The Footman and I: The Footmen’s Club Trilogy

by Bowman, Valerie

  Lucas stepped into the darkened room. No candles were lit, but a full moon shone outside the window illuminating a great portion of the space, including the desk by the window. He strode over to it and sat on its edge.

  “My apologies for coming so late,” Lucas began.

  Eyes closed, Bell ran a hand over his face and sniffed. “What bloody time is it?”

  “Two o’clock,” Lucas admitted.

  “In the morning? That’s bloody ridiculous.”

  Lucas shrugged. “When I was in the Navy, I used to stand watch at two o’clock.”

  Bell groaned. “Well, neither of us is in the Navy at the moment, are we? I, for one, find this a ludicrous time to be keeping company.”

  Lucas halfway turned and stared out at the night sky. “I have to tell you something, Bell.”

  Bell yanked open the doors to his wardrobe and stared blankly inside. “What is it?”

  Lucas stood and braced his palms behind him against the desk. “I’m in love with Miss Wharton.”

  “I know,” Bell announced, tugging a shirt from a peg in the wardrobe.

  “You know?” Lucas frowned. “How the hell would you know?”

  “Of course I know,” Bell continued. “As you’ve reminded me on more than one occasion, I’m a bloody spy for Christ’s sake. It’s my business to know what’s going on in this house.”

  Lucas tapped his boot against the floor. Very well. Bell already knew, but his friend’s revelation didn’t change what he’d come here to say. “I’ve been meeting with Miss Wharton, every day in the library. We talk about politics, life, …the Employment Bill.”

  “I know,” Bell said, tossing the shirt over his head.

  The frown remained on Lucas’s face. “You know that, too?”

  Bell turned to face Lucas and pointed both of his thumbs toward himself. “Spy.”

  “Very well.” Lucas ran both hands through his hair. “Do you also know I’ve kissed her? Several times. She kissed me too, actually, but please don’t spread that about.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bell admitted, tucking his shirt into his breeches, “at least not the ‘several times’ bit. Of course I won’t say anything, you bloody fool, spies don’t tell secrets.”

  Lucas nodded. That was why he was here. In addition to giving sound advice, Bell was an excellent secret keeper. You could tell the man anything, and even the French couldn’t torture it out of him. Lucas had known before he’d opened his mouth that Bell would keep this conversation entirely confidential.

  “The question is,” Bell continued, “why do you find it so important to tell me that you love her at this hour?”

  Lucas tugged at the ends of his hair. “Because of what Sir Reginald said.”

  Bell adjusted his shirt on his shoulders. “What does Sir Reginald have to do with it?”

  “She’s going to marry him.” Cold dread gripped Lucas’s chest. It wasn’t until he’d said it aloud that he realized how sickened he was by the notion.

  “Pardon?” A furrow appeared between Bell’s brows.

  Lucas nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Her father arrives in the morning. They intend to announce the betrothal tomorrow night.”

  Bell narrowed his eyes. “Baron Winfield is coming here?”

  Lucas gave his friend an are-you-quite-serious look. “Yes, but that’s hardly the point.”

  “What’s the point?” Bell scrubbed a hand over his face. “That Frances Wharton is marrying Sir Reginald?”

  “No. That Sir Reginald said the only reason I’m interested in passing the Employment Bill is because of my brother.”

  Bell stopped scrubbing and pressed one palm against a closed eye. “You’re not making any sense, you know? And I don’t have the impression that you’re foxed, which means you have no excuse for not making any sense.”

  “I’m not foxed,” Lucas replied with an eye roll.

  Bell cocked his head to the side. “Then please explain to me what Miss Wharton marrying Sir Reginald has to do with the confounded Employment Bill.”

  “Nothing,” Lucas replied, tossing a hand in the air, “other than I’ve made a mess of the entire affair.”

  Bell blinked repeatedly. “How so?”

  “Courting Frances, espousing the bill, and now leaving.” Lucas counted off his transgressions on his fingers.

  Bell frowned. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, in the morning. After I speak to Frances one last time.”

  Bell shook his head. “What do you intend to say to her?”

  “I don’t entirely know yet. But I must tell her the truth.”

  Bell shook his head some more and rubbed his forehead. “You’re giving me a megrim, Kendall, and I don’t get megrims. Let’s begin again, shall we. You talked to Sir Reginald about the Employment Bill?”

  “Yes. Yesterday afternoon.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He still wanted a bribe, but then he said I only was interested in passing the bill for my brother’s sake.”

  “Of course you’re doing it for Charles’ sake,” Bell scoffed. “I thought you already knew that.”

  Lucas roughly scratched at his cheek. “I knew I was doing it for Charles, but I honestly thought I believed in it too.”

  “You don’t believe in it?” Bell asked, his sharp blue eyes narrowing on Lucas.

  “No. Not any longer.”

  Bell raised a hand in the air. “Thank God, you’ve finally seen reason.”

  “What?” Lucas frowned.

  “The Employment Bill is hideous. I never intended to vote for the thing myself.”

  Lucas stared at his friend as if he didn’t know him. “This whole time you’ve known that, and you didn’t tell me?”

  Bell stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Lucas’s shoulders. He walked him over to the cot that rested against the wall and they sat down, side-by-side. “Kendall, I’ve known you since we were barely more than children ourselves. You are honest, trustworthy, and kind. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known. But you’ve never been cut out for politics. You’re far too loyal. And far too decent.”

  Lucas took a deep, bracing breath. He was about to admit something to Bell he’d never admitted to anyone. He stared down at his boots in the shadows. “The truth is, I’ve always felt as if I wasn’t supposed to be—”

  “I know.” Bell nodded sagely. “You weren’t supposed to be the earl.”

  “You know that, too? Bloody hell man, you do know everything.” Lucas couldn’t help his half-smile, but the truth was his friend was one of the most perceptive people he’d ever met.

  “Perhaps not everything,” Bell replied with a smile of his own. “Look, you may not be earl by birth order, but I say destiny doesn’t make mistakes. Whether you were born to the position or not, you’re the earl now, and you have the power to make large decisions, decisions that affect others, decisions that affect the country. Your brother was a decent man, but he never saw beyond his own nose, I’m afraid. You, you’re different. You see two sides to a story. You empathize with others. You care about them. All you need to do now is trust yourself.”

  “‘Trust myself,’” Lucas echoed, mocking the words.

  “Yes, trust. Yourself. You’ll have no better counsel in life. You’ve always known the right thing to do. Now you simply must do it when it comes to Parliament and the vote.”

  “And Miss Wharton,” Lucas added, expelling his breath.

  “And Miss Wharton,” Bell echoed, grinning at him.

  Lucas groaned and rubbed a knuckle against his forehead. “I’ve spent the better part of the last year arguing for the bill with anyone who would listen.”

  “And you only have a month or two to argue against it,” Bell pointed out. “But something tells me with Miss Wharton at your side, you’re certain to win.”

  Lucas clenched his jaw. “She won’t be at my side. She’s going to hate me when she finds out who I am.”

  Bell
lifted his brows. “Even if she learns you’ve changed your mind about the bill?”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lied to her a dozen different ways.” Lucas bounced his fist against the tabletop.

  Bell nodded, slowly. “All you can do is tell the truth, Kendall, and leave the future to the stars.”

  Lucas took a deep, steadying breath and looked out the window at the night sky. “Tell me, Lord Bellingham, when did you become so wise?”

  Bell shrugged. “I’m even wiser at a decent hour.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lucas got to the library early. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d tossed off the blankets and got out of bed. He’d dressed himself, quite deliberately, as the Earl of Kendall, managing to do so without the aid of a valet.

  The Clayton livery was packed in his trunk. He fully intended to burn the odious clothing at his first opportunity. No. He wouldn’t burn it. He’d give the clothing to one of his servants. His time belowstairs had taught him the importance the working class placed on valuable items discarded upstairs. It often contributed greatly to the income of a servant fortunate enough to receive such a gift from his master.

  His own time as a servant had come to an end. He’d tossed his last log on the fireplace.

  This was it. No matter what else happened, he intended to tell Frances the truth today. He was through with lies. If she hated him, so be it. It would be better than living with the regret of not knowing what could have been between them. He’d planned this carefully. As Lucas, he’d asked her in the servants’ hall yesterday to meet him here today. As Kendall, he’d replied to her note this morning, writing that he looked forward to meeting with her before he left.

  He was sitting at the table, the windows to his back, when Frances entered. She wore a butter-colored gown and matching slippers. Her dark hair was twined around the crown of her head in two braids. She’d never looked more beautiful, and he was about to hurt her.

  His chest tightened. He clenched his jaw.

  She rushed straight to him, a string of words already flying from her pink lips. “Lucas. Lucas! You won’t believe it. Lord Kendall sent me a note saying he’ll meet with me. But he didn’t give any details, the coward. No matter. I intend to go looking for him directly after this.” She stopped short, really looking at him for the first time since she’d come in. “Why are you dressed that way? Where is your wig?” Her smooth forehead wrinkled into a frown.

  He’d stood to greet her and moved to the side of the table. Pulling out the last chair for her, he gestured to it. “Please sit down.”

  Watching him carefully, the frown still perched upon her brow, she tentatively stepped forward and lowered herself to her chair. “You’re frightening me, Lucas.”

  Standing behind her, Lucas closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. “You don’t have to go looking for Lord Kendall.”

  “What do you mean?” The quiet innocence in her tone made him even angrier with himself. Regret clawed at his insides.

  Lucas took a deep breath. It was now or never. He stepped to the side so she could see his face. He would not hide from her when he told her the truth.

  “Are you all right, Lucas?” she asked, lifting her face to watch him. “You look…troubled.”

  “Frances, there’s something I must tell you. I’ve been remiss not telling you ‘til now.”

  She searched his face. “I’m listening. What is it?”

  “I—”

  Both doors to the library swung open and a group of no less than a half-dozen young ladies and one of their mothers came hurtling into the room. They were dressed in gowns of a variety of pastel colors and their talking and giggling filled the space.

  Lucas cursed under his breath and dropped his chin to his chest. Damn it all to hell. He shouldn’t have chosen the library. People were always coming into the bloody library. It might as well be a public house.

  The moment the pack of ladies saw Lucas, their chatter increased.

  “Is that him, Mama?” one of the young ladies asked, pointing directly at Lucas.

  Her mother nodded vigorously. “That’s him, darling.”

  The pack immediately came streaming over, their giggles and laughter increasing until it was a cacophony.

  “There you are, my lord,” one of them called. She sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his, pulling him away from the table and Frances. “Don’t you know we’ve all been looking for you for two nights now.” The young lady had a fake pouty look on her face.

  Blast. This was just the sort of thing he’d been desperately hoping to avoid.

  Lucas tried to locate Frances in the crowd, but the ladies had managed to push him back several paces and Frances was still sitting at the table as far as he knew. He tried to dodge a few of them and make his way back to her.

  “Miss Wharton!” he called, mindful that they had an audience.

  “Lucas?” Frances called back. He could barely hear her over the din, but her voice was definitely filled with confusion. “Lucas?”

  The cacophony came to such an abrupt and total halt. You could have heard a flower petal fall to the carpet.

  “You’re calling him by his Christian name?” another one of the young ladies said to Frances, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide with surprise.

  Lucas took the opportunity to plunge back through the herd until he stood directly beside Frances again.

  Frances shook her head. She glanced around at the ladies. “What are you talking about? Why are you all here?”

  “We’re here to see the Earl of Kendall, of course,” a third young lady explained, giving Frances a look that clearly indicated she thought she’d lost her mind.

  “Won’t you come for a walk in the gardens with us, my lord?” A fourth young lady said to Lucas, tugging at his arm.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Frances, I—”

  Frances turned to stare at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Why do they keep calling you ‘my lord’?” Her voice held a note of apprehension, and the look in her eyes was wary.

  Oh, God. She knew. She’d asked, but she already knew.

  “Frances, please, let me explain,” he began.

  Her jaw hardened and she glanced around until she caught the attention of one of the girls standing next to her. “Who is this man?” Frances pointed to Lucas.

  The young woman rolled her eyes. “Miss Wharton, honestly. You don’t know you were sitting next to the Earl of Kendall?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tears blurred Frances’s vision. Bile rose in her throat. She lifted her skirts and ran from the room. Lucas’s voice called after her, but she didn’t stop. She ran into the corridor, down the long hallway, around the corner and out into the foyer.

  She was at the bottom of the grand staircase about to take her first step when he caught up with her.

  “Please stop,” Lucas begged.

  She hesitated only because she had no intention of causing any more of a scandal, and being chased up the staircase by the Earl of Kendall would no doubt cause the grandmama of scandals.

  Frances clenched her jaw, refusing to look at him. She kept her chin lifted, her gaze trained on the top of the staircase. If she turned her head, he would probably see the tears in her eyes. She refused to give him that. “Don’t follow me upstairs. My reputation won’t stand it,” she ground out.

  Two of the faster debutantes had already caught up with Lucas and were standing on the edge of the foyer, their mouths agape. Frances could see them from the corners of her eyes.

  “Frances, please give me the chance to explain,” Lucas said.

  “Explain what?” she bit out, refusing to allow the heavy tears to fall. She would not cry over this man. She would not cry over the confounded Earl of Kendall of all people.

  At least not until she made it to her bedchamber.

  “Explain why I lied to you,” he said in a rough whisper.

  She closed her eyes. There
it was. His admission. Whatever hope she’d held out that this was all somehow a crazy mistake and perhaps he just looked like the Earl of Kendall was dashed to bits.

  “Does it matter? Does it really matter?” She felt her nostrils flare with each word. Her emotions were riding a runaway horse, a mixture of anger and sadness and jealousy and a host of other things she didn’t even want to think about. She had to get away from him quickly or he would see her tears and so would the bevy of young women congregating at the foyer’s entrance. Two more had joined the first two and they were jockeying for position to get a better view of the show.

  Lucas reached for her and kept his voice low. “It may not matter to you. But it does to me. Please, Frances, let me explain everything. It’s not what you think.”

  That was it. Her head snapped to the side as if he’d slapped her. He might as well have, the insult was just as brutal. “How could you possibly know what I think?” She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and forced herself to keep her gaze trained on him. Tears or no, she wanted him to see her face when she said, “Don’t you ever speak to me again, Lucas.” She paused for a moment, swallowing again. “Wait. Is that even your name? Lucas?”

  He lifted his chin. His voice was hoarse, his face had lost its color. “Yes, it’s my Christian name.”

  She put one hand on her hip. Anger spreading through her veins like poison. “Is that the only thing you didn’t lie about?”

  “Nearly.” He lowered his gaze to the polished marble floor.

  She took a deep breath, still fighting like hell to keep the unwanted tears at bay. Just one minute longer. Just one minute more. Then she could leave his presence and never see him again. “I only want to know one thing.” She clenched her jaw so tightly it ached. “Why?” she breathed. “Why in the world would you dress up like a footman and pretend to be a servant? It makes no sense at all.”

  He raised his gaze to hers. It was filled with something akin to regret, but at the moment she couldn’t even acknowledge it. “I fear my explanation would make even less sense,” he began. “You see, I made a bet with my friends and—”