The Footman and I - Valerie Bowman Page 0,60

can you say such a thing?” She took a long, deep breath. “You know, I truly believed I was protecting you and your sister by keeping the truth from you, but I now I see I must tell you or you’ll continue to sabotage your own future.”

“Tell me what?” Frances asked defiantly, her arms still tightly crossed.

“You and your sister have no dowries. None! Not just small dowries. Nothing! Your father has gambled it all away.”

Frances’s mouth dropped open. “Pardon?”

“That’s right,” Mama continued. “There’s nothing left, but Sir Reginald has indicated he’s still willing to take you.”

Frances closed her eyes. The weight in her chest felt as if a cannonball had just settled in her middle. The news was difficult to hear, but her mother’s obvious angst over it was even more difficult to watch.

Frances already knew from experience that attempting to tell her mother that she didn’t care if she remained a spinster wouldn’t help the situation. Mama was hell-bent on marrying her off. A flurry of thoughts competed for attention in Frances’s mind. Could it be that her parents did not even have the money to keep her in their household as a spinster? She’d never considered that before. She was being selfish not to listen to her mother’s words. Mama’s fear stemmed from the fact that she was clearly worried for her own future.

“Don’t you see, Frances?” Mama cried brokenly, coming to a stop directly in front of her. “We need you to marry Sir Reginald. He may very well be our only hope for survival. Sir Reginald is wealthy. He’s promised us a purse. Your sister is yet too young to marry. I suppose we could consider a match for her sooner than later, but—”

Frances immediately stood and hugged her Mama tightly. Her mother hugged her back, tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t know, Mama. I didn’t know how bad it was.” She felt like a fool, a blind, selfish fool. She’d known Papa was in trouble, she’d heard the arguments, seen the men come to the house. But she’d foolishly believed Mama when she’d told her they were poor instead of destitute. Frances knew one thing for certain. There was no way she would allow her little sister to be bargained off for a purse. No. If one of them needed to be sold into marriage to save their family, it would be Frances, without question.

“I know you didn’t know, dear.” Her mother sobbed. “I’m only sorry it’s got to this point. The truth is I’ve spent our last bit of coin bringing you to this house party. Sir Reginald is our final hope.”

They both moved to sit on the foot of the bed together. Frances ran a hand over her mother’s graying hair, while patting her hand softly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. Don’t worry. Please, don’t worry.”

Mama dabbed at her wet eyes with the handkerchief she’d finally stopped waving. “Thank you, my dear. Now, will you please think of your family and accept Sir Reginald’s suit?”

Frances expelled her breath and nodded slowly. However ludicrous the idea that she might somehow have a future with Lucas had been, the notion died an instant death. There was no way she could marry a poor footman. Her family was counting on her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

As Lucas dressed for his meeting with Sir Reginald that afternoon, the roil of thoughts that had been racing through his mind all morning since Lady Winfield found him kissing Frances continued to batter against his mind like rain upon a flapping sail.

He was a bounder. He was a scoundrel. He was the lowest form of life imaginable. The worst part was that when he’d first entered the library, Frances had been hiding in the alcove. If only he had joined her there. But, no, he had had to stand outside in full view of the doors before acting like an even bigger reprobate and kissing her regardless.

It was all his fault, and the fact that Frances was bearing the brunt of the fallout made him insane. Throughout the day he’d been tempted to search for Lady Winfield’s room and declare himself. It was the only decent thing to do. Only he would need to speak to Frances first to find out if she even wanted him to declare himself. And how could he expect that she would want him to declare himself if he would have to admit that he was the detestable Lord Kendall? That never-ending circle of