“I couldn’t agree with you more.” She gave him a tentative smile. “But even if his name was different, I fear I wouldn’t be interested in Sir Reginald.”
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “That’s none of my business, my lady. I—”
Oh, dear. Had she made him uncomfortable? She hoped not. She clasped her hands together in front of her and took a deep breath. For some reason it was important to her to make Mr. Lucas understand that she wasn’t some spoiled, ungrateful little debutante. “It’s not that I think I can do better,” she blurted. “I’m certain Sir Reginald will make a fine match. I just…hope it won’t be with me.”
For the first time, Mr. Lucas let his body relax and he stared at her with a serious look in his eye. “Any gentleman of the ton would be lucky to have a lady like you at his side, Miss Wharton.”
She gazed at him for a few minutes. Oh, heavens. The man was a dream. What a perfectly lovely thing to say. She wanted to sigh. She wanted to thank him. She wasn’t certain either would be appropriate.
She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “I know it must be difficult for you to appreciate my feelings,” she continued, forcing herself to carry on with her explanation. “It’s different for my class.”
“How so?” He tilted his head to the side. His dark-green eyes seemed to look into her soul.
She splayed her hand in front of herself as if it might help explain. “As a servant, you are allowed to marry as you desire. You don’t have to worry about silly things such as dowries and titles and families. It’s all quite a lot of nonsense, I assure you.”
His brows shot up. Was it her imagination or had the hint of a smile come back to tug at his lips? “Indeed, my lady.”
She rubbed a hand across her eyes. Oh, dear. She must sound like the biggest ninny in the world complaining about her privileged life to a man who was in service. What had she been thinking when she said all of that? Clearly, she was an awful, thoughtless person. She wouldn’t blame him if Mr. Lucas turned his back and never spoke to her again.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she added, casting her gaze to the expensive rug that covered the floor. “I know I must sound daft.” She shook her head. “The fact is that my mother’s choice of a suitable husband for me and mine are not aligned. Regardless, I’m certain you don’t wish to hear about it. No doubt you’re quite busy today.”
Mr. Lucas walked back over to where he’d left his coat. He bent over and scooped it from the floor and, heaven help her, she watched the seat of his breeches the entire way. He turned back to face her. “On the contrary, my lady. I’ve never seen anyone go to such lengths to avoid another person.” He pulled the coat over his broad shoulders. “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you wish to marry Sir Reginald? The gossip in the servant’s hall is that he’s quite wealthy.”
Frances nodded so vigorously a few curls came loose from her chignon. “Oh, he’s wealthy,” she said with a sigh. “But, unfortunately, I don’t love him.”
Chapter Eight
One of the large doors to the library creaked open and Lucas and Frances scattered apart like dice thrown on the deck of a ship. Lady Winfield soon stepped into the room, scanning the space until her gaze alighted upon her daughter.
“How did I know I would find you here?” she said to Frances, an exasperated tone in her voice.
Lucas turned back toward the fireplace. The older woman may not have recognized him at dinner last night, but he’d met Lady Winfield before, and he didn’t dare do anything to call attention to himself. He was already jabbing at the fire with a poker by the time the lady reached her daughter’s side.
“Do you need something, Mama?” he heard Frances ask.
“Yes, come with me. The gentlemen will return from their ride soon and we may be able to catch Sir Reginald’s attention if we go for a walk through the garden.”
Lucas turned his head to see Lady Winfield already marching toward the door, obviously expecting her daughter to fall into step behind her.
“Sounds delightful,” Frances said in an exaggerated voice, which indicated it sounded anything but. She glanced back at Lucas who gave her a quick wink.
Frances rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Cannot wait,” to Lucas’s amusement, before following her mother from the room.
Lucas watched Frances go, blinking as if she were a figment of his imagination. Had he heard her correctly? He could have sworn the lady had mentioned love. In fact, it sounded as if she prized it over a marriage of convenience. Truly? Or was she only opposed to the match because she didn’t happen to fancy Sir Reginald?
Setting the poker aside, Lucas glanced at the settee near where she’d been standing. A pink shawl lay atop the piece of furniture. He jogged over to it and picked it up carefully, rubbing the fine fabric between his fingers. He lifted it to his nose. It smelled like her. He closed his eyes. He’d been affected by that flowery scent from the first moment he’d been in the bedchamber with her yesterday morning. Peonies.
He’d have to find her and return the shawl. He wasn’t certain how or when, but he’d figure out a way. Carrying the shawl back over to the fireplace, he stared into the increasing flames. He’d already decided that he was beginning to like Miss Wharton. She was funny, she was intelligent, and she obviously didn’t fancy herself above speaking kindly to servants. She’d apologized to him not once but twice.
For the first time since all this had begun, guilt began to creep into his conscience. If he did come to have feelings for this particular young lady, what would he do? Show up at the events of the ton this autumn and introduce himself to her as the Earl of Kendall? That would go over like a rowboat in a hurricane. He could hardly expect that she would fall into his arms. No. She’d be angry with him for lying to her, and she would have every right to be.
The Footmen’s Club experiment had already got convoluted. Damn it. Why had he thought this charade was a good idea again? Oh, yes. Ale had been involved. At the moment that’s all he remembered.
Somehow in his imagination before he’d come here, he’d seen himself as merely being cleverly disguised as a servant and doing nothing more than observing the young women who were potentially looking for suitors. The plan had never been to interact with them and certainly not as much as he already had with Miss Wharton. She was certain to recognize him in future.
Clearly, he had not thought his strategy through well enough. If he had any hope of salvaging the game, he needed to stay away from Miss Wharton. At least far enough away to keep from, say, having another private conversation with her. He stared down at the shawl in his hand. He glanced around for a few moments before he strode over to the large desk near the back wall. He opened one of the bottom drawers and laid the shawl inside. If Miss Wharton happened to return to the library tomorrow and if he saw her again, he would merely return her shawl to her. He would not have another long conversation with her. That would only be asking for trouble. The last thing he needed was trouble.
Also on the subject of potential trouble, Lucas had made a decision. He might as well use his time at the house party effectively and find a way to speak privately to Sir Reginald about the Employment Bill. Such a meeting would be no small feat. It would require Lucas to change his appearance and dress as a nobleman. He’d have to remove the livery and the powdered wig, and hopefully find Sir Reginald alone or in the company of only males, so as not to alert the female portion of the guest list to the appearance of the Earl of Kendall. That would only make for awkwardness as the bevy of matrons went about trying to toss their eligible darlings in his path, the avoidance of which had been the entire reason for his charade as a footman in the first place. It would be damned inconvenient to be both the Earl of Kendall and Lucas the footman at the same party, but Lucas refused to squander the opportunity to speak to the knight. He would simply have to work out the details when the time came.