The Footman and I - Valerie Bowman Page 0,76
door. The room was dark save for a few candles that burned throughout the space and the fire that was nearly out. The candles gave an ethereal glow to the large, dark, expanse.
Lucas took a deep breath and made his way directly to the spot he hoped she’d be. He’d never been a praying man, but with every step he said a silent prayer. Please let her be there. Please. Please.
He turned the corner to the alcove and caught his breath. At first he thought she wasn’t there, but then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her shadowy form. She was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.
Relief swept through him. If she’d come here, she must have thought he would find her. She must have—dare he hope—wanted him to?
“Frances?” he whispered, her name a stark plea on his lips.
When she lifted her head and looked up at him, his hopes were dashed. Even in the dim light he could see that anger burned in her eyes. She hated him. He’d made a mistake.
His chest ached and every breath was a struggle. He crouched down next to her.
She was still shaking, her teeth still chattering.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
He quickly strode over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The shawl she’d left the first day he’d met her was still there. He’d brought it back down a few days ago and put in the drawer again so he wouldn’t forget to give it to her. He grabbed it and hurried back over to the alcove. “Here,” he said, draping it over her shoulders.
She clutched it and wrapped it more tightly around herself. “Th…thank you,” she managed. “I thought I’d lost this.”
“I think I kept it on purpose. It reminded me of you. Will you hear me out?” he asked softly, crouching down once more.
“Do I have a choice?” Her voice was monotone.
“Of course you do, Frances. You’ll always have a choice with me.” He searched her profile, wanting nothing more than to reach out and trace his fingertip along her cheekbone.
Her jaw tightened. “Then, no, I don’t want to hear you out. I just want to ask you one question.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Anything.”
“Wh…why did you ask me to m…marry you?”
“Because I want to.”
“How c…can you w…want to marry me? I stand against everything you stand for.”
He bit the inside of his cheek and expelled a breath. “The Employment Bill is not what I stand for.”
She tugged the shawl closer around her shoulders. “Tell the truth, you only asked me to marry you out of guilt.”
“No, I didn’t.” He said the words with all the sincerity he felt in his heart.
“Yes, you did.” Her voice sounded resigned, lifeless. He couldn’t bear hearing her like this. “You know I’m marrying Sir Reginald for money and you’re trying to save me because of your guilt.”
“That’s not why. I—”
“But what I cannot understand is why you would ever think I’d accept you.” She turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were shards of dark glass.
He swallowed hard. “If you’ll give me a chance, I can explain everything. Try to, at least.”
“You lied to me. About everything. Everything you did was a lie.”
“No, Frances, I—”
“Of course I see it all clearly now, but at the time, I’d no idea. Like the time I tried to give you a coin for carrying my trunk to my room. You tried to give it back to me.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, hard.
“And the time you nearly called Lady Clayton by her Christian name. It’s because you are friends.”
He clenched his jaw.
“‘A footman who likes to read?’ I said. You let me feel guilty for saying that and for mentioning that your voice was cultured too. Of course it’s cultured.”
“Frances, listen to me. I—”
“I was such a fool.” She shook her head. “And you let me be. Dear God. You even asked me if I was in love with you?”
Lucas took a steadying breath. He knew his next few words could decide their future, their fate. “Frances, I’m not about to deny that I’ve made a mistake, a tremendous one, but I can make this right, I promise you.”
“Make it right?” She laughed a humorless laugh. “By marrying me?”
He nodded.
She turned her head to stare straight forward into the darkness again. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me that you love me. That you merely