Lucas pushed himself angrily back on the bed and leaned his head against the wall. “Damn you, Worth. I didn’t lose the bet.”
Worth nearly spit his drink. “The devil you didn’t. Half the ladies at the house party saw you trying to stop Miss Wharton from running away from you this morning.”
“Kendall is right,” Bell pointed out. “He hasn’t lost the bet.”
“How is he right?” Worth wanted to know, resting a wrist atop his propped-up knee.
“The ladies saw the Earl of Kendall trying to chase Miss Wharton up the staircase. They had no idea they were also looking at Lucas, the footman,” Bell said.
Clayton’s sharp clap of laughter filled the room. “By God, it’s true. Somehow Kendall has managed to keep his identities separate even still.”
“Except for Frances,” Lucas pointed out, tipping his already empty glass back toward his mouth. Realizing it was again empty, he cursed and tossed the glass onto the cot.
“Except for Miss Wharton, of course,” Clayton agreed. “And please have a care for my glassware. You’ve already ruined at least one snifter.”
“Well, fine then.” Worth crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose Kendall’s still in the game.”
“I don’t give a seafarer’s rope about the stupid bet,” Lucas grumbled.
Bell picked up the empty glass and sat it on the floor next to his boot.
“Oy,” Lucas yelled. “Give that back.”
“I will do no such thing,” Bell replied. “Dinner is only a few hours away and you’ll need to be sober by then. Or at least much more sober than you are at present.”
“I don’t give a damn about dinner. Brandy is my dinner,” Lucas insisted.
“No, it’s not,” Bell replied, shaking his head.
Clayton winced and tugged at his cravat. “Yes, well, you know what’s going to happen at dinner tonight,” he said, giving Bell an urgent look.
“The betrothal?” Bell replied, blinking at him innocently.
Clayton rolled his eyes. “Fine then, if we’re going to speak about it in front of him. Yes, the betrothal. I received a note from Baron Winfield just before I came up here. He’s arrived and they fully intend to proceed with the announcement tonight.”
“Has Sir Reginald heard about the to-do in the foyer between his fiancée and Kendall here?” Bell asked Clayton next.
“I’ll punch Sir Reginald in the eye,” Lucas announced, waving both fists in the air.
“Yes, we’d all like to see that,” Bell said, forcing Lucas to lower his hands.
“He’s heard about it,” Clayton reported, “but according to Theodora, who heard it from the servants, who heard it from the guests’ servants, who heard it from the guests…no one took the incident in the foyer this morning particularly seriously.”
Bell arched a brow. “What? Why not?”
“Apparently, our friend Kendall here did a fine job of keeping his voice low. No one could hear what he and Miss Wharton were saying to each other. And—” Clayton winced. “No one can countenance the fact that the Earl of Kendall would actually be interested in Miss Frances Wharton.”
“I’ll punch them all in the eyes,” Lucas declared next, hoisting his fists in front of his face again.
“Now. Now. You’re talking about ladies here. I don’t think it would be good form to go about striking any of them,” Bell said, patting Lucas on the back.
“They have no right to be discussing me and Frances,” Lucas retorted.
“I agree with you there, Kendall,” Bell replied evenly. “But violence doesn’t seem like the best response. I, for one, think a far better decision would be for you to attend tonight’s dinner.”
“What?” The other three men all said the word simultaneously. Lucas’s mouth fell open, Worth’s eyebrows shot up, and Clayton frowned.
“Why shouldn’t he?” Bell asked, his gaze traveling around the room.
“He’s foxed for one thing,” Worth said with a laugh.
Clayton cleared his throat. “And the last thing he needs is all of those debutantes and their mothers trying to throw themselves at him if he wants Miss Wharton to think better of him.”
Lucas had leaned over on the bed and was holding up his head on one hand, his elbow braced on the mattress.
“I didn’t say he should go as Lord Kendall,” Bell pointed out. “I think he should go as Lucas, the footman. After he sobers up that is.” Bell stood. “And to that end, help me get his face in the washbowl, lads.”
* * *
Approximately three hours and three dunks in the washbowl later, Lucas was considerably more sober, but Bell still hadn’t convinced him to attend the evening’s dinner as Lucas, the footman. Clayton had already left to see to his guests and Worth had returned to the stables after wishing Lucas a hearty good luck.
Bell was shrugging into his coat. “It’s time for me to go help Lord Copperpot dress for dinner,” he announced.
“What purpose would it serve for me to go to the dining room as a footman?” Lucas asked a final time. “Frances would recognize me immediately. Besides, you heard Clayton. Sir Reginald and Frances intend to announce their engagement tonight. It’s too late.”
Bell adjusted his collar and smoothed his hands down the front of his liveried coat. “I can think of several purposes it would serve and you could too if you’d stop and consider it,” he replied. “Meanwhile, if I were you, I’d bloody well go to the dinner in one form or another and ensure the woman I love didn’t betroth herself to another man tonight.”
Chapter Thirty
Frances was forced to enter the dining room far behind the Prince Regent. Since George’s arrival, the party’s standards had become much more formal. The prince walked in with Lady Clayton, while Lord Clayton escorted George’s sister, one of the Royal princesses, who had come with him. Frances, being the daughter of a baron, stood toward the end of the queue.
While the entire set of guests was buzzing about either the prince’s arrival or spotting Lord Kendall in the
