“Don’t you see, Frances?” Mama cried brokenly, coming to a stop directly in front of her. “We need you to marry Sir Reginald. He may very well be our only hope for survival. Sir Reginald is wealthy. He’s promised us a purse. Your sister is yet too young to marry. I suppose we could consider a match for her sooner than later, but—”
Frances immediately stood and hugged her Mama tightly. Her mother hugged her back, tears streaming down her face.
“I didn’t know, Mama. I didn’t know how bad it was.” She felt like a fool, a blind, selfish fool. She’d known Papa was in trouble, she’d heard the arguments, seen the men come to the house. But she’d foolishly believed Mama when she’d told her they were poor instead of destitute. Frances knew one thing for certain. There was no way she would allow her little sister to be bargained off for a purse. No. If one of them needed to be sold into marriage to save their family, it would be Frances, without question.
“I know you didn’t know, dear.” Her mother sobbed. “I’m only sorry it’s got to this point. The truth is I’ve spent our last bit of coin bringing you to this house party. Sir Reginald is our final hope.”
They both moved to sit on the foot of the bed together. Frances ran a hand over her mother’s graying hair, while patting her hand softly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. Don’t worry. Please, don’t worry.”
Mama dabbed at her wet eyes with the handkerchief she’d finally stopped waving. “Thank you, my dear. Now, will you please think of your family and accept Sir Reginald’s suit?”
Frances expelled her breath and nodded slowly. However ludicrous the idea that she might somehow have a future with Lucas had been, the notion died an instant death. There was no way she could marry a poor footman. Her family was counting on her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As Lucas dressed for his meeting with Sir Reginald that afternoon, the roil of thoughts that had been racing through his mind all morning since Lady Winfield found him kissing Frances continued to batter against his mind like rain upon a flapping sail.
He was a bounder. He was a scoundrel. He was the lowest form of life imaginable. The worst part was that when he’d first entered the library, Frances had been hiding in the alcove. If only he had joined her there. But, no, he had had to stand outside in full view of the doors before acting like an even bigger reprobate and kissing her regardless.
It was all his fault, and the fact that Frances was bearing the brunt of the fallout made him insane. Throughout the day he’d been tempted to search for Lady Winfield’s room and declare himself. It was the only decent thing to do. Only he would need to speak to Frances first to find out if she even wanted him to declare himself. And how could he expect that she would want him to declare himself if he would have to admit that he was the detestable Lord Kendall? That never-ending circle of thoughts tripped over each other, one after the next, until he’d driven himself half-mad.
He glared at himself in the cheval glass. Here he was, dressed as an earl once again, in fabric that cost more than Lucas the footman made in a year’s time. His clothing hardly mattered. He felt lower than the lowest criminal in Newgate. At least criminals were paying for their crimes. He was walking around completely free. He deserved to pay.
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time to meet Sir Reginald. At least he knew what he intended to say to that sop.
After the meeting in Bell’s room yesterday, Lucas had decided upon his own course of action. He appreciated his friends’ advice, and he’d considered all of it, but he’d always favored reason and logic over plotting and lies, not that anyone could tell from his activities of late.
It was time to start over. No more deceit, beginning with his discussion with Sir Reginald.
Lucas straightened his cravat one last time and left his bedchamber. Thank Christ, Frances was not waiting for him in the corridor. He probably didn’t have to worry about her being there when he returned, either. Given the level of anger her mother had displayed this morning, he doubted Frances would be let out of that lady’s sight for quite some time.
He would make things right with Frances somehow, but at the moment he had a score to settle with a certain knighted blowhard.
When Lucas walked into the drawing room five minutes later, Sir Reginald was standing at the window staring out across the meadow.
“Good afternoon, Sir Reginald,” Lucas said, heading straight for the sideboard once again. “Care for a drink?”
“Not today, thank you,” Sir Reginald replied, his tone terse.
Lucas poured himself a drink and made his way to the same chair he’d sat in the last time they’d been here for this discussion. Sir Reginald turned and stared at him.
“You all right, Sir Reginald?” Lucas asked, scratching his chin and taking a sip of brandy.
“No. Actually. My back is acting up. It’s quite painful.” Sir Reginald walked slowly and carefully over to the settee and took the same seat he’d occupied last time as well. He’d barely lowered himself to the cushion before he snapped his fingers and pointed at the footman who stood at attention near the door. “You there. You!”
Lucas’s eyes widened and he stared at Sir Reginald, aghast.
The footman, James, took one step forward, clicked his heels together, and bowed. “Yes, my lord, how may I be of service?”
“Fetch me that pillow.” Sir Reginald pointed to a pillow that sat literally one hand’s length away from him on the settee. He easily could have reached it himself. “My back is aching and I need it for support,” the knight finished.
“Of course, my lord.” James strode over to the settee and picked up the pillow. He took one small step toward Sir Reginald. Wincing, the knight leaned forward to allow James to position the pillow behind his back.
Lucas’s gaze caught James’s. He’d never been more ashamed to be of the Quality. The man had treated Sir Reginald with far more respect and care than he deserved. Lucas gave James a solitary nod.
“Yes, yes. Now, go away!” Sir Reginald snapped before sighing and settling back against his pillow. “What were you saying, Kendall?”
“Have you made up your mind about the Employment Bill?” Lucas bit out. He had already decided to get directly to his point. There was no use prolonging this unpleasant conversation.
Sir Reginald’s laughter turned into a coughing fit that lasted so long it became uncomfortable. Lucas was just about to ask the man if he needed to be slapped upon the back when Sir Reginald stopped and wiped his mouth with his lacey handkerchief. “Kendall, the better question is, have you made up your mind? I thought I’d made my wishes clear when last we spoke.”
“I thought perhaps we could talk about the bill itself,” Lucas replied, clutching the brandy glass so tightly his fingers ached. He was happily pretending it was Sir Reginald’s throat. “There are many facets to consider, you know. Tell me some of the reasons you’re against it,” Lucas said, ready to have the same discussion he’d had with at least a dozen gentlemen over the past several months yet again.
“Very well, Kendall, we’ll play your little game.” The knight sighed. “But frankly it would be easier if I were to tell you why I’m for it.”