Lady Clayton stood and came sailing over. That lovely lady apologized quietly and escorted both Frances and Mr. Lucas quickly from the dining room. Frances had barely taken two steps toward the door when she heard Sir Reginald say to Mama, “I like a woman with spirit. And that footman was a clumsy oaf.”
Confound it. Was she actually attracting the ass with this behavior? As soon as they reached the corridor Frances turned to apologize to Mr. Lucas, but Lady Clayton had already ordered him to return to the servants’ hall in the basement and remain there for the rest of the evening. Oh, dear. Frances had no way of knowing for certain if he realized she’d done it all on purpose. She would have to go looking for him later.
Chapter Six
Frances Wharton, Lucas thought two hours later as he stood leaning a shoulder against a wall in the servant’s hall. Thankfully, no one had seemed to recognize him before Theodora had removed him from the dining room earlier. He’d turned his back upon the table immediately and Theodora had quickly carted him away, along with Miss Wharton.
He’d stayed downstairs to watch the butler complete his duties and to ask some questions about tomorrow’s plans. He’d learned quite a bit about life in service since he’d come here, and to his delight most of Clayton’s servants seemed pleased to teach him. Probably on Mrs. Cotswold’s orders, but still, he appreciated their help and their not acting put out by his presence. Of course, a few of them kept forgetting they weren’t supposed to call him “my lord,” but he quickly reminded them. His presence in the servants’ hall made one of the housemaids blush earlier. He hoped he hadn’t embarrassed the poor girl too much.
Service was more difficult than Lucas had imagined. He’d spent his evening rushing up and down a great many stairs while balancing elaborate platters full of food. Not only had his physical skills been put to the test, but so had his mental ones as he’d been kept quite busy trying to recall in which direction to serve the soup tureen, on which side of each guest to stand while serving, and precisely how long he should wait at each seat before moving to the next to ensure he wasn’t going too slowly. Ensuring he didn’t spill any food on the guests or the table was its own feat. He would have made it through the first evening without incident if Miss Wharton hadn’t purposely bumped into his arm.
By far his greatest fear of the evening, however, had been that the diners who knew him—and there were a handful—would suddenly look at his face and recognize him. Amazing, really, how correct Bell had been. The marquess had said none of the members of the ton would give Lucas a second glance when he was dressed in livery while wearing a powdered wig, and by God, none of them had. Except, that is, for Miss Wharton, who kept glancing at him. He knew she was glancing at him because he kept glancing at her. At first he’d been worried for her when Sir Reginald took the seat next to her. Particularly when the blowhard had begun by announcing to the table that he was friendly with the Prince Regent. In fact, he’d practically shouted the words “the Prince Regent” so the entire table could hear.
And calling the prince “Georgie”? That was enough to make one physically ill. The table’s occupants had seemed impressed, however. Especially Lady Winfield. Lucas had no idea why. Carlton House was famous for its lavish dinners, but it was hardly much fun. Why, Lucas usually tried to get out of any invitations to dinners at Carlton House (and he’d received a great many over the years). It was awkward there, in the past due to Mrs. Fitzherbert’s presence, and the conversation always revolved entirely around the prince.
Lucas much preferred the company of his friends at the Curious Goat Inn to the stuffy confines of Carlton House. However, Sir Reginald’s friendship with the Regent was one reason Lucas was interested in securing the knight’s vote. The man was a cohort of the Prince and the Prince was influential with a score of MPs. If Lucas could manage to sway that loyal group of royalists to his cause, he’d have the vote on the Employment Bill all but guaranteed. Lucas would have to continue to court his favor, though, if he were going to win over Sir Reginald and his cronies.
Yes, tonight Lucas had felt sorry for Frances Wharton. He couldn’t help it. He realized why she’d been in such a state trying to hide this morning. She was avoiding Sir Reginald at all costs. The moment the knight sat down, she looked as if she wanted to flee. Lucas had made it his business to hurry over to provide Sir Reginald with his napkin. Any worry about Sir Reginald looking up at him and recognizing him was quickly squelched. The older man didn’t so much as spare him a glance. Sir Reginald was much more interested at staring down Miss Wharton’s décolletage. That had been difficult to watch. He’d wanted to punch the leering knight in the gut.
But being invisible had its benefits. Lucas was beginning to enjoy himself actually. It was as if he had a sort of magic or something. The feeling was both alarming and freeing at the exact same time. It truly perplexed him that not one of the diners (save for Miss Wharton and Theodora) had made eye contact with him. On the other hand, he could overhear comments he’d never have a chance to hear as a guest at a dinner table.
He’d also made it his business to closely watch Miss Wharton’s interactions with Sir Reginald. Lucas came around often enough with wine refills that he was able to hear some of the mind-numbing conversation Sir Reginald was treating poor Miss Wharton to. Lucas could have sworn there was an entire conversation about mud. He and Miss Wharton had shared more than one look, both rolling their eyes over the knight’s tales.
At one point in the evening, the pained look on poor Miss Wharton’s face made Lucas want to pour the entire tureen of turtle soup in Sir Reginald’s lap. But she soon responded with a saucy comment or two that made Lucas smile and her mother blanch. He’d learned more about Frances Wharton tonight. The young lady clearly wasn’t one to demur and apparently, she was quite comfortable with speaking her own mind. Lucas would have liked to have heard more of Miss Wharton’s witty comments, but too often his duties called him from the room when he and James needed to hurry downstairs to fetch the next course.
Theodora had been drinking wine tonight, probably to keep from laughing at him. She’d been simultaneously horrified and delighted by the idea of The Footmen’s Club. Clayton had had to talk her into it in the end, but once she’d agreed, she was entirely immersed in the plot and endlessly amused by it. She, too, appeared nonplussed to discover that not one person at the dining table had recognized Lucas. Granted, given their guest list, there were only a handful of people present who had met him before, and that ass Sir Reginald was the surest choice, but he was so busy talking about himself and his closeness to the prince, he hadn’t glanced at the servants at all.
Clayton had sat at the other end of the table, dutifully ignoring Lucas. In fact, Clayton had done such a good job of ignoring him it was almost odd. When Lucas finally got to him to serve the goose, Clayton waved him away. He’d have to have a talk with him about not acting too obvious.
Lucas had frozen after Miss Wharton had used him to spill wine on her gown. Would that be the way everyone recognized him? Her calling him out for being a “clumsy oaf”? The hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. She wasn’t a terribly good actress, poor woman. She’d delivered her lines far too formally. But it had been a good enough show to fool Sir Reginald, and clearly removing herself from the knight’s presence had been her goal.
Theodora and Clayton had been in stitches when they’d come downstairs an hour after the dinner party had ended. They pretended as if they needed to have a word with Lucas for his clumsy behavior. He’d good-naturedly taken the ribbing from the other servants too. They’d all told him it was a rare servant who didn’t make some sort of mistake and it was just too bad that he’d managed to spill wine on the biggest termagant at the party. Of course, Lucas wasn’t about to give Miss Wharton’s secret away and tell them all she’d only been pretending to be angry. It wasn’t his secret to tell.
But the fear of being caught pretending to be a footman had been real. Once he’d been safely below
stairs, he’d had the thought for the hundredth time since he’d come here: perhaps he was going about this entire wife-finding business the wrong way. Perhaps he needed to throw himself on his mother and sister’s mercy and have them pick out a bride for him. They’d offered often enough. He’d been reluctant to take them up on their offers because he knew his mother would pick a girl with a large dowry from the best family without a thought to how the girl regarded him or how he thought of her. His sister would merely pick out one of her friends, which might work better than his mother’s method, but certainly had its own drawbacks. Surely there were better ways to find a wife than this. But he couldn’t deny that his visit here hadn’t been in vain.
He’d spent some time tonight while serving dinner glancing over the other prospects, but his gaze kept returning to Miss Wharton. She was the one who captured his attention, whether it was the look on her face that indicated she was fantasizing about clouting Sir Reginald over the head with the soup tureen, or replying to the knight’s boring comments with clever ones the man didn’t seem to understand.
“I heard ye had some excitement up in the dining room tonight,” Mrs. Claxton, the cook, said as she came out of the kitchens for the night, wiping her hands on her apron.
Lucas bit his lip and tilted his head. He knew perfectly well that servants were not supposed to gossip about their employers and their employers’ guests. He also knew perfectly well that nearly all servants did gossip about their employers and their employers’ guests. It made him feel a part of the club, the real club of servants, to be trusted by Mrs. Claxton with such a statement. If she thought he would tell Clayton or even Mrs. Cotswold that she’d been gossiping, she never would have said such a thing to Lucas.
“Indeed, I did,” Lucas replied, pulling away from the wall and walking with Mrs. Claxton toward the servants’ staircase that led to the sleeping quarters. He would spend his night in a small room on the men’s side of the fourth floor. He’d insisted on being a servant in every way possible. Bell would be up there too. Worth, however, was sleeping above the stables with the other groomsmen and stablehands.
“Turns out I’m a ‘clumsy oaf,’” Lucas continued, grinning at the cook.
“I’d have liked ta have seen it,” Mrs. Claxton said, shaking her head. “And I’d like even more ta see what that gel would say if she ken who ye really was.”
Lucas gave Mrs. Claxton a warning look.
“I know. I know. It won’t be coming from my mouth. But I can’t help wishin’,” Mrs. Claxton finished, chuckling.
They were just about to climb the stairs when a bundle of green satin came hurtling down toward them. Lucas had to grab the young woman wearing the satin about the waist to keep her from falling face-first on the cobblestone floor.
When he’d finally stood her up and ensured she was steady on her feet, he realized he’d just caught Miss Wharton.
“Oh, dear,” she said, a blush quickly traveling from her chest to her hairline. “I’m terribly sorry. I wanted to make it down here before you all had gone to bed.”
Mrs. Claxton and Lucas just stared at her. A small group of the other servants who were also done with their duties were gathering behind them, staring at Miss Wharton as if a unicorn had just emerged in their midst.
“Can we help ye, milady?” Mrs. Claxton asked, her brow wrinkled. “Would ye like somethin’ ta eat? I can send up a maid—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Miss Wharton said, pressing a hand to her collar bone. “Nothing like that. I just wanted to see Mr. Humbolt, the butler, and the footmen who were serving in the dining room this evening.”
Lucas glanced at her warily. He’d assumed she’d knocked his hand causing him to spill on purpose, but he may have been entirely mistaken. Was she here to call him another name? Or worse. Had she somehow discovered who he was and come to demand an answer for his charade?
Mr. Humbolt cleared his throat and stepped forward from the back of the small crowd while James and the other two footmen stepped forward as well. Because Lucas was already standing next to her, he merely bowed. Bowed, and hoped that no matter what Miss Wharton said, none of the servants mentioned that he was an earl. They’d all been carefully instructed not to speak of it in front of anyone, least of all the debutantes, but the nagging fear was still there in the back of Lucas’s mind as he said, “At your service, milady.”
She blinked at him as if she hadn’t yet recognized him standing there. “Oh, my. It’s you.” Her mouth formed a small, surprised O.
“It’s me,” he echoed, letting the brief shadow of a smile cross his lips. He had to admit he was intrigued again. What was she doing down here at this time of night?
She nodded vigorously and looked at Lucas, James, the other two footmen, and Mr. Humbolt in turn. “Please accept my apology,” she said, “for my behavior in the dining room earlier this evening. I had quite a good reason to act that way, but I certainly didn’t mean to be rude to any of you.”
“Think nothing of it, my lady,” Mr. Humbolt quickly responded.
Lucas took his cue from James who merely nodded and bowed to Miss Wharton.
“Yes, well, er, thank you.” Her gloved hands were folded in front of her and she was pulling at her fingers nervously. She turned to Lucas. “And I owe you a special apology for calling you a ‘clumsy oaf,’ Mr. Lucas. Of course, you are neither clumsy, nor an oaf.”
“I’m not certain you know me well enough to judge that accurately, my lady,” he replied with a grin.
A hush fell over the servants who’d all just seemingly witnessed a footman say something quite impertinent to a houseguest. They all seemed to hold their collective breaths until Miss Wharton smiled, laughed, and said, “Be that as it may, Mr. Lucas, I greatly appreciate your service at table this evening and I do hope I did not cause you any trouble with Lord Clayton.”
“None he can’t handle,” Mr. Humboldt replied, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Miss Wharton nodded. “Well, then, I had better get back upstairs,” she finally said as the entire group of servants continued to stare. “Again, I’m awfully sorry for the way I behaved.”
She lifted her skirts, turned, and was gone nearly as quickly as she came. Lucas stared after her scratching his chin. That was interesting.
“Well,” Mrs. Claxton said, her hands on her hips. “If that ain’t a first. Ain’t never seen a lady come down here ta apologize ta a bunch o’ servants a’fore.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Frances slowly opened one of the large wooden doors that led into Lord Clayton’s library. At dinner last night, before Sir Reginald had arrived and bored her into acting like a shrew, Lord Clayton had mentioned he owned a collection of books on the history of law. Frances wanted to know about the poor laws. Had there ever been another bill similar to the currently proposed Employment Bill? Had such a bill been struck down? If so, what argument had been made to convince the House of Lords to vote against it?
She might not be at liberty to discuss the poor bill with any of the noblemen at this particular house party, but she certainly intended to have every bit of knowledge on her side when next she encountered some unsuspecting lord at an event between now and the vote. The delay of the vote until the next session of Parliament gave her more time to bend the ear of every MP she came across. As soon as this blasted house party was over.
“Thank heavens,” she breathed to herself, briefly closing her eyes after she peeked in to find the room empty. She slipped inside and quickly shut the door behind her. Hopefully, none of the other guests would come to bother her. She was most likely quite safe from Sir Reginald, she thought with a wry smile, there was little chance of him looking for something to read. No doubt he was otherwise occupied with his correspondence with the Prince Regent.
She made her way to the center of the enormous two-story room. It was packed with books lining gorgeous oaken shelves from floor to ceiling. There was a fire burning low in a huge fireplace across the room and
the dark green velvet curtains had been drawn, letting in the morning sunlight. She breathed in deeply. The familiar scent of paper and ink hit her nostrils. What a lovely, lovely room. She spun around in a circle until she was dizzy.
Libraries had always been her favorite rooms in any house. She’d been without one for some time now since Father had been forced to quietly sell most of his collection to pay his creditors. Lord Clayton’s library was a dream come true, however. It had a staircase leading up to a second row of bookshelves that lined the top of the room on three walls. The fourth wall was covered with glass windows from floor to ceiling and looked out over a flowering garden behind the house with a meadow in the distance.
Frances took a few minutes to quietly look around the grand space. Hmm. She bounced the tip of one finger against her chin. The collection was larger than she’d even imagined. She should have asked her host precisely where the law books were kept. They could be anywhere.
Why, she might search through these books all day and still not come across the ones she wanted. Perhaps she should go looking for Lord Clayton to ask. Wait. No. That wouldn’t work. The male members of the house party had all planned a ride this morning. They weren’t home at the moment.
Frances plunked her hands on her hips and looked around, squinting at the farthest reaches of the room. She quickly spotted a group of similar-looking large brown leather volumes taking up an entire set of shelves in the far corner on the ground floor near the windows. The sheer size of the collection and the dimensions of the individual volumes made her think they must be important. She would begin her search there. She dropped her pink shawl on the dark green velvet settee in the center of the room and headed straight for the corner.
The Footman and I Page 6