The Footman and I - Valerie Bowman Page 0,59

room, she might well recognize him if she got a good look at him after he kissed her daughter. So be it. He wasn’t about to let the woman hurt Frances, no matter what.

When Lady Winfield reached them, she pushed past Lucas, reached around him, and grabbed Frances’s arm.

Lucas moved to block the woman, but Frances cried softly, “Lucas, no.”

With a smug smile, Lady Winfield yanked her daughter to her side.

Lucas’s nostrils flared with anger, but he stepped aside, not wanting to make this moment any more awful for Frances.

“It’s a fine day when I have to come and pull my daughter out of the arms of a footman,” Lady Winfield growled, her voice still low. Lucas could only surmise that she had determined the most prudent course of action would be to keep what she’d seen as quiet as possible. They were the only three in the library after all.

Thankfully for her, Lady Winfield unhanded her daughter, but soon pointed toward the door as she spoke to Frances in a menacing tone. “Walk in front of me. Now. Directly up to your bedchamber. Don’t you dare act as if anything is amiss. Do you hear me?”

That confirmed it. Lady Winfield clearly planned to pretend as if this had not happened. The only thing that kept Lucas from ripping off that damned itchy wig and declaring himself in love with Frances as the Earl of Kendall was the certain belief that that was not what Frances wanted. She’d made it clear that she thought gentlemen of the ton were high-handed when it came to getting what they wanted. The truth was, he wanted nothing more, but he forced himself to watch in silence as Frances walked slowly out of the library, her mother marching behind her.

Lucas cursed and clenched his fist. He cast about with no idea what he was looking for, perhaps something to throw or hit. Either would do at the moment. A small bit of color on the floor caught his attention. He glanced down. The rosebud lay on the rug at his feet. It must have fallen when Lady Winfield yanked Frances away from him. He leaned over, gently scooped up the small flower, and held it to his nose.

Christ, how he hoped that wasn’t the last time he’d ever see her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Frances sat on the foot of her bed while her mother’s lengthy diatribe continued. It had begun the moment they had closed the bedchamber door and it showed no signs of abating anytime soon.

“What were you thinking, you hoyden!” Mama cried, dabbing at her sweating face with her handkerchief.

“Mama, I—”

But her mother was in no mood to listen. The woman continued to pace and wave her handkerchief in the air between dabs. The mottled purple tone of her skin alarmed Frances. The only thing she could be grateful for was the fact that Mama was keeping her voice low, apparently to avoid anyone overhearing and causing a scandal. Their walk upstairs had been perfectly calm and orderly. They’d only seen a few guests to whom they’d both smiled and nodded at as if nothing had been amiss.

“Thank God Albina alerted me,” Mama continued, her pace increasing.

Frances’s head jerked up. She searched the room and the adjoining bedchamber until she spotted Albina peeking through a crack in the door between the rooms. The maid had a sly triumphant smile on her face. When she saw Frances looking, Albina immediately darted behind the door.

“Albina told you?” Frances asked, her eyes narrowing, her hands balled into fists on her lap. “Why, that little, backstabbing—”

“We owe Albina a great debt,” Mama insisted. “Do you have any idea what might have happened if someone else had walked in on that display in the library? If Albina hadn’t sent me looking for you, I might never have known, let alone had a chance to stop it.”

Mama continued to pace, while Frances expelled her breath and tried to think of the best way to handle the situation. Normally, when Mama was in such a state, little served to calm her.

“You could ruin your chances with Sir Reginald if he were to find out,” Mama said next.

“I don’t care if I ruin my chances with Sir Reginald,” Frances spit out, still stewing over Albina’s treachery. The last thing Frances was worried about at the moment was Sir Reginald’s opinion. On anything.

Mama pressed the handkerchief first to one cheek and then the other. She looked as if she was about to faint. “How