A wide grin spread across Mama’s face. “Excellent,” she said, eyes sparkling. She gave Frances a knowing grin.
Trying to keep her expression perfectly blank, Frances expelled her breath and lifted her skirts. If Sir Reginald was already here, she’d best ascend to the safety of her bedchamber as quickly as possible.
She darted across the foyer, nearly tackling one of the poor footmen who was headed toward the back of the house with her trunk. No doubt he was on his way to the servant’s staircase. “Please,” she said in a loud whisper to the man. “Please won’t you bring the trunk directly up?” She nodded hastily toward the staircase in the foyer.
The footman’s face was obscured by the trunk hoisted on his shoulder, but he quickly turned his frame toward the double-sided staircase and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Frances nearly wept with relief. She was being entirely inappropriate, of course, but at the moment, she couldn’t summon a care. She should also wait for her mother and the housekeeper, but instead, she plowed ahead of the footmen. She pointed up the staircase in front of them. “This way?” she asked as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence for a guest to ask for directions from footmen.
“Yes, milady,” the footman who carried her trunk replied in a voice that sounded as if he were slightly amused. When Frances reached the first landing, she tried to wait for the footman to join her, but her anxiety got the better of her and she continued on up. The poor man was carrying a fortnight’s worth of her clothing and unmentionables on his shoulder, she could hardly blame him for not being as speedy as she was. “I’ll just…meet you at the top of the staircase,” she blurted, grabbing her skirts and practically running up the final set of stairs. Once she reached the top, she glanced around in a panic. The hall was unconscionably long and filled with what seemed like dozens of closed doors that all looked alike. Terribly inconvenient.
“To the right?” she called in a voice that cracked as the footman steadfastly made his way up the steps behind her. Below Mama was still talking to Lady Clayton. Oh, what was keeping her? No doubt more prying questions about Sir Reginald.
“To the left, Miss,” the footman responded. She still couldn’t see his face, but Frances was once again aware of a bit of humor in the young man’s tone. She did not stop to dwell upon it, however. Instead, she dutifully raced off toward the left. She’d made her way halfway down the hall when she realized that for all she knew, she’d passed her room.
“The end of the hall,” came the footman’s helpful voice. He’d made it to the second floor quite promptly for someone weighed down by such a heavy trunk.
The second footman was having a much worse time of it. He was still struggling up the staircase with Mother’s trunk. Frances glanced toward him and winced. Mama did tend to hideously over pack.
Turning back to face the hallway, Frances continued her flight all the way to the end of the space, before stopping to wait for the footman. She had no choice. She had no idea which room was hers. She stood near the window, tapping her foot and biting her lip.
The footman had nearly caught up to her when a door she’d already passed opened and Sir Reginald of all people came out. Frances froze and held her breath as if that simple act alone would keep the man from noticing her should he happen to glance in her direction. Thankfully, he did not. Instead, he turned away from her and made his way toward the staircase. Even with his back toward her, she was certain it was him. She recognized his bald spot and sloping shoulders.
There was no more time to waste. Sir Reginald might turn around at any moment.
“In here?” she called to the footman in a loud whisper. She did not wait for a reply. Instead, she yanked open the very last door and darted inside. If she’d made the wrong choice, the footman would just have to come in and tell her so. A few moments later, the footman pushed open the door and followed her in.
“I’m terribly sorry if I’ve made a mistake with the room,” she said, hurrying over and shutting the door soundly behind him. “It’s just that I . . .” Hmm. What could she possibly tell this poor chap that would make any sense of her odd behavior?
“No mistake,” the footman replied, hoisting her trunk off his shoulder and onto the floor near the window. “This is the correct room. You do seem to be in quite a hurry, however.”
Frances, who’d been standing with her ear to the door to listen for Sir Reginald’s receding footsteps, blinked. First, she had the fleeting thought that the footman’s speech sounded quite cultured. Second, had a footman just commented upon her behavior? Well, that was certainly impertinent. Did the lad want a coin or didn’t he?
Upon further reflection, however, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for acting oddly after the way she’d behaved. At any rate, Mama would be here soon, and no doubt would be seriously displeased to find Frances alone in the room with a footman.
She needed to pay the chap and send him on his way. Still listening at the door, her back turned away from the servant, she fumbled for her reticule that dangled from her wrist. The reticule contained a bit of pin money that might tide him over.
She stuck her gloved hand into the small bag until she felt the outline of a coin. She pulled it out to look at it. A half-pound. Good enough. Clutching the coin, she turned to look
