The Royal Navy had been a place filled with honor and dignity. Yes, he’d seen unfair acts, but there was also pride and accountability. There was equity and there was loyalty. Politics were completely different.
The world he found himself in since inheriting the title was a cesspool of secrets and lies. His brother had the stomach for it. Lucas did not. Sir Reginald and his scheming ilk made Lucas sick to his stomach and the thought of that man touching Frances made his skin crawl. She deserved so much better than the bloated knight.
Lucas took the steps up the grand staircase two at a time, thankful that the foyer was empty at the moment. As soon as he made it to the second-floor landing, he turned to the right to head toward his room and stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing directly across from his bedchamber door, with her arms folded across her chest, was none other than Frances.
Chapter Eighteen
Frances had been standing in front of the Earl of Kendall’s bedchamber door for the better part of a quarter hour. She felt perfectly silly and was entirely aware of how inappropriate she was being, but she no longer cared. This wasn’t about her reputation or what the guests at the house party thought of her. She was doing this for the working classes, the maids like Albina and the footmen like Lucas. They deserved better than what the Employment Bill would give them. Even if it didn’t change the outcome of the vote, Frances intended to tell the law’s creator exactly what she thought of his self-serving nonsense.
She’d already come up with an excuse if anyone were to happen by and see her outside Lord Kendall’s door. She would pretend she was horribly lost, and had been certain she was waiting for her friend Mary Montgomery. Mary was one of the ladies at the party who she liked a great deal. Of course, Mary’s room wouldn’t be on this side of the floor, but that’s where the part about pretending to be lost came in. After all, who could possibly blame a poor young woman for her confusion on a floor with so very many doors that looked exactly alike?
The pacing she’d begun in the conservatory earlier continued in the corridor outside Lord Kendall’s room. She was mentally rehearsing her speech over and over. She intended to tell him what a money-loving, self-serving, classist ass he was. Had he ever stopped to consider the lives of the poor? Had he ever looked at his own valet, or his own cook and wondered what their lives must be like? Had he ever considered how his bill would make things more difficult for them? No. No, he had not and the reason he had not was because he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anyone but himself and his lot, the men who were in charge of everything and always had been. The men who made the rules for everyone else but ensured those rules benefitted only themselves. She would inform Lord Kendall that he was the lowest of the low for proposing that law, and she hoped when he laid his head on his pillow at night that the suffering of every single one of the downtrodden people he’d be making things worse for would keep him awake as it should.
She nodded her head determinedly. Oh, she was quite certain he’d bumble and fumble and come up with some asinine excuse as to why she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head over such things. He’d give her a condescending smile that would reveal yellowed teeth and foul breath. Adonis, her foot! No doubt his hygiene was worse than Sir Reginald’s. He was probably a bloated, bleating windbag who looked as if he’d crawled out from under a bottle of liquor, most likely an expensive bottle, but that hardly mattered.
She’d been posted in front of his door for no more than a few minutes when Mary’s older sister, Lady Julianna, came floating up the staircase. She was wearing a lovely white gown with a gauzy, embroidered overskirt and looked as if she’d just stepped off the pages of a lady’s fashion periodical. Frances watched in horror as the engaged woman glanced her way, took another quick look, and proceeded to glide toward her.
Frances bit her lip and looked in both directions. It would be awkward to use her excuse that she was waiting for Mary, but what other choice did she have?
“Oh, Miss Wharton, not you, too?” Lady Julianna said as soon as she’d come within earshot.
Frances blinked and glanced in the opposite direction. Lady Julianna had said her name, but was it possible she’d been mistaken? There was no one behind Frances, however, and she was forced to turn back and face Lady Julianna as that woman came to stand directly in front of her.
“‘Not me,’ too?” Frances echoed, her brow furrowed.
Lady Julianna gave her a conspiratorial grin, stepped forward, and looped her arm around Frances’s. She tugged her gently into a walk beside her. They headed toward the lady’s end of the corridor.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know you were standing in front of the Earl of Kendall’s bedchamber door?” Lady Julianna whispered as soon as they’d taken a few steps.
Frances felt herself blanch. She was torn between denying it and asking how Lady Julianna happened to know which door was his.
“It’s… I… Well… How did you know?” Frances finally blurted. Very well. She wasn’t a particularly good actress, was she?
Lady Julianna’s conspiratorial grin widened, and she glanced behind them to ensure no one else had entered the corridor. “I’d heard he’d arrived. It’s all the other ladies are talking about today. The location of his room is a much-discussed topic downstairs.”
“I’d gathered the ladies were excited,” Frances agreed, feeling a bit ill to learn that Lord Kendall’s bedchamber was a topic of anyone’s conversation. Why, she’d been fortunate that she hadn’t run
