The Footman and I: The Footmen’s Club Trilogy

by Bowman, Valerie

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Lucas dressed for his meeting with Sir Reginald that afternoon, the roil of thoughts that had been racing through his mind all morning since Lady Winfield found him kissing Frances continued to batter against his mind like rain upon a flapping sail.

  He was a bounder. He was a scoundrel. He was the lowest form of life imaginable. The worst part was that when he’d first entered the library, Frances had been hiding in the alcove. If only he had joined her there. But, no, he had had to stand outside in full view of the doors before acting like an even bigger reprobate and kissing her regardless.

  It was all his fault, and the fact that Frances was bearing the brunt of the fallout made him insane. Throughout the day he’d been tempted to search for Lady Winfield’s room and declare himself. It was the only decent thing to do. Only he would need to speak to Frances first to find out if she even wanted him to declare himself. And how could he expect that she would want him to declare himself if he would have to admit that he was the detestable Lord Kendall? That never-ending circle of thoughts tripped over each other, one after the next, until he’d driven himself half-mad.

  He glared at himself in the cheval glass. Here he was, dressed as an earl once again, in fabric that cost more than Lucas the footman made in a year’s time. His clothing hardly mattered. He felt lower than the lowest criminal in Newgate. At least criminals were paying for their crimes. He was walking around completely free. He deserved to pay.

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time to meet Sir Reginald. At least he knew what he intended to say to that sop.

  After the meeting in Bell’s room yesterday, Lucas had decided upon his own course of action. He appreciated his friends’ advice, and he’d considered all of it, but he’d always favored reason and logic over plotting and lies, not that anyone could tell from his activities of late.

  It was time to start over. No more deceit, beginning with his discussion with Sir Reginald.

  Lucas straightened his cravat one last time and left his bedchamber. Thank Christ, Frances was not waiting for him in the corridor. He probably didn’t have to worry about her being there when he returned, either. Given the level of anger her mother had displayed this morning, he doubted Frances would be let out of that lady’s sight for quite some time.

  He would make things right with Frances somehow, but at the moment he had a score to settle with a certain knighted blowhard.

  * * *

  When Lucas walked into the drawing room five minutes later, Sir Reginald was standing at the window staring out across the meadow.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Reginald,” Lucas said, heading straight for the sideboard once again. “Care for a drink?”

  “Not today, thank you,” Sir Reginald replied, his tone terse.

  Lucas poured himself a drink and made his way to the same chair he’d sat in the last time they’d been here for this discussion. Sir Reginald turned and stared at him.

  “You all right, Sir Reginald?” Lucas asked, scratching his chin and taking a sip of brandy.

  “No. Actually. My back is acting up. It’s quite painful.” Sir Reginald walked slowly and carefully over to the settee and took the same seat he’d occupied last time as well. He’d barely lowered himself to the cushion before he snapped his fingers and pointed at the footman who stood at attention near the door. “You there. You!”

  Lucas’s eyes widened and he stared at Sir Reginald, aghast.

  The footman, James, took one step forward, clicked his heels together, and bowed. “Yes, my lord, how may I be of service?”

  “Fetch me that pillow.” Sir Reginald pointed to a pillow that sat literally one hand’s length away from him on the settee. He easily could have reached it himself. “My back is aching and I need it for support,” the knight finished.

  “Of course, my lord.” James strode over to the settee and picked up the pillow. He took one small step toward Sir Reginald. Wincing, the knight leaned forward to allow James to position the pillow behind his back.

  Lucas’s gaze caught James’s. He’d never been more ashamed to be of the Quality. The man had treated Sir Reginald with far more respect and care than he deserved. Lucas gave James a solitary nod.

  “Yes, yes. Now, go away!” Sir Reginald snapped before sighing and settling back against his pillow. “What were you saying, Kendall?”

  “Have you made up your mind about the Employment Bill?” Lucas bit out. He had already decided to get directly to his point. There was no use prolonging this unpleasant conversation.

  Sir Reginald’s laughter turned into a coughing fit that lasted so long it became uncomfortable. Lucas was just about to ask the man if he needed to be slapped upon the back when Sir Reginald stopped and wiped his mouth with his lacey handkerchief. “Kendall, the better question is, have you made up your mind? I thought I’d made my wishes clear when last we spoke.”

  “I thought perhaps we could talk about the bill itself,” Lucas replied, clutching the brandy glass so tightly his fingers ached. He was happily pretending it was Sir Reginald’s throat. “There are many facets to consider, you know. Tell me some of the reasons you’re against it,” Lucas said, ready to have the same discussion he’d had with at least a dozen gentlemen over the past several months yet again.

  “Very well, Kendall, we’ll play your little game.” The knight sighed. “But frankly it would be easier if I were to tell you why I’m for it.”

  “Really?” Lucas lifted his brows. “Go ahead then.”

  “Well, for one thing, it certainly sounds as if the bill will keep the servant class in their place.”

  Lucas couldn’t help but glance at James. He suddenly felt entirely conspicuous. Even if Sir Reginald felt that way, did he have to say it in front of James? He could well have discreetly asked the man to leave the room or worded his sentence more tactfully.

  “On the other hand,” Sir Reginald continued, “it does appear to stifle some of the progress we’ve made with the trade laws. And I can’t say I like that one bit.”

  Lucas frowned. That was Sir Reginald’s argument? The trade laws had been too archaic even for Charles. Those laws kept the working class from earning any sort of a fair wage and had given them basically no rights against employers who refused to pay them, provide them with any medical care whatsoever, and even beat them. Sir Reginald’s argument against the Employment Bill was that it didn’t make it difficult enough for the working class? The repeal of some of the harsher conditions of the trade laws had been the one part of the Employment Bill Frances had actually agreed with. Her words rang in Lucas’s memory. I don’t see how anyone with a heart beating in his chest could be for it. Sir Reginald certainly sounded heartless at the moment.

  Lucas forced himself to temporarily swallow his distaste to make his next point. “It will stimulate the growth of tenant farming and help to shore up some large problems with estate economics.”

  “Yes, but the real beauty of the trade laws was the fact that we don’t have to answer to anyone for how we treat our help,” Sir Reginald continued. “Why would I choose to vote against my own best interests?”

  The House of Lords has the power to defeat this law, but they only vote in favor of themselves and their own purses. More of Frances’s words resounded in Lucas’s head. He’d actually spent time trying to argue that point, trying to convince her that the male members of upper class did not vote only in favor of themselves and their own purses. But she was right. Sir Reginald was proving her right.

  “I suppose you won’t choose to vote against your own best interests,” Lucas managed to bite out. He had only one final thing to say and then he intended to take himself away from Sir Reginald’s noxious company and never seek it again. “Look, Sir Reginald, the reason I’m so interested in getting this bill passed is because—”

  “We all know why you’re so interested in getting it passed, Kendall,” Sir Reginald interrupted with an eye roll. “Your brother told you to. Now Charles
was a man with whom one could negotiate. I was hoping you’d be more like him, actually.”

  Lucas sat back. His chest ached as if he’d been knocked from a ship’s crow’s nest to the main deck. He couldn’t breathe. His throat burned. “What did you say to me?” he growled through clenched teeth.

  “I said your brother knew how to be a politician. Clearly, he didn’t teach you much before he cocked up his toes.”

  Lucas squeezed his glass so tightly it cracked. If he didn’t remove himself from Sir Reginald’s presence immediately, the knight’s neck would be next.

  “On the contrary.” Lucas spit the words like nails. “I’ve always believed the bill would do the most good for the country. But I’m beginning to understand that it actually does the most good for our class and I’m not at all certain any longer that our class deserves it.” Lucas stood, drained the rest of the brandy from his ailing glass, set it on the side table, and strode toward the door. “Good day, Sir Reginald.”

  The knight stared after him, his mouth agape. “Wait a minute,” he called. “What about the chancellorship?”

  Lucas didn’t slow down. “Good afternoon, James, and thank you for your service,” he said to the footman on his way out, tipping his head in the servant’s direction. “Please tell Clayton I owe him a brandy glass.”

  “With pleasure, my lord,” James replied with a nod and a bow.

  Lucas hadn’t got three steps down the corridor before he let out a string of muffled curses that he knew for a fact would make one of the most highly seasoned jacks in the Royal Navy blush. What the hell had just happened back there? He was thoroughly disgusted. Disgusted with Sir Reginald and all the imperious blowhards like him, gentlemen of the ton, who went around making pronouncements as if they were gods. But mostly Lucas was disgusted with himself, because he knew that what Sir Reginald had said about his espousing the bill for his brother was entirely true. Frances was right. Noblemen were self-entitled horse’s asses. And he was one of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sneaking down to the servants’ hall without being seen was no small feat. Waiting to find a particular servant and whisper at him to come speak with you without anyone else noticing was an even larger challenge. But Frances was nothing if not determined. If her mother found her, she would be locked in her bedchamber till her wedding day, but she’d had to take the chance. If only to see Lucas one more time. Frances had little idea what she’d say to him when she found him, however. She only knew she had to tell him the truth. He deserved to know what she was going to do.

  She’d been hiding beneath the staircase belowstairs for the better part of a quarter hour before Lucas walked past. He had a frown on his face and looked to be in the devil’s own mood. She called his name in a loud whisper.

  Lucas froze and his eyes widened. He glanced over and narrowed his eyes into the darkness. “Frances? What are you doing here?”

  He glanced around to see if anyone else had seen her before hurrying over to join her beneath the staircase. “Are you all right? Your mother didn’t beat you, did she?” A thunderous look covered his face.

  “No, nothing like that. She cried actually,” Frances replied, wringing her hands.

  Lucas winced. “I hate to hear that.”

  Frances took a deep, steadying breath. “I came to tell you something, Lucas,” she whispered. “And I fear I don’t have much time.”

  “Go ahead,” he prompted. He’d grabbed both of her gloved hands and was holding them, rubbing across her fingers with the tips of his thumbs. His touch gave her strength. But it also made what she was about to say that much more difficult.

  She stared up into his handsome face. Oh, dear. This was not going to be easy. It seemed even more daunting now that she was standing in front of him, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and wanting to do nothing more than wrap her arms around his neck and beg him to take her away from the horrible predicament.

  Lucas squeezed her fingers and searched her face. “Are you all right, Frances?”

  She was not all right and she wasn’t certain she ever would be again, but she managed to nod. “Lucas, before I tell you, will you…kiss me first?”

  His green eyes widened to small orbs and he took a definite step back, still holding her hands. “No!”

  She pulled her hands from his and plunked both fists on her hips. “Well, you don’t have to be insulting about it,” she replied, but her smile belied the content of her words.

  He smiled too. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Frances, believe me it’s not. It’s just that…the last time I gave into that temptation it ended horribly as you might recall.”

  “Oh, yes, I recall.” She stared wistfully past his shoulder. She understood why he was reluctant to kiss her again, but she’d just realized it would have been their last kiss.

  He rubbed a knuckle against his forehead. “What did you come to tell me?”

  She took another deep breath, pressing her palm against her middle as if that simple act would calm the riotous nerves inside. “My parents intend to announce my engagement to Sir Reginald as soon as my father arrives.”

  “What?” Lucas’s eyes scoured every inch of her face. “What do you mean?”

  “My mother has unofficially accepted Sir Reginald’s suit. We’re merely waiting for my father to make it official.”

  Lucas’s eyes were moving so quickly, Frances could tell a hundred thoughts must be racing through his mind. “When does your father arrive?”

  “Tomorrow,” she replied.

  “You intend to marry Sir Reginald?” It was posed as a question, but Frances could tell he was saying it aloud as if to confirm it in his own mind.

  She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, it’s my choice.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and searched her face. “You want to marry him?”

  She turned away from him and bit her lip. “You don’t understand, Lucas. My family needs the money. It turns out I have no dowry. None whatsoever. My father has gambled it all away.”

  He blew out a deep breath from his pursed lips as if he was trying to control his temper. “All of it?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Everything.”

  Lucas’s next words came through clenched teeth. “And Sir Reginald, that ass, doesn’t care that you don’t have a dowry.”

  She nodded again. “Not only that, apparently he’s agreed to pay my parents a significant sum.”

  Lucas cursed under his breath. His nostrils flared. “So, he’s buying you?”

  She let her chin drop to her chest. She’d expected Lucas would be angry, but she hadn’t guessed his words would be quite so harsh. “I know how awful it sounds. I have no choice.”

  He paced away from her, his hands on his hips. “When is the wedding to be?” he ground out.

  She took another steadying breath. “As soon as possible. The sooner we wed, the sooner my father will get the purse.”

  Lucas bit the inside of his cheek and cursed again. “Just to gamble it away again, no doubt.”

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Probably, but what else are we to do? I must think about my family. They’ll be destitute without this match.”

  “Your father should be thrown in debtor’s prison,” Lucas growled.

  Again, she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. “That’s not particularly helpful, Lucas. Debtor’s prison provides no options for men like my father.”

  Footsteps thudded on the staircase above them.

  Lucas paced away from her again. “Blast it, Frances. What if . . .?”

  “‘What if’ what?” she asked brokenly. Tears sliding down her cheeks. “Please don’t say what if you and I were to marry. I cannot marry a footman, Lucas. Unless you happen to have a secret fortune.”

  He clenched his teeth and pressed his closed fist against his forehead. “Damn it,” he ground out, drawing out each word.

  She wiped the tears away with her fi
ngers. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I didn’t want things to end this way. It’s not what I prefer.” She swallowed again. “But I’m resigned to it.”

  More footsteps.

  He swiveled on his heel so quickly he nearly knocked her over. He gently cupped her shoulders to keep her steady. “What if things were different?” he blurted, searching her face. “What if there was another way?”

  She shook her head, still meeting his gaze. “What way? What are you talking about?”

  “Do you love me, Frances?” He squeezed her shoulders gently. His heart was in his eyes.

  Her tears were falling steadily now. She swiped them away with the backs of her hands. “I do love you, Lucas. But what choice do I have?”

  The thud of footsteps on the stairs above them increased. Lucas dropped his hands to the sides. “The servants are coming down to prepare to serve dinner. If we stay here any longer, we’re certain to be seen. I cannot explain now. It’s not the right time. Will you do me one last favor?”

  “Anything.” Her voice broke. She swallowed yet another painful lump in her throat.

  “Will you meet me in the library tomorrow morning? There’s something important I must tell you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lucas rapped three more times on Bell’s bedchamber door. The marquess wasn’t answering. Where the hell was he at this hour? He had to be inside. He hadn’t been down in the servants’ hall earlier when Lucas had gone looking for him. It had been a pure coincidence that Lucas had been there when Frances had arrived to find him.

  Lucas rapped on the door for a third time, harder and longer this time. He didn’t want to wake the other sleeping servants, but he desperately needed to speak with Bell before morning.

  Finally, Lucas heard mumbling and shuffling from inside the room. Several moments later, a sleepy-looking Bell clad only in a pair of no doubt hastily pulled-on breeches ripped open the door.

  “Kendall?” he groaned, “I mean, Lucas, get in here.” He yanked Lucas none-too-gently into the room by the scruff of the neckcloth and shut the door behind him with a loud thud.