The Footman and I: The Footmen’s Club Trilogy

by Bowman, Valerie

  Frances sucked in her breath. Wait a moment.

  If he was the Earl of Kendall, why hadn’t any of them recognized him all the other nights he’d been serving dinner?

  Disbelief and disgust swirled in her middle. But the truth was right in front of her. The people he was serving were so oblivious to servants they hadn’t even noticed him. They still didn’t.

  Had that been part of the bet?

  She glanced at him. He looked tired. Good. Oh, botheration. She shouldn’t have looked. He looked at her, too, which meant he saw her look at him. She immediately dropped her gaze to her plate, cursing softly under her breath.

  Frances continued to ignore her food and give monosyllabic replies to the people sitting next to her until Lucas came around with the fourth course, a roasted duck.

  “My lady?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she intoned again, staring directly ahead. This was some sort of torture and she’d no idea what she’d done to deserve it. She kept hoping she would wake up from the nightmare, but it was only too real.

  Lucas dropped a napkin onto the floor next to her chair and bent to retrieve it. The scent of his soap hit her nostrils. She froze and pressed her lips together. Why was he here? Why was he tormenting her like this? Why did his cologne still make her pulse quicken?

  As he stood up, his mouth brushed past her ear. “Meet me in the blue salon after dinner. I must speak with you.”

  She kept her gaze fastened on her plate. “Never,” she replied in a sweet whisper.

  He’d made his point. As a servant, he was completely unseen by the same people who would fall at his feet if he were sitting next to them dressed in his regular clothing. But if that were the point he was trying to make, why was he in favor of the Employment Bill, for heaven’s sake. The entire thing was confusing, but she refused to play into his game.

  The fifth course seemed to arrive much more quickly, and Frances was beginning to feel as if she had an imminent appointment with the hangman’s noose. Her betrothal announcement was impending and the blackguard who’d tricked her into falling in love with him under false pretenses was making her life hell.

  Fine. She could admit it to herself. She had fallen in love with Lucas. That’s why he’d been able to hurt her as much as he had. She’d even admitted it to him, which made her ill to think about now. What an ignorant emotion love was. She’d thought she’d found someone she could talk to, someone with whom she could share her thoughts, someone who respected her. Instead she’d found a charlatan who’d used her feelings as an archery target.

  The sweetmeats Lucas brought around next didn’t tempt her. And when he lowered his head to fill her wine glass and said, “Please meet me,” she couldn’t help the seething anger in her reply, “Go to hell.”

  * * *

  Nearly an hour later, Frances had long ago given up the hope that any of the others at the dining table were going to notice that the Earl of Kendall had been serving them all night. She steadily drank from her wine glass and pointedly glared at the one person she knew was in on this ludicrous game. Lord Clayton met her gaze every so often before hastily glancing away and gulping more wine from his own glass. The man was obviously guilty over his part in Lord Kendall’s ruse. Good. No doubt Clayton was in on the bet, too. He had to be.

  At least Lucas had stopped asking her to meet him after his third failed attempt. Though he continued to serve the table inconspicuously.

  The dessert plates were being cleared when Sir Reginald finally stood and clinked his fork against his wine glass.

  “I would like to call for a toast,” the knight intoned as the table quieted down. Sir Reginald was wearing a bright-blue jacket and matching pantaloons. His white shirt boasted a riot of lace around the throat and a similar amount of lace flopped at his wrist as he lifted his glass aloft. Frances couldn’t help but think he looked exactly like a peacock.

  Frances forced herself to swallow the dread and panic that rose in her throat, threatening to strangle her. She met her mother’s gaze. Mama’s gray eyes were wide and feverish. She smiled encouragingly. Frances couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother so pleased. Too bad it was at Frances’s expense.

  She tried to catch her father’s gaze, but he was staring at his lap, busily folding his napkin in one direction, then the other. She’d barely said two words to him since he’d arrived. If her father felt guilt over forcing his daughter into this situation, he certainly didn’t intend to acknowledge it.

  Frances attempted to pin a smile on her face, but the best she could muster was a blank stare. She lifted her glass along with the others as Sir Reginald continued to speak.

  “Tonight, my friends, I’d like to share some happy news.”

  The table rang out with cheers and “hear, hears” as everyone watched Sir Reginald, clearly interested in what he was about to say.

  Frances couldn’t help but glance at Lucas. He stood perfectly straight with his back to the wall next to the sideboard, his hands folded behind him. His eyes locked with hers momentarily. She darted her gaze away as if burned and, taking another sip of wine, did her best to concentrate on Sir Reginald’s speech.

  “I would like to announce that I am engaged to be married,” Sir Reginald continued, a lop-sided grin on his face.

  Surprised conjectures reverberated throughout the room.

  Frances sipped her wine more quickly.

  “I know. I know,” the knight continued. “Many of you were quite convinced that I was a confirmed bachelor. And I suppose I was, for a bit. But someone with my breeding, title, and fortune ought not to go to waste, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Laughs and claps bounced about the room while Sir Reginald afforded them all with a self-satisfied smirk. “Therefore,” he continued, clutching his wine glass in one hand and his lapel in the other, “I am beyond pleased to inform you all that I have asked for a special lady’s hand and she has graciously accepted.”

  Frances nearly spit her wine. What was he talking about? He hadn’t asked her, and she’d never accepted. It had been nothing more than a business arrangement with her parents.

  “I am the luckiest man in the kingdom tonight and I dare say she is the luckiest lady.” Sir Reginald gave the crowd a sly grin.

  Frances had to force herself not to wince. Sir Reginald was really spreading the jam on the toast, wasn’t he? As far as she was concerned, she was the exact opposite of the luckiest lady in the kingdom. She stared straight ahead, but she could feel the knight’s eyes on her, beaming at her. He might not have said her name yet, but it had to be obvious to the entire table that she was his betrothed. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. He clearly intended to draw this out for both affect and attention.

  Frances’s gaze darted to Lady Julianna Montgomery who sat near the center of the table with her handsome fiancé who’d also just arrived. Lady Julianna’s sympathetic look made tears sting the backs of Frances’s eyes. She tried to manage a smile to reassure the kind woman, but the best she could muster was a resigned nod.

  “A toast to the future Lady Francis!” Sir Reginald finally finished, raising his wine glass even higher. “Miss Fra—”

  “Stop!”

  Frances’s head snapped up and her eyes went big as dinner plates. A collective gasp went up around the room.

  Lucas had stepped up on the chair next to the sideboard. “Sir Reginald, I bid you to stop.”

  The room fell silent. From the chair, Lucas stepped atop the sideboard and stood towering over the dining room, still dressed in his footman’s livery, powdered wig and all the rest.

  “Dear me, he’s going to send me to my grave,” Mama huffed in Frances’s ear, already fanning herself with her napkin.

  Frances glanced at her mother. The poor woman was the color of a ripe rutabaga.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Sir Reginald demanded. He turned to Lord Clayton. “My lord, I demand you do something about your impertinent footman.”
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br />   “I am no footman,” Lucas pronounced, lifting his chin. “I am the Earl of Kendall.” He ripped off his wig and tossed it into the soup tureen near his feet.

  Screams and shrieks went up around the room and one of the young ladies fell out of her chair in a dead faint. Two of the other footmen rushed forward to carry her away.

  The rest of the diners stared in fascinated horror as Lucas shed his livery jacket and stood there clad in his waistcoat, white shirt, and breeches.

  “By God, it is Kendall!” one of the gentlemen shouted.

  The Prince Regent dabbed at his nose with an ornate handkerchief. “I was wondering earlier why the Earl of Kendall was serving us all soup,” he drawled.

  Frances covered her mouth with her bent fingers. If the entire thing hadn’t been so horrifying, she might have burst out laughing. Of all the people in the room, the only one who’d recognized Kendall was the prince? The prince who never appeared to notice anything beyond his own nose? Now that was humorous indeed.

  “That’s right,” Lucas continued. “I’ve been serving you, all of you, for days now. I’ve filled your wine glasses, I’ve ladled your soup, and I’ve placed your napkins on your laps.”

  “The devil you say,” another gentleman added.

  Lucas put his fists on his hips. “I’ve done all of this with no other change to my appearance than some livery and a powdered wig. And do you know what I’ve learned?”

  The entire table was silent, staring up at him in rapt fascination.

  “I’ve learned that our class is the most self-centered, vapid, inattentive, uncaring lot of horses’ arses there ever was. Not one of you recognized me, because not one of you took the time to look at my face.”

  The table remained silent. Frances glanced around. There was a mixture of guilt and confusion on nearly every countenance. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Her anger at Kendall had not abated, but even she had to admit it was delightful to gaze around the room as the entitled diners each realized he was right. The man was a horse’s arse, but this speech was precisely what these people needed to hear and she couldn’t have said it better herself.

  “That’s all fine and good, Kendall,” Sir Reginald snapped, anger and impatience etched on his features, “but you interrupted me in quite an important moment. I was about to announce my engagement to Miss Wharton.”

  “I interrupted you on purpose,” Lucas shot back, “because I haven’t had a chance to ask for Miss Wharton’s hand first.”

  Another gasp went up around the room and all of the dining table’s occupants swiveled their collective heads to stare at Frances. She took a deep breath. She could happily strangle the blackguard for making such a scene.

  “Well, then,” the Prince Regent prodded, addressing his remarks to Lucas. “Go ahead, man, ask for her hand.”

  Sir Reginald shot the prince a positively wounded look.

  Apparently, Lucas needed no other encouragement. He jumped to the floor and swiftly made his way to Frances’s seat. When he got there, he dropped to one knee.

  Her throat was closing. She could not breathe. The walls of the dining room seemed to be closing in on her.

  “Frances Regina Thurgood Wharton,” he said, grasping her gloved hand in his. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lucas felt Frances’s hand trembling. Indeed, upon closer inspection, he realized her entire body was shaking. Her teeth were chattering, and she looked as if she might cast up her accounts.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered to her, suddenly alarmed.

  “I cannot breathe,” she gasped.

  “Get her some water!” Sir Reginald called to no one in particular.

  Frances ripped her hand from Lucas’s grasp and ran from the room.

  Lucas jumped to his feet and made to follow her, but Sir Reginald lunged in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Would you please shut up and leave?” Sir Reginald demanded, stamping his foot.

  “No,” Lucas retorted. “I won’t.”

  Yet another collective gasp went up around the room as the diners watched the back and forth between the two men as if it were a game of battledore and shuttlecock.

  Sir Reginald lowered his voice so only Lucas could hear him and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m warning you, Kendall. If you don’t shut your mouth and go away now, you will not get the votes you want on your precious Employment Bill. I can promise you that.”

  Lucas took pleasure in allowing a slow smile to spread across his lips. “I don’t give a toss about the bleeding Employment Bill, Sir Reginald, and you can go straight to hell.”

  Lucas pushed the knight aside and strode from the room, grinning to himself. The look of pure shock on Sir Reginald’s face would remain in his memory forever.

  * * *

  She was not in the foyer. She was not in the blue salon. Lucas doubted she’d made it up the stairs already. Instead, he took a chance and made his way to the library.

  He pushed open the door, the familiar creak making his heart thump harder. He stepped inside and shut the door. The room was dark save for a few candles that burned throughout the space and the fire that was nearly out. The candles gave an ethereal glow to the large, dark, expanse.

  Lucas took a deep breath and made his way directly to the spot he hoped she’d be. He’d never been a praying man, but with every step he said a silent prayer. Please let her be there. Please. Please.

  He turned the corner to the alcove and caught his breath. At first he thought she wasn’t there, but then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her shadowy form. She was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.

  Relief swept through him. If she’d come here, she must have thought he would find her. She must have—dare he hope—wanted him to?

  “Frances?” he whispered, her name a stark plea on his lips.

  When she lifted her head and looked up at him, his hopes were dashed. Even in the dim light he could see that anger burned in her eyes. She hated him. He’d made a mistake.

  His chest ached and every breath was a struggle. He crouched down next to her.

  She was still shaking, her teeth still chattering.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He quickly strode over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The shawl she’d left the first day he’d met her was still there. He’d brought it back down a few days ago and put in the drawer again so he wouldn’t forget to give it to her. He grabbed it and hurried back over to the alcove. “Here,” he said, draping it over her shoulders.

  She clutched it and wrapped it more tightly around herself. “Th…thank you,” she managed. “I thought I’d lost this.”

  “I think I kept it on purpose. It reminded me of you. Will you hear me out?” he asked softly, crouching down once more.

  “Do I have a choice?” Her voice was monotone.

  “Of course you do, Frances. You’ll always have a choice with me.” He searched her profile, wanting nothing more than to reach out and trace his fingertip along her cheekbone.

  Her jaw tightened. “Then, no, I don’t want to hear you out. I just want to ask you one question.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Anything.”

  “Wh…why did you ask me to m…marry you?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “How c…can you w…want to marry me? I stand against everything you stand for.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek and expelled a breath. “The Employment Bill is not what I stand for.”

  She tugged the shawl closer around her shoulders. “Tell the truth, you only asked me to marry you out of guilt.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He said the words with all the sincerity he felt in his heart.

  “Yes, you did.” Her voice sounded resigned, lifeless. He couldn’t bear hearing her like t
his. “You know I’m marrying Sir Reginald for money and you’re trying to save me because of your guilt.”

  “That’s not why. I—”

  “But what I cannot understand is why you would ever think I’d accept you.” She turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were shards of dark glass.

  He swallowed hard. “If you’ll give me a chance, I can explain everything. Try to, at least.”

  “You lied to me. About everything. Everything you did was a lie.”

  “No, Frances, I—”

  “Of course I see it all clearly now, but at the time, I’d no idea. Like the time I tried to give you a coin for carrying my trunk to my room. You tried to give it back to me.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

  “And the time you nearly called Lady Clayton by her Christian name. It’s because you are friends.”

  He clenched his jaw.

  “‘A footman who likes to read?’ I said. You let me feel guilty for saying that and for mentioning that your voice was cultured too. Of course it’s cultured.”

  “Frances, listen to me. I—”

  “I was such a fool.” She shook her head. “And you let me be. Dear God. You even asked me if I was in love with you?”

  Lucas took a steadying breath. He knew his next few words could decide their future, their fate. “Frances, I’m not about to deny that I’ve made a mistake, a tremendous one, but I can make this right, I promise you.”

  “Make it right?” She laughed a humorless laugh. “By marrying me?”

  He nodded.

  She turned her head to stare straight forward into the darkness again. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me that you love me. That you merely forgot to say it that night under the staircase in the servants’ hall.” Her tone turned wistful.

  He opened his mouth to say just that. “I didn’t want to tell you until you knew who I really was.”