“We’re both ever so pleased to be here,” Mama replied. “Thank you so much for your kind invitation, Lady Clayton.”
“Wasn’t Lord Winfield able to make it?” Lady Clayton asked, frowning.
Mama winced. “Uh. He had some business to attend to in London, I’m afraid. But we do hope he’ll join us next week.”
They hadn’t employed a footman in an age. Thankfully two footmen from the Clayton residence were busy pulling the trunks from the top of the carriage, while Frances glanced around nervously. The longer they remained out in the open, the greater the chance Sir Reginald might spot them.
To Frances’s immense relief, Lady Clayton soon led them into the manor house’s large, gorgeous foyer. It smelled like lemon wax and Frances marveled at how very clean and well-kept everything looked. In addition to being far smaller, Papa’s country house was dingy these days, ever since they’d had to dismiss most of the servants and sell the artwork and furniture. But there were plenty of servants here at Clayton Manor, including the two footmen who carried their trunks behind them and the formidable-looking housekeeper who stood near the bannister staring at them. Apparently, she’d returned from depositing Albina in the servants’ quarters.
“Mrs. Cotswold will show you to your rooms,” Lady Clayton said, gesturing toward the housekeeper.
“Thank you,” Mama replied. She made to follow the housekeeper, who had already turned toward the grand sweeping staircase, before turning back to Lady Clayton. “Oh, one more thing. Has Sir Reginald Francis arrived yet?” She made it seem as if it were an afterthought, but Frances knew better.
Frances held her breath while Lady Clayton blinked as if perplexed by the question. The poor woman’s brow furrowed next. “Why . . .” The lady tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “Why, yes. I do believe Sir Reginald arrived early this morning.”
A wide grin spread across Mama’s face. “Excellent,” she said, eyes sparkling. She gave Frances a knowing grin.
Trying to keep her expression perfectly blank, Frances expelled her breath and lifted her skirts. If Sir Reginald was already here, she’d best ascend to the safety of her bedchamber as quickly as possible.
She darted across the foyer, nearly tackling one of the poor footmen who was headed toward the back of the house with her trunk. No doubt he was on his way to the servant’s staircase. “Please,” she said in a loud whisper to the man. “Please won’t you bring the trunk directly up?” She nodded hastily toward the staircase in the foyer.
The footman’s face was obscured by the trunk hoisted on his shoulder, but he quickly turned his frame toward the double-sided staircase and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Frances nearly wept with relief. She was being entirely inappropriate, of course, but at the moment, she couldn’t summon a care. She should also wait for her mother and the housekeeper, but instead, she plowed ahead of the footmen. She pointed up the staircase in front of them. “This way?” she asked as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence for a guest to ask for directions from footmen.
“Yes, milady,” the footman who carried her trunk replied in a voice that sounded as if he were slightly amused. When Frances reached the first landing, she tried to wait for the footman to join her, but her anxiety got the better of her and she continued on up. The poor man was carrying a fortnight’s worth of her clothing and unmentionables on his shoulder, she could hardly blame him for not being as speedy as she was. “I’ll just…meet you at the top of the staircase,” she blurted, grabbing her skirts and practically running up the final set of stairs. Once she reached the top, she glanced around in a panic. The hall was unconscionably long and filled with what seemed like dozens of closed doors that all looked alike. Terribly inconvenient.
“To the right?” she called in a voice that cracked as the footman steadfastly made his way up the steps behind her. Below Mama was still talking to Lady Clayton. Oh, what was keeping her? No doubt more prying questions about Sir Reginald.
“To the left, Miss,” the footman responded. She still couldn’t see his face, but Frances was once again aware of a bit of humor in the young man’s tone. She did not stop to dwell upon it, however. Instead, she dutifully raced off toward the left. She’d made her way halfway down the hall when she realized that for all she knew, she’d passed her room.
“The end of the hall,” came the footman’s helpful voice. He’d made it to the second floor quite promptly for someone weighed down by such a heavy trunk.
The second footman was having a much worse time of it. He was still struggling up the staircase with Mother’s trunk. Frances glanced toward him and winced. Mama did tend to hideously over pack.
Turning back to face the hallway, Frances continued her flight all the way to the end of the space, before stopping to wait for the footman. She had no choice. She had no idea which room was hers. She stood near the window, tapping her foot and biting her lip.
The footman had nearly caught up to her when a door she’d already passed opened and Sir Reginald of all people came out. Frances froze and held her breath as if that simple act alone would keep the man from noticing her should he happen to glance in her direction. Thankfully, he did not. Instead, he turned away from her and made his way toward the staircase. Even with his back toward her, she was certain it was him. She recognized his bald spot and sloping shoulders.
There was no more time to waste. Sir Reginald might turn around at any moment.
“In here?” she called to the footman in a loud whisper. She did not wait for a reply. Instead, she yanked open the very last door and darted inside. If she’d made the wrong choice, the footman would just have to come in and tell her so. A few moments later, the footman pushed open the door and followed her in.
“I’m terribly sorry if I’ve made a mistake with the room,” she said, hurrying over and shutting the door soundly behind him. “It’s just that I . . .” Hmm. What could she possibly tell this poor chap that would make any sense of her odd behavior?
“No mistake,” the footman replied, hoisting her trunk off his shoulder and onto the floor near the window. “This is the correct room. You do seem to be in quite a hurry, however.”
Frances, who’d been standing with her ear to the door to listen for Sir Reginald’s receding footsteps, blinked. First, she had the fleeting thought that the footman’s speech sounded quite cultured. Second, had a footman just commented upon her behavior? Well, that was certainly impertinent. Did the lad want a coin or didn’t he?
Upon further reflection, however, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for acting oddly after the way she’d behaved. At any rate, Mama would be here soon, and no doubt would be seriously displeased to find Frances alone in the room with a footman.
She needed to pay the chap and send him on his way. Still listening at the door, her back turned away from the servant, she fumbled for her reticule that dangled from her wrist. The reticule contained a bit of pin money that might tide him over.
She stuck her gloved hand into the small bag until she felt the outline of a coin. She pulled it out to look at it. A half-pound. Good enough. Clutching the coin, she turned to look at the footman who stood not two lengths behind her and…sucked in her breath.
Good heavens. This was no lad, but a full-grown man, and perhaps one of the tallest and certainly most handsome she’d ever seen. He had intelligent dark-green eyes, and a face that looked as if it had been carved into marble. Dark eyebrows, a perfect nose, wide shoulders, and full, masculine lips. Unconsciously, she pulled the coin up to her lips and exhaled, staring at him as if he were a statue come to life. Good heavens. Seems somehow she’d managed to close herself into a bedchamber alone with God’s gift to footmen.
Chapter Four
Lucas narrowed his eyes on the pretty young woman he’d just helped. She was leaning back against the closed bedchamber door, one gloved hand pressed to the wood, the other holding a coin near her rosy lips. Was it his imagination or was her body shaking? He’d never seen a
young lady in such a hurry before. She’d acted as if the devil had been on her heels. Now she was standing there in quite a state, her bosom heaving with her deep breaths, her skin flushed a lovely shade of pink.
He’d seen her look at him. Twice. Then her eyes became deeply focused. She was staring at him. There was no mistaking it, and the look on her face was utter surprise. For an awful moment he wondered if she recognized him, but he quickly discarded the notion. He didn’t recognize her. He was quite certain he would have remembered her if they’d been introduced. He’d spent the better part of the morning hauling trunks upstairs for a variety of young women and their mamas, but this was the first young woman who’d caught his attention so thoroughly. Not only because she was beautiful—and she truly was, with dark-brown hair, a pert nose and lovely dark eyes that hinted she was up to something— but she’d mostly managed to catch his attention due to her unexpected behavior. She’d certainly been the first young lady to abandon Mrs. Cotswold and her own mother and rush up to her room ahead of him. Not to mention asking him to follow her up the grand staircase. At first, he’d simply guessed she had a desperate need to use the privy, but when Sir Reginald Francis emerged from his room, she’d turned ashen white and leaped into the first bedchamber she’d come across. What precisely was the matter between the young woman and Sir Reginald? Or was she merely painfully shy and doing her best to avoid all other people? The way she was looking at him, however, made him seriously doubt she was at all shy.
Lucas’s suspicions were confirmed when the young woman stepped toward him and said, “Would you mind very much peering out the door and ensuring that a man about five inches shorter than you, with graying hair at the temples, a bald spot, sloping shoulders, and probably a smug look on his face is no longer in the corridor?”
Lucas had to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright. That was a description of Sir Reginald if ever Lucas had heard one. In addition to being unpredictable, this young woman was also humorous. Both of which made her interesting. Interesting and a bit mysterious. But why was she hiding from Sir Reginald? He was hardly worth the intrigue.
Lucas smiled at the irony of his own thought. He was hiding from Sir Reginald too. In fact, Lucas had been slightly worried earlier when he’d noticed Sir Reginald’s coach pull up. They knew each other from Parliament. One glance and Sir Reginald might recognize him in an instant. Unless, of course, Bell was right, and the upper crust rarely noticed servants.
Regardless, Lucas had made a mental note to ask Clayton why the devil he’d invited the knight to the house party. Clayton had been under strict orders to keep the guest list down to a minimum to reduce the risk of recognition.
There would be time to discuss Sir Reginald with Clayton later, however, at the moment Lucas fully intended to humor this poor young lady. If she needed a confirmation that Sir Reginald was no longer in the corridor, Lucas would be happy to provide her with one. Of course, Mrs. Cotswold hadn’t taught him anything about the propriety of peering after guests in the corridor, but he was already quite certain he shouldn’t be alone in a guest room with a young lady, so what did a bit of peering matter?
He moved closer to the door and the young woman hurriedly stepped aside, but not before he caught a whiff of her perfume. A light and airy flowery scent that made his head reel.
“Pardon me,” he said, clearing his throat again. Why did this young woman’s presence make his throat tight?
Her lips rounded into a small O and she stepped farther sidewise from the door. “My apologies.” She glanced away, blushing slightly.
He’d made her blush? That was adorable. Lucas stepped forward, turned the handle, and opened the door a crack. He peeked out into the corridor. James, the other footman, who was carrying the mother’s trunk, was entering the bedchamber next door. Otherwise, the hall was empty. The girl’s mother must still be speaking with Theodora downstairs. Lucas briefly wondered at a woman who hadn’t even seemed to notice that her daughter had run up the stairs and disappeared. The entire situation was quite strange. He felt slightly sorry for the young woman.
Lucas shut the door again and turned back to her. “He looks to be gone,” he reported.
The young woman heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall, letting her head tip toward her right shoulder. A lock of dark hair had escaped her bonnet and it lay on her shawl. He wanted to wrap the lock around his finger, see if it felt as soft as it appeared.
“Oh, I’m so glad. Thank you. Thank you very, very much,” she exclaimed.
“Was he…bothering you, my lady?” Lucas couldn’t help but ask. Mrs. Cotswold would no doubt disapprove of a footman being so nosy. But façade or not, he was still a gentleman and a gentleman always protects a lady. But who was this young lady, and what danger did she face from Sir Reginald of all people? The man could be a pompous ass, but harmless otherwise, as far as Lucas knew. Though the knight had certainly been a thorn in Lucas’s side over the summer. Sir Reginald had been teetering between defense of the Employment Bill and rejecting it, which meant Lucas had spent the better part of the last few months trying to convince the knight of the law’s merits.
Normally, Lucas would have been pleased to find one of the men he still needed to convince at the same house party. It would give him more of an opportunity to make his case, but at this particular house party, it would be nothing but embarrassing if Sir Reginald recognized him, which was entirely possible, powdered hair or no. Lucas would definitely have to steer clear of the man.
“He wasn’t bothering me…yet,” the young woman replied with what looked to be an irrepressible grin. “But that’s why I wanted to get away from him so quickly. I’m certain he shall bother me in future.”
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 sai
d, “My apologies,” while she said, “Oh, dear.”
They knocked heads with a hearty thunk. 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 cad, 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 money 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 suspicious unnecessarily.
“Thank you, milady. I must go.” He patted the coin in the pocket of his emerald waistcoat.
“No, thank you,” 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.
The Footman and I: The Footmen’s Club Trilogy Page 4