She turned toward the lady’s side of the hallway to see a handsome tall blond man striding toward her. He was dressed in livery, but not Lord Clayton’s livery.
“Miss Wharton,” he called for the second time.
“Yes?” she said, watching intently as the man approached.
“I’m Mr. Baxter,” the man said, “Lord Copperpot’s valet. I happened to be in the kitchens a few moments ago when a maid came down asking for a poultice for Lady Winfield.”
“Lady Winfield is my mother,” Frances replied, worry making her chest tight.
“Yes, Miss Wharton, that’s why I came looking for you. Apparently, your mother slipped and turned her ankle in the gardens earlier. She’s abed at the moment, but she’s asked for you.”
“Oh, dear.” Frances stood and lifted her skirts. “I shall go to her immediately.”
“I think that would be best, Miss. Please let me know if I can send a message belowstairs to get you or your mother anything.”
“I’ll send Albina if we do need something.” She’d already turned and was making her way toward the opposite side of the floor to find her mother’s room.
She got nearly as far as the staircase when she thought to thank the valet. But when she turned around, he was gone.
She turned back toward her bedchamber and made haste. Dear God. She hoped Mama was all right. She couldn’t help but wonder if the heavens were paying her back for attempting to break her promise to her mother. No. She shook her head. That was a ludicrous idea. Wasn’t it?
She’d had to leave Lord Kendall’s door without speaking to him, but he was still somewhere in this house and she would find him before he left if it was the last thing she did. In the meantime, she would just have to wait and see if he deigned to answer her note.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas made his way toward the library the next morning with a mix of trepidation and anticipation coursing through him. He wanted to see Frances. He wanted to talk to her, not just about politics. He wanted to ask her what she thought about a variety of things like steeple chases, and Christmastide, and children. He wanted to hear more of the reasons she disliked the ton. After all, they were many of the same reasons he did. She was so honest and open and didn’t seem to care what the world thought of her. Everyone could use more of that in their character. God knew he could.
Lucas had been disgusted last night, thinking of Frances married to Sir Reginald. The only thing that comforted Lucas was the fact that she’d clearly decided she would not marry the man, despite her mother’s wishes. Of course, if her father demanded it, she would have to go through with the match. Lucas could only hope Baron Winfield would take his daughter’s desires into account.
Lucas had been unable to sleep last night for several reasons. He’d nearly stopped breathing when he saw Frances outside his bedchamber door yesterday afternoon. He’d immediately turned in the opposite direction and nearly sprinted away. He’d gone up the servant’s staircase to Bell’s room and sent the marquess down to lure Frances away from his door. It had been yet another lie, but Bell had been happy enough to deliver it. He’d never met Frances before, and he doubted their paths would cross again during the house party.
At least the ploy had worked, and Lucas had been able to return to his room to fetch the livery he needed to change back into. But what if Frances was waiting outside his door when he woke up this morning? He’d decided it would be safer to sneak up to his room on the fourth floor with the other servants where Lucas, the footman, slept. At least there he had little chance of being waylaid by Frances looking to confront him about the Employment Bill.
He’d spent the remainder of the night trying to decide how he would handle the note Frances had written him. He’d finally decided the safest thing would be to write back and tell her he needed to return to London immediately, but he hoped to make her acquaintance one day.
It was the cowardly thing to do, but it would serve two purposes: first, it would keep her from an inappropriate meeting with an eligible gentleman that she never should have requested to begin with. Lucas doubted she’d considered the consequences that might occur if such a meeting were actually to take place and they were seen together alone. Second, it would keep them both from an ugly scene in the middle of Clayton’s home. If he were to meet with her and confess all, no doubt such a scene would be the result.
Lucas would tell her the truth. Someday. But for now, he needed to extricate himself from the complicated charade he had orchestrated with as few repercussions as possible. Besides, it was not as if Frances was dreaming of a future with Lucas, the footman. That would be impossible and they both knew it. Her heart might sting for a bit (as would his), but they would move on, eventually. And he would never make a mistake like this again.
He was still contemplating the bittersweet moment he would see her for the last time when he entered the library. She was already seated at the table near the windows smiling at him, her face aglow with happiness. He immediately imagined that same sweet face crumpled in confusion and anger. The inevitable result if he told her the truth.
“There you are,” she called. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming this morning.”
He forced himself to paste a smile on his face. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Why weren’t you serving dinner last night?” she asked.
He was prepared
