“Elusive?” Lucas echoed.
“Yes, seems word’s got out,” Clayton continued. “The gossip mill is well aware of the fact that the Earl of Kendall has arrived at the party.”
“Blast,” Lucas cursed under his breath.
“Well, it goes without saying that Kendall won’t be at dinner tonight,” Lucas replied with a wry half-smile. After the unsettling encounter with Albina nearly walking in on his kiss with Frances in the library, moments ago, Lucas couldn’t seem to focus.
“Theodora’s at her wit’s end trying to come up with excuses for why you haven’t joined any of the festivities,” Clayton added. “As Kendall of course.”
“Sounds like Lucas the footman shouldn’t be serving in the dining room any longer either,” Bell cautioned from his spot on the bed.
“Agreed,” Clayton and Lucas replied simultaneously.
“I couldn’t do it any longer even if I wanted to,” Lucas continued.
“Why’s that?” Worth asked, his leg swinging back and forth as usual. “Too much work?”
Lucas shook his head. “No, the chores made me feel useful, actually. I simply no longer have the stomach for lying to Frances about who I am.”
“Feeling guilty, Kendall?” Worth asked.
“You’ve no idea how much,” Lucas replied solemnly.
The serious tone of his reply made even Worth go silent.
Lucas shrugged. “Not to mention I don’t think I can serve that bombastic clod Sir Reginald again. I’d be as likely to pour gravy onto his lap than onto his plate.”
“I would pay to see that,” Worth said with a snort.
Lucas moved over toward the cot and dropped onto it to sit next to Bell. “Speaking of Sir Reginald, I have one more meeting with him tomorrow.”
Bell frowned. “I thought you already met with him.”
“I did, but I haven’t yet had a chance to tell you what he said.”
“Do tell,” Worth replied, settling himself deeper into the window ledge.
“The bastard tried to blackmail me,” Lucas began, then he spent the next few minutes recounting his meeting with Sir Reginald.
When he was through, Clayton winced and shook his head. “It’s not particularly well done of him, but there’s a fine line between blackmail and political negotiations.”
“Is that what you call it?” Worth asked, arching a dark brow.
“I call it what it bloody well is…blackmail,” Bell said, anger seeping from his tone.
“Perhaps,” Clayton allowed, “But you may want to consider Sir Reginald’s connection to the prince.”
“What does the bloody prince have to do with it?” Worth replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
Clayton took a deep breath and addressed his remarks to Lucas. “Look, you obviously don’t want to cater to his disreputable intentions, Kendall, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t play the game. Tell Sir Reginald you’ve decided to bow out of this particular match. He can vote on the bill any way he sees fit and may the Chancellor of the Duchy go to the best man. That way, you won’t burn any bridges.”
“Spoken like a true politician,” Worth said with a dramatic eye roll.
“What’s your advice, Worth,” Bell asked next, “given that you’re the subject of this particular attempt at blackmail?”
Worth contemplated his own countenance in the small looking glass on the wall opposite the window for a moment and straightened his cravat before he spoke. “I say you inform Sir Reginald that I will indeed vote for him for the chancellor role.”
“Really?” Bell’s brows shot up.
“Of course,” Worth replied. “Tell him that, Kendall, then I’ll maneuver to get the duchy vote moved after the Employment Bill vote, and by the time the bastard realizes he’d been lied to, it will be too late.” He gave them all a triumphant smile.
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t care how many enemies he makes,” Clayton retorted, shaking his head.
Bell scratched his chin. “No one’s asked me, but for what it’s worth, I say you tell Sir Reginald he can go straight to hell.”
“That’s hardly helpful,” Clayton replied.
“That’s why you’re the best politician in the room, Clayton,” Worth pointed out with a grin.
Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He shook his head, staring at the wooden floorboards. “That bastard. I can hardly stand to look at him, let alone speak to him again.”
“What do you plan to say to him tomorrow, Kendall?” Clayton prompted.
Lucas lifted his head and met his friend’s gaze. “I think I know what I must do. I’ll tell you all after I meet with him.”
“Well, then,” Bell asked, leaning back upon his wrists. “If you’re settled on your course of action regarding Sir Reginald, what is your course of action regarding Miss Wharton?”
Lucas expelled a deep breath. “Regarding Miss Wharton, I have one last lie to tell.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Just one more day. That’s what Lucas promised himself when he made his way to the library the next morning. He intended to tell Frances that he had to leave. Lucas the footman’s father was ailing in Northumberland. It would be the final lie he told her, and it already sat like a dead weight upon his conscience.
He would leave that afternoon, immediately following his second meeting with Sir Reginald. Leaving was the right thing to do. Lucas was certain of it. He needed time and space. Time to make sense of the last several days and to decide upon the most honorable way to tell Frances the truth without upsetting her more than he had to, and space to stop making additional mistakes such as kissing her again. He would go to his own estate in Kent and think through all of it before returning to London in autumn for the vote in Parliament and his reckoning with Frances. At this point, he looked forward to neither.
He’d promised Frances that he’d meet her today. That promise and his disgust at the thought of leaving her without saying good-bye were the only two things that made him keep walking toward the library.
He’d already written the note to Frances from Kendall telling her he couldn’t meet with her. He’d spent the night on the fourth floor in case she decided to wait outside his room again. He would ask
