“Or…uh…so I’ve heard. In the servants’ hall,” he finished, returning his attention to the logs and the fireplace.
Oh, that was how. Now it made sense. He’d heard idle gossip. Stood to reason. Many servants loved to gossip about their employers.
Frances sighed. “Yes, well, Lady Clayton took pity on me and sat me elsewhere last night, but Mama was nearly apoplectic about it so I’m certain she’s asked Lady Clayton to rectify the situation this evening. I’m afraid I’ll be sitting next to him again. But don’t worry, I promise not to cause you to spill wine on me this time.”
Mr. Lucas turned his face up to her, an unhappy look upon it. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m disappointed?”
She laughed. “You want to spill wine on me, do you?”
Mr. Lucas shrugged. “Makes for a more exciting evening than simply going from person to person asking if they’d like more goose.”
Frances laughed again. “I’m not certain which of us has the more tedious evening ahead. Do you know what it’s like to make small talk with the most boring group of people?”
Mr. Lucas’s crack of laughter shot across the room. “Are they all that bad then?”
“The ones I find myself seated next to, yes. Last night I sat next to Lady Rosalind Cranberry and all she wanted to talk about was the fabric she’d recently purchased for hair bows. Bows. For hair. Can you imagine?”
Mr. Lucas shook his head. “Very well. I admit. That doesn’t sound interesting in the least.”
“It’s not. I assure you.” Frances sighed.
“Is there no gentleman here whom you fancy?” he asked next, standing and dusting off his hands.
Frances’s cheeks burned. “Well, I—” She couldn’t exactly burst out with the word ‘you,’ no matter how desperately she was thinking it. It was inappropriate for a score of reasons.
Mr. Lucas cleared his throat. “I only mean yesterday you mentioned love. Does that mean you expect to find love before you marry?”
“If I marry at all,” she replied with a wistful sigh. “Yes, I suppose I’m naïve enough to believe that love is an essential part of marriage.”
Mr. Lucas scooped up his coat again and pulled it over his shoulders. She was only disappointed that he didn’t happen to be facing the opposite direction. The man’s backside looked as if it had been carved from stone. “Pardon me, what was that?” Drat. He’d just said something she’d completely missed.
“I said, if you’ll pardon my forwardness, my lady, I must say it’s rare to hear such a thing from a lady of your…station.”
“My station?” she repeated. “You mean you believe all ladies of the Quality are interested in marrying for money or status?”
A funny look covered his face, one that told her that’s precisely what he had thought. “My apologies, my lady, I didn’t—”
Frances waved away his apology. “It’s all right,” she said with a smile. “There’s no reason whatsoever that you and I shouldn’t be honest with one another, Mr. Lucas. For example, I envy you your freedom of choice.”
It was his turn to look surprised. “Freedom, my lady?” He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. He looked unbearably handsome that way and whatever soap he used was making her head spin. She wanted to lean up to his neck and sniff him.
“I know it sounds strange,” she replied, “but you at least have the freedom to marry. Servants are allowed to marry whomever they choose. Whomever they love.”
“Ah,” he said. She had the fleeting thought there was a bit of disappointment etched in his handsome features. “I see. You’re in love with someone other than Sir Reginald.”
She couldn’t help her laughter. “No.” She shook her head, still smiling. “No, I’m not. But I’m not in love with Sir Reginald.” She shrugged. “The truth is I’m not particularly interested in marriage at all.”
He blinked. “To anyone?”
“That’s right.” She pushed one of the errant curls behind her ear.
“What if you fell in love?” Mr. Lucas asked, studying her face intently now.
She laughed at that too. “I suppose you could say I have my doubts that will happen.”
He continued to search her face. “Why’s that?”
“Well, my mother has trotted me out in front of most of the gentlemen of the ton this year and they’re all the most boring lot of overbred stuffed shirts you could imagine.” She rolled her eyes.
He cocked his head to the other side. There was that irrepressible grin of his again. “All of them?”
“Yes.” She waved one hand in the air. “The ones I’ve met are all self-entitled horses’ asses. But that’s not the worst part.”
His eyes widened and he leaned toward her, clearly interested. “What is the worst part?”
“The worst part is they all act as if I should fall at their feet if they deign to speak to me. It’s as if the smallest bit of attention from a gentleman with a title should make me swoon dead away as far as they are all concerned.”
He looked as if he were fighting a laugh. “A title doesn’t make you swoon?”
She rolled her eyes once more. “Far from it.”
“I see. What about footmen?” He winked at her.
Her eyes went wide and she put her fists on her hips. “Why, Mr. Lucas, are you flirting with me?”
He took a step closer and looked down at her with those intense green eyes. “Of course not, Miss Wharton. That would be inappropriate.”
She wanted to fan herself. She wanted to take another step toward him and touch him. She wanted him to…kiss her. She stood there watching him, staring up into his face for what seemed like endless seconds until he stepped back, shook his head as if dispelling the charged air between them and asked, “Does Sir Reginald have nothing that redeems him in your eyes?”
Trying to get her breathing back to rights, she tapped her cheek and thought for a moment. “Not unless I can convince him to
