Albina kept her gaze focused on her task. “I know. I know, Miss. So ye’ve said many times. Maybe someday I’ll take ye up on it. Fer now, I’ll just stick to writin’ though.”
Frances concentrated on keeping her head steady to make the maid’s job easier for her. “How are the other servants treating you, Albina? Downstairs, I mean. Lord Clayton’s servants.” Frances had to admit, she wondered if Albina knew anything about Mr. Lucas. For instance, did he have a wife? She’d never even contemplated that possibility before this morning.
“It’s the regular lot,” Albina replied with a sigh. “Can’t say they’ve been particularly nice ta me, but I also can’t say they ain’t been helpful neither.”
Frances nodded. Not exactly useful gossip, but at least her maid was being treated well.
Albina finished with the last pin and pressed her hands against Frances’s head to tamp down the entire coiffure. A sly smile crept across the maid’s face. “There is one chap, though.”
Frances leaned toward the looking glass, suddenly quite interested. “Yes?”
“I must say I’ve taken a fancy to ‘im,” Albina said, still smiling.
Frances smiled too. “Really? Albina, I’ve never heard you say such a thing before.”
“He’s a right fine sight ta look at, ‘e is. Works fer Lord Clayton as a footman.”
Frances’s stomach dropped. She forced herself to ask the question even though she feared she already knew the answer. “What’s his name?”
Albina stepped back, clamping her hands together in front of her, a dreamy expression on her face. “His name’s Lucas. Mr. Lucas.”
Chapter Twelve
As expected, Lucas found Frances in the library later that morning. She was sitting at the table near the windows with a large book spread out in front of her.
“Good morning, Mr. Lucas,” she called, the moment he walked through the door.
“Good morning, my lady,” he replied. Blast. He’d meant to bring her shawl. He’d taken it upstairs with him last night, intent upon bringing it with him this morning so he wouldn’t forget to give it to her. But he’d been distracted earlier, firing off a note to Sir Reginald, asking the knight to meet him in one of the drawing rooms tomorrow afternoon. He’d sent the note along with one of the other footmen to deliver to Sir Reginald and left Frances’s shawl lying on the desk in his bedchamber. Lucas would just have to bring it tomorrow.
He quickly completed his normal chore of loading up the fire before sauntering over to the table where Frances sat. He peered over her shoulder. “What are you reading?”
“Today, it’s Shakespeare,” she replied, closing the book so he could see the title. “Did you know I got the idea to act like a shrew in front of Sir Reginald by reading Shakespeare?” she finished with a laugh.
“The Taming of the Shrew?” he asked, then immediately wanted to kick himself for making a literary reference. Would Frances wonder how a footman knew Shakespeare?
She didn’t seem to think anything about it, however, when she replied, “The very one.”
He glanced at her. A small red welt had formed on her cheek near her ear. “What happened to you?”
She self-consciously rubbed at the welt. “Oh, it’s nothing. A mishap with a curling utensil.”
“I see,” Lucas replied. “Well, your hair style looks lovely despite the mishap.”
She blushed as he lowered himself into the chair next to her and asked, “How was your conversation at dinner last night?”
Just as Frances had predicted, she’d been seated next to Sir Reginald at the dinner table the previous evening. Lucas had heard a great many references to the Prince Regent’s future visit coming from the knight’s oversized mouth. Otherwise, the meal had been quiet, and yet again, no one had recognized Lucas.
Frances rolled her eyes. “Sir Reginald went on and on about the prince’s imminent arrival.”
“Yes, I heard the prince is coming on Monday,” Lucas replied.
Frances nodded. “Not soon enough for Sir Reginald, I assure you.”
Lucas laughed. “Do you expect the dinner conversation to worsen after the prince’s arrival?”
She shrugged. “I cannot see how it will improve. As I said, there’s nothing more boring than dinner conversation at a ton event. Absolutely no one wants to talk about what I want to talk about and the few people who do aren’t at this particular party.”
Lucas leaned one elbow on the tabletop, eyeing her intently. “What is it that you’d like to talk about, my lady?”
Frances opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it.
“What?” he prodded. “You were about to say something. What was it?”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “May I tell you a secret, Mr. Lucas?”
He nodded. “Of course, but why the secrecy?”
Frances’s gaze darted back and forth, and an adorable smile popped to her lips. “Because I’m not supposed to be talking about this at Lord Clayton’s house party. I promised my mother.”
“Talk about what?” Lucas prodded, on tenterhooks waiting to hear what she said next.
Frances appeared to contemplate the matter for a few more moments before a wide smile spread across her face. “Wait a moment.” She blinked several times. “I promised Mama I wouldn’t speak about politics or the poor laws to any gentlemen at this party. I never promised Mama I wouldn’t speak about it with a footman.”
“Speak about what with a footman?” Lucas replied, his eyes narrowing.
Her smile widened. “You asked what I liked to talk about, Mr. Lucas. The answer is politics. And I’m perfectly able to keep my promise to my mother and discuss both politics and the bill with you.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew I liked you since the moment you first helped me avoid Sir Reginald,” she declared before promptly blushing again.
“Wait. You’re interested in politics?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Yes, politics, laws. Decisions that are being made that affect everyone. Things that really matter in this country. Unlike hair bows.” She punctuated her speech by pounding one fist atop the table.
He rested his chin on one propped-up hand, fascinated by this discovery about her. He’d never heard her speak so emphatically. “‘Things that really matter’ such as?” he prompted.
“Such as the Employment Bill for one thing.” A frown covered her face.
Lucas’s brows shot up. “The Employment Bill?”
“Yes, did you know there is a bill that will be voted on by the House of Lords when they return to Parliament this autumn? A very important law.”
Lucas expelled his breath. How much did he dare reveal to her about his knowledge of the law? He chose his words carefully. “I believe you mentioned that before. What do you know about it, Miss Wharton?”
She eyed him up and down, pursing her lips. “Spoken like a true male, Mr. Lucas.”
He chuckled. “My apologies, my lady, it’s just that I haven’t known many women who were interested in such things.”