedon’t know about.”
Still sitting, she pressed her fists to her hips. “Oh, please don’t tell me that. I’ve heard it all before. Mention an aspect of the bill and I’ll tell you precisely how much I know about it.”
They spent the next half hour poring over every single point of the law. Frances had to admit that for a footman, Lucas was quite well versed on the details of the legislation. For every one of her arguments, he brought up a counter point that a nobleman ‘might’ argue.
“You’re far too influenced by your employer, I fear,” she finally announced.
“Why do you say that?” His brow furrowed once more.
She tossed up a hand in frustration. “Lucas, you’re in service. Don’t you see how this bill does nothing but keep you and your future children in service?” She blushed. “My apologies. I am making assumptions about you. Such as that you intend to have children.”
“I would very much like to,” he replied quietly, searching her face.
