“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
