“Can we help ye, milady?” Mrs. Claxton asked, her brow wrinkled. “Would ye like somethin’ ta eat? I can send up a maid—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Miss Wharton said, pressing a hand to her collar bone. “Nothing like that. I just wanted to see Mr. Humbolt, the butler, and the footmen who were serving in the dining room this evening.”
Lucas glanced at her warily. He’d assumed she’d knocked his hand causing him to spill on purpose, but he may have been entirely mistaken. Was she here to call him another name? Or worse. Had she somehow discovered who he was and come to demand an answer for his charade?
Mr. Humbolt cleared his throat and stepped forward from the back of the small crowd while James and the other two footmen stepped forward as well. Because Lucas was already standing next to her, he merely bowed. Bowed, and hoped that no matter what Miss Wharton said, none of the servants mentioned that he was an earl. They’d all been carefully instructed not to speak of it in front of anyone, least of all the debutantes, but the nagging fear was still there in the back of Lucas’s mind as he said, “At your service, milady.”
She blinked at him as if she hadn’t yet recognized him standing there. “Oh, my. It’s you.” Her mouth formed a small, surprised O.
“It’s me,” he echoed, letting the brief shadow of a smile cross his lips. He had to admit he was intrigued again. What was she doing down here at this time of night?
She nodded vigorously and looked at Lucas, James, the other two footmen, and Mr. Humbolt in turn. “Please accept my apology,” she said, “for my behavior in the dining room earlier this evening. I had quite a good reason to act that way, but I certainly didn’t mean to be rude to any of you.”
“Think nothing of it, my lady,” Mr. Humbolt quickly responded.
Lucas took his cue from James who merely nodded and bowed to Miss Wharton.
“Yes, well, er, thank you.” Her gloved hands were folded in front of her and she was pulling at her fingers nervously. She turned to Lucas. “And I owe you a special apology for calling you a ‘clumsy oaf,’ Mr. Lucas. Of course, you are neither clumsy, nor an oaf.”
“I’m not certain you know me well enough to judge that accurately, my lady,” he replied with a grin.
A hush fell over the servants who’d all just seemingly witnessed a footman say something quite impertinent to a houseguest. They all seemed to hold their collective breaths until Miss Wharton smiled, laughed, and said, “Be that as it may, Mr. Lucas, I greatly appreciate your service at table this evening and I do hope I did not cause you any trouble with Lord Clayton.”
“None he can’t handle,” Mr. Humboldt replied, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Miss Wharton nodded. “Well, then, I had better get back upstairs,” she finally said as the entire group of servants continued to stare. “Again, I’m awfully sorry for the way I behaved.”
She lifted her skirts, turned, and was gone nearly as quickly as she came. Lucas stared after her scratching his chin. That was interesting.
“Well,” Mrs. Claxton said, her hands on her hips. “If that ain’t a first. Ain’t never seen a lady come down here ta apologize ta a bunch o’ servants a’fore.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Frances slowly opened one of the large wooden doors that led into Lord Clayton’s library. At dinner last night, before Sir Reginald had arrived and bored her into acting like a shrew, Lord Clayton had mentioned he owned a collection of books on the history of law. Frances wanted to know about the poor laws. Had there ever been another bill similar to the currently proposed Employment Bill? Had such a bill been struck down? If so, what argument had been made to convince the House of Lords to vote against it?
She might not be at liberty to discuss the poor bill with any of the noblemen at this particular house party, but she certainly intended to have every bit of knowledge on her side when next she encountered some unsuspecting lord at an event between now and the vote. The delay of the vote until the next session of Parliament gave her more time to bend the ear of every MP she came across. As soon as this blasted house party was over.
“Thank heavens,” she breathed to herself, briefly closing her eyes after she peeked in to find the room empty. She slipped inside and quickly shut the door behind her. Hopefully, none of the other guests would come to bother her. She was most likely quite safe from Sir Reginald, she thought with a wry smile, there was little chance of him looking for something to read. No doubt he was otherwise occupied with his correspondence with the Prince Regent.
She made her way to the center of the enormous two-story room. It was packed with books lining gorgeous oaken shelves from floor to ceiling. There was a fire burning low in a huge fireplace across the room and the dark green velvet curtains had been drawn, letting in the morning sunlight. She breathed in deeply. The familiar scent of paper and ink hit her nostrils. What a lovely, lovely room. She spun around in a circle until she was dizzy.
Libraries had always been her favorite rooms in any house. She’d been without one for some time now since Father had been forced to quietly sell most of his collection to pay his creditors. Lord Clayton’s library was a dream come true, however. It had a staircase leading up to a second row of bookshelves that lined the top of the room on three walls. The fourth wall was covered with glass windows from floor to ceiling and looked out over a flowering garden behind the house with a meadow in the distance.
Frances took a few minutes to quietly look around the grand space. Hmm. She bounced the tip of one finger against her chin. The collection was larger than she’d even imagined. She should have asked her host precisely where the law books were kept. They could be anywhere.
Why, she might search through these books all day and still not come across the ones she wanted. Perhaps she should go looking for Lord Clayton to ask. Wait. No. That wouldn’t work. The male members of the house party had all planned a ride this morning. They weren’t home at the moment.
Frances plunked her hands on her hips and looked around, squinting at the farthest reaches of the room. She quickly spotted a group of similar-looking large brown leather volumes taking up an entire set of shelves in the far corner on the ground floor near the windows. The sheer size of the collection and the dimensions of the individual volumes made her think they must be important. She would begin her search there. She dropped her pink shawl on the dark green velvet settee in the center of the room and headed straight for the corner.
She’d barely made it halfway when the door to the library opened. She spun around, squelching the urge to run and hide. She was not a child found in a room she wasn’t allowed inside. She was a guest and had as much right to be in this room as anyone else. She could only hope whoever was entering the room was not someone who would want to talk extensively. Talkers could be so tiresome at times. When one was intent upon reading, for instance.
She saw the back of the intruder before she saw his face. When he swiveled around, letting the door shut behind him, she realized why he’d entered backward. Both of his arms were filled with small logs. But she recognized his face immediately. It was her footman!
Well, not precisely her footman. The poor man didn’t belong to her or anything of the sort, but she’d come to think of Mr. Lucas as someone special since their initial meeting in her bedchamber yesterday morning and her scene in the dining room last night. She was delighted to see him now. Especially since they were alone.