The Footman and I - Valerie Bowman Page 0,29

scheduled, were they not? Had she been a fool to expect he might return with more wood for the fire again today?

She hurried over to the corner where she suspected the law tomes were housed, intent on seeming as if she was quite busy indeed if Mr. Lucas did enter the room. When five entire minutes had passed with no sign of him, she found herself dejectedly staring up at the large volumes, completely forgetting what she was looking for.

When the door opened a few moments later and Mr. Lucas strode in with his arms full of small pieces of wood, her heart thumped so hard in her chest that it hurt.

She swung around quickly, her rose-colored skirts swishing against her ankles. “Good morning,” she called, immediately regretting the loudness of her voice.

Her mother was constantly berating her for being loud, but Mr. Lucas didn’t seem to mind. A wide smile covered his face. His reply was equally exuberant. “I wondered if you would be here again, my lady.”

She lifted her skirts and made her way toward him. “Disappointed? Or pleased?” That was an awfully flirtatious thing to say, but she simply couldn’t help herself.

“Pleased. Definitely pleased.” He inclined his head toward her before continuing his path to the fireplace and setting down the logs.

She joined him there, standing a few paces away, while he removed his coat and tossed the logs onto the fire just as he’d done yesterday. She sighed. She could watch this all day.

“I trust you had a more relaxing dinner last night,” Mr. Lucas said without turning to look at her. “I noticed you somehow managed to be seated nowhere near Sir Reginald.”

“That was no coincidence,” she replied with a laugh. “I had tea with Lady Clayton yesterday afternoon and told her my plight.”

“You spoke with Theo…Lady Clayton?” Mr. Lucas cleared his throat.

Frances narrowed her eyes on him. Had he nearly called Lady Clayton by her Christian name? That was odd. “Yes, we had tea and a nice chat. She agreed to seat me elsewhere last night. She sympathizes with me, dear lady. It turns out her parents wanted her to marry a man she didn’t love either.”

Mr. Lucas glanced up at her and nodded. “Yes. If she hadn’t broken her leg spying on Lord Clayton’s horse, things might have gone quite differently for her.”

Frances eyed Mr. Lucas again. That was also odd. How did he know so much about his masters’ personal lives? And what was that about spying on a horse?

“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