The Footman and I: The Footmen’s Club Trilogy

by Bowman, Valerie

  She put up one hand. “Please. Don’t.” Tears sparkled in her dark eyes.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and nearly growled with frustration. How could he get her to understand? How could he convince her of how he truly felt? She was choosing to see the worst in him.

  She didn’t want to hear them, but the words I love you incinerated on his tongue.

  His throat burned. He shook his head. For the first time in his life, words completely failed him.

  She struggled to her feet, declining the hand he offered. “I can’t believe you. If you told me you love me, it might be just another lie.”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she brushed past him and raced from the room.

  Lucas watched her go and along with her, his hopes and dreams for a marriage full of love with a woman who he knew without a doubt would have been true to him forever. A mixture of anger and grief mixed in his chest. He clenched his fist and leaned his arm against the nearest bookshelf, resting his head upon it.

  “You’re wrong, Frances,” he said to the empty room. “I love you desperately.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I’ve come for the brandy bottle.” Bell threw open the door to Lucas’s guest bedchamber on the second floor. It had been over an hour since Lucas’s scene in the dining room, and Bell had obviously got wind of it.

  Lucas blinked calmly at the ceiling from his position lying prostrate on his bed. “There is no brandy bottle.”

  Ignoring him, Bell proceeded to search around the mattress, beneath the pillows, in the bedside drawers, and even under the bed. “The devil you say,” he finally conceded, taking a seat in a large chair near the fireplace that faced the bed.

  “I’m not jug-bitten,” Lucas replied woodenly, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded neatly on his middle.

  “I can see that,” Bell replied. “But I must say I’m surprised.”

  Lucas let out a loud groan. “What good would getting foxed again do?”

  “An excellently rational point. I do believe there’s hope for you yet.” Bell grinned at him.

  “I’m certain you’ve heard,” Lucas drawled. He was lying diagonally across the mattress, still fully clothed as a footman, save for the wig and jacket he’d discarded in the dining room.

  “Heard that you made a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier? Or heard whether you’re betrothed to Miss Wharton?”

  “I am decidedly not betrothed to Miss Wharton, and I did make a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier.”

  “Is it true that you threw your wig in the soup?” Bell sighed. “Seems overly dramatic to me, but what do I know? Spies tend to like things quiet and drama-free.”

  “Yes, well, you’re the one who suggested I serve dinner tonight,” Lucas pointed out.

  Bell rested one booted foot atop the opposite knee. “True. But I had no idea the soup would suffer.”

  “Who gives a toss about the soup?” Lucas bit out.

  “Clearly not you,” Bell retorted, “but I digress. I’ve come to ask you what you plan to do next.”

  Lucas frowned at the ceiling. “What do you mean, what do I plan to do next?”

  Another sigh from Bell. “I’m no matchmaker, but even I can tell that your courtship with Miss Wharton appears to be going poorly at the moment.”

  “She hates me.”

  “Hmm.” Bell tapped his cheek. “Perhaps poorly wasn’t a strong enough word then.”

  “I cannot blame her for hating me.” Lucas lifted his palms to rub his eyes. “But she wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain.”

  “‘Love is your master, for he masters you. And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise,’” Bell recited with a flourish of his hand.

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Spare me your Shakespeare quotations at a time like this.”

  “On the contrary, I believe a time like this is the perfect opportunity to quote Shakespeare. But my question still stands, what do you plan to do next?” Bell folded his hands together in front of him and blinked at Lucas as if expectantly waiting.

  Lucas dropped his forearm across his brow. “I plan to bloody well get the hell out of here tomorrow morning. That’s what I plan to do next.”

  “Quit?” Bell’s voice held a note of surprise. “That doesn’t sound like a Navy man to me.”

  Lucas arched a brow and glared at him. “There is a difference between quitting and admitting obvious defeat. Refusal to do the latter can result in accusations of delusion.”

  “Given the right circumstances, we all suffer from delusion from time to time. I still say that’s not an excuse to quit.”

  Lucas pushed himself up on his elbows to glare at Bell. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me? She hates me. She told me she never wants to see my face again.”

  Bell plucked nonchalantly at his sleeve. “Perhaps you should write to her then.”

  “She’s marrying Sir Reginald. She told me I’m an arrogant horse’s arse.”

  Bell scratched behind one ear. “None of this sounds particularly promising, I agree. But where there is a will, there is also a way.”

  “Not any more. I tried. I served dinner. I stood up on the bloody sideboard for Christ’s sake.”

  “I heard about that, too. I did like that touch. I’ve no doubt it added an air of the theatre. By the by, my thanks for making my and Worth’s future more difficult. No doubt every guest in this house will be searching the servants’ quarters for noblemen now.”

  “You’ll both be fine,” Lucas replied.

  Bell blinked again. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “For one thing, they’ll never suspect there’s more than one of us being this mad, and for another, you’re limited to Lord Copperpot’s bedchamber for the most part and Worth is out hiding in stables.”

  Bell shrugged. “You do have a point.”

  “I wish you luck, my friend. Between you and Worth, may the best man win.”

  Resting his elbow on one of the arms of the chair, Bell propped his chin on his fist. “Never thought I’d see the day when I had to call you a quitter, Kendall.”

  “It’s over,” Lucas’s voice rose. “The entire bloody dining room knows I was pretending to be a footman.”

  “Not quit the bet, you dolt, I mean quit your attempt to win over Miss Wharton.”

  Lucas grabbed a nearby pillow and hurled it toward Bell. “Damn it, Bell, get out of here and leave me in peace.”

  The pillow fell to the floor short of his chair. Bell hadn’t flinched and he continued to blink at him. “I still say you should—”

  “I should what?” Lucas’s voice shook with anger. “I’ve tried everything I can. You’re talking to the wrong person. Perhaps you should try speaking to Miss Wharton. She’s the one refusing to hear me out.” He grabbed a second pillow and pulled it over his head. “Now, good night!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When the door to the library opened the next morning, Frances couldn’t keep her traitorous heart from wishing for just one moment that it was Lucas. It was wrong of her to have come to this room. This place held nothing but bad memories for her. But, as if her feet had a will of their own, they’d brought her directly here this morning. She’d pulled one of the chairs closer to the windows and was sitting, staring out into the gardens, her pink shawl wrapped over her shoulders. Dark thunder clouds roiled outside. A horrible storm was brewing.

  The familiar creak of the door made her turn with a start, her heart thumping faster.

  But it wasn’t Lucas.

  Her pulse returned to its normal rhythm.

  She blinked. In fact, it was the same valet who’d come looking for her to tell her her mother had turned her ankle. She eyed him with mistrust as he came to stand next to her.

  He bowed to her. “Good morning, Miss Wharton. I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Have you come to tell me my father has taken ill this time?” she prompted; her eyes stil
l narrowed on the man.

  “No. In fact, first, I would like to apologize for being dishonest with you the other night.”

  “That’s big of you.” She lifted her chin. “The question is...why were you dishonest with me the other night?”

  The valet straightened his shoulders. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Marquess of Bellingham, but I do hope you’ll keep that to yourself for the remainder of your stay.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re a marquess?”

  “Yes, but at present I am pretending to be a valet. Much like our friend Kendall was pretending to be a footman.”

  Frances shook her head. Was she still in a nightmare? “Oh, now I see why you lied. You’re his friend.”

  “It’s true. I was trying to get you to leave the area so Kendall could return to his room without you recognizing him.”

  “Yes, I understand perfectly now,” she said sweetly. “And pardon me for saying so but you’re all quite mad.”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps we have our reasons.”

  “Reasons to lie to people?” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a condemning glare.

  He folded his hands behind his back. “There’s a funny thing about not knowing people’s motives. It tends to make one assume the worst.”

  Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Are you seriously going to attempt to blame me for Lord Kendall’s deception?”

  “Absolutely not,” Lord Bellingham replied. “But I am going to tell you a story.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I want—”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Wharton, everyone loves a good story.” He lowered himself to the chair next to her. “And this one is particularly interesting.”

  She wanted to hate this man, too, but there was something oddly compelling about him. It was as if he’d never met a stranger and knew exactly what to say in any situation. She still didn’t trust him, of course, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was interested in hearing his story.

  Lord Bellingham stretched his long legs out in front of him and settled into the chair as if the tale would be a lengthy one. “Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a decent young man, who was honorable, kind, and noble.”

  Frances watched him carefully, her eyes still narrowed. She assumed he was talking about Lucas, but she wasn’t entirely certain.

  “This young man was from a fine family. He was the second son who’d spent the majority of his life in the Royal Navy,” Lord Bellingham continued.

  Very well, he wasn’t talking about Lucas. Lucas was an earl, not a second son, and she’d never heard a word about him being in the Navy.

  “The young man worked hard and rose in the ranks. He became a Commander in the English Royal Fleet in the amount of time it takes most young men to become a sub-lieutenant.”

  She raised her brows. A high-ranking officer? He couldn’t possibly be speaking of Lucas. Could he?

  “As young men do, this particular young man fell in love with a beautiful young lady and he asked for her hand in marriage.”

  Frances frowned. Surely, he was not speaking about Lucas. Lucas had never told her he’d been engaged to be married. Although Lucas had also never told her he was pretending to be a footman either, if one wanted to be precise about it.

  “The wedding was set for Spring and most of the ton was invited. The young man was scheduled to return from the Navy on leave a fortnight before the wedding.”

  “Are we speaking about you, Lord Bellingham?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  Instead of answering her, he merely cleared his throat. “On the night before he was to travel home for the wedding, the young man received a letter from his beloved.”

  Frances found herself scooting toward the edge of her seat, leaning toward Lord Bellingham. “What happened?”

  “The letter informed the young man that his betrothed had received a better offer, one from a man who was a first son, a baron.”

  Frances gasped. “Don’t tell me.” She shook her head.

  “She broke off the engagement and left the young man to come home and tell his family and all of the guests that there would not be a wedding after all.”

  Frances snapped her mouth closed. “She sounds hideous,” she declared.

  “She was, believe me,” Lord Bellingham replied, breaking off from his story for a moment.

  “Then what happened?” Frances prompted. She was so anxious to hear the rest that she was tapping her slipper nervously against the rug.

  “The young man came home, but the young lady had already married the baron. It was too late.”

  “Are you quite serious?” Frances frowned and shook her head. “That is atrocious. But I say good riddance to bad baggage.”

  “Indeed, that is what all of the young man’s friends said as well,” Lord Bellingham continued. “But the young man was heartbroken and began to feel as if his family connections and money were the only things that mattered to young ladies of the ton.”

  “And?” She searched Lord Bellingham’s face.

  “And so, the young man went back to the Navy and worked even more diligently. He rose to the rank of Commodore. And when he came home on leave, he refused to attend events of the ton, for he didn’t trust that he would ever find a true wife.” Lord Bellingham cocked his head to the side and scratched the back of his neck.

  Frances continued to frown. “Is that the end? If so, that’s an awful story.”

  “There is a bit more,” Lord Bellingham conceded. “Not long after, the young man’s older brother died quite unexpectedly from consumption.”

  “No!” Frances clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “And the young man became an earl,” Lord Bellingham added.

  Frances expelled her breath. Oh, dear. Just as she’d feared, he was talking about Lucas. “There are obviously so many things I don’t know about him,” she finally said, staring, unseeing down at the rug.

  “You know the important things, Miss Wharton.”

  “Which are?”

  “That he’s noble, kind, and loyal, just to name three of his qualities.”

  She shook her head. “I still don’t see how that story explains why he lied to me for so long.”

  “Might it not seem reasonable, that a man who’d had such a thing happen to him decided to find a lady who wanted him for himself, and not his title nor his fortune? Especially given the fact that once he became a bachelor earl, he also became one of the most hunted men the ton has ever known. Every marriage-minded mother and her miss threw themselves into his path at every turn.”

  She arched a brow. “You want me to feel sorry for Lord Kendall?”

  “No. I want you to know the truth about Kendall. He’s one of the best, most noble, most honest men I’ve ever known.”

  “Except for when he was lying to me,” she replied curtly.

  “Yes, frankly. Except for that.” Lord Bellingham shrugged. “The fact is, he came here as a servant because he was trying to do better, make a better choice, find true love, and I cannot blame him for that. And frankly, you shouldn’t either.”

  Frances leaned forward and met the marquess’s gaze. “Tell me, Lord Bellingham, why are you pretending to be a servant? Are you also looking for true love?”

  He sat back quickly and barked a laugh. “Me? Heavens, no. I am here because I am a man and when men are in their cups they say and do stupid things and the night Kendall decided he needed to find a true wife, we all decided to pretend to be servants along with him and see who could last the longest.”

  For the first time since she’d heard about the bet, it actually seemed a bit less awful to her. She shook her head but couldn’t help the smile that popped to her lips. “Are you telling me there are more of you lords pretending to be servants here?”

  A sly smile tugged at the corner of Lord Bellingham’s lips. “One more, but I’m not at liberty to reveal his identity.”

  She laughed
at that. “You’re right. Men do stupid things.”

  He laughed too. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “Is that why you are here, Lord Bellingham? To tell me this story in the hopes that I’ll forgive Lucas?”

  “No. It’s not for me to ask you to forgive him. I merely came to ask you to ask yourself an important question.”

  She eyed him warily. “What’s that?

  “Are you cutting off your nose to be revenged of your face?”

  She sat back and sucked in her breath. “What?”

  “Have you asked yourself why you won’t forgive him? Granted, what he did was silly and wrong, but would you rather spend the rest of your life as Lady Frances Francis in order to live with your resentment, because frankly, you strike me as a much more intelligent young lady than that.”

  She leaned forward and stared Lord Bellingham in the eye. “Why do you say that?”

  Lord Bellingham shrugged. “Because anyone astute enough to realize what drivel the Employment Bill was, must be clever.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Not that it matters. The bill probably has enough votes to pass after all.”

  “I don’t know about that. Kendall denounced it, do you know?”

  She turned to face him. “Denounced what?”

  “The Employment Bill,” Lord Bellingham replied.

  Frances sucked in a breath. “What? When?”

  Lord Bellingham tipped his head to the side. “After you ran out of the dining room last night. He told the whole lot of them the bill was rubbish, and I happen to know that you were the reason he thought so.”

  Frances touched her fingertips to her lips. “Truly?” she breathed.

  “That’s right. After Kendall left the room, the Prince Regent vowed to vote against it. Which of course means Sir Reginald will as well.”

  Frances dropped her hand into her lap. She studied Lord Bellingham’s face. “Why did Lucas denounce it?”

  Lord Bellingham propped his elbows on the arms of his chair. “Because he never believed in that drivel to being with. He wasn’t the one who introduced the law. His brother did. Charles died over a year ago. Lucas was merely carrying out his wishes.”