Yes, tonight Lucas had felt sorry for Frances Wharton. He couldn’t help it. He realized why she’d been in such a state trying to hide this morning. She was avoiding Sir Reginald at all costs. The moment the knight sat down, she looked as if she wanted to flee. Lucas had made it his business to hurry over to provide Sir Reginald with his napkin. Any worry about Sir Reginald looking up at him and recognizing him was quickly squelched. The older man didn’t so much as spare him a glance. Sir Reginald was much more interested at staring down Miss Wharton’s décolletage. That had been difficult to watch. He’d wanted to punch the leering knight in the gut.
But being invisible had its benefits. Lucas was beginning to enjoy himself actually. It was as if he had a sort of magic or something. The feeling was both alarming and freeing at the exact same time. It truly perplexed him that not one of the diners (save for Miss Wharton and Theodora) had made eye contact with him. On the other hand, he could overhear comments he’d never have a chance to hear as a guest at a dinner table.
He’d also made it his business to closely watch Miss Wharton’s interactions with Sir Reginald. Lucas came around often enough with wine refills that he was able to hear some of the mind-numbing conversation Sir Reginald was treating poor Miss Wharton to. Lucas could have sworn there was an entire conversation about mud. He and Miss Wharton had shared more than one look, both rolling their eyes over the knight’s tales.
At one point in the evening, the pained look on poor Miss Wharton’s face made Lucas want to pour the entire tureen of turtle soup in Sir Reginald’s lap. But she soon responded with a saucy comment or two that made Lucas smile and her mother blanch. He’d learned more about Frances Wharton tonight. The young lady clearly wasn’t one to demur and apparently, she was quite comfortable with speaking her own mind. Lucas would have liked to have heard more of Miss Wharton’s witty comments, but too often his duties called him from the room when he and James needed to hurry downstairs to fetch the next course.
Theodora had been drinking wine tonight, probably to keep from laughing at him. She’d been simultaneously horrified and delighted by the idea of The Footmen’s Club. Clayton had had to talk her into it in the end, but once she’d agreed, she was entirely immersed in the plot and endlessly amused by it. She, too, appeared nonplussed to discover that not one person at the dining table had recognized Lucas. Granted, given their guest list, there were only a handful of people present who had met him before, and that ass Sir Reginald was the surest choice, but he was so busy talking about himself and his closeness to the prince, he hadn’t glanced at the servants at all.
Clayton had sat at the other end of the table, dutifully ignoring Lucas. In fact, Clayton had done such a good job of ignoring him it was almost odd. When Lucas finally got to him to serve the goose, Clayton waved him away. He’d have to have a talk with him about not acting too obvious.
Lucas had frozen after Miss Wharton had used him to spill wine on her gown. Would that be the way everyone recognized him? Her calling him out for being a “clumsy oaf”? The hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. She wasn’t a terribly good actress, poor woman. She’d delivered her lines far too formally. But it had been a good enough show to fool Sir Reginald, and clearly removing herself from the knight’s presence had been her goal.
Theodora and Clayton had been in stitches when they’d come downstairs an hour after the dinner party had ended. They pretended as if they needed to have a word with Lucas for his clumsy behavior. He’d good-naturedly taken the ribbing from the other servants too. They’d all told him it was a rare servant who didn’t make some sort of mistake and it was just too bad that he’d managed to spill wine on the biggest termagant at the party. Of course, Lucas wasn’t about to give Miss Wharton’s secret away and tell them all she’d only been pretending to be angry. It wasn’t his secret to tell.
But the fear of being caught pretending to be a footman had been real. Once he’d been safely belowstairs, he’d had the thought for the hundredth time since he’d come here: perhaps he was going about this entire wife-finding business the wrong way. Perhaps he needed to throw himself on his mother and sister’s mercy and have them pick out a bride for him. They’d offered often enough. He’d been reluctant to take them up on their offers because he knew his mother would pick a girl with a large dowry from the best family without a thought to how the girl regarded him or how he thought of her. His sister would merely pick out one of her friends, which might work better than his mother’s method, but certainly had its own drawbacks. Surely there were better ways to find a wife than this. But he couldn’t deny that his visit here hadn’t been in vain.
He’d spent some time tonight while serving dinner glancing over the other prospects, but his gaze kept returning to Miss Wharton. She was the one who captured his attention, whether it was the look on her face that indicated she was fantasizing about clouting Sir Reginald over the head with the soup tureen, or replying to the knight’s boring comments with clever ones the man didn’t seem to understand.
“I heard ye had some excitement up in the dining room tonight,” Mrs. Claxton, the cook, said as she came out of the kitchens for the night, wiping her hands on her apron.
Lucas bit his lip and tilted his head. He knew perfectly well that servants were not supposed to gossip about their employers and their employers’ guests. He also knew perfectly well that nearly all servants did gossip about their employers and their employers’ guests. It made him feel a part of the club, the real club of servants, to be trusted by Mrs. Claxton with such a statement. If she thought he would tell Clayton or even Mrs. Cotswold that she’d been gossiping, she never would have said such a thing to Lucas.
“Indeed, I did,” Lucas replied, pulling away from the wall and walking with Mrs. Claxton toward the servants’ staircase that led to the sleeping quarters. He would spend his night in a small room on the men’s side of the fourth floor. He’d insisted on being a servant in every way possible. Bell would be up there too. Worth, however, was sleeping above the stables with the other groomsmen and stablehands.
“Turns out I’m a ‘clumsy oaf,’” Lucas continued, grinning at the cook.
“I’d have liked ta have seen it,” Mrs. Claxton said, shaking her head. “And I’d like even more ta see what that gel would say if she ken who ye really was.”
Lucas gave Mrs. Claxton a warning look.
“I know. I know. It won’t be coming from my mouth. But I can’t help wishin’,” Mrs. Claxton finished, chuckling.
They were just about to climb the stairs when a bundle of green satin came hurtling down toward them. Lucas had to grab the young woman wearing the satin about the waist to keep her from falling face-first on the cobblestone floor.
When he’d finally stood her up and ensured she was steady on her feet, he realized he’d just caught Miss Wharton.
“Oh, dear,” she said, a blush quickly traveling from her chest to her hairline. “I’m terribly sorry. I wanted to make it down here before you all had gone to bed.”
Mrs. Claxton and Lucas just stared at her. A small group of the other servants who were also done with their duties were gathering behind them, staring at Miss Wharton as if a unicorn had just emerged in their midst.