Page 14

14

Franny

Franny ambled down the pebbled lane, a heavy basket full of supplies for the tenants weighing down more than her arm. Her nerves were dragging her feet. She had left the manor determined and bounded straight to the awaiting carriage that would bring her to the small tenant’s village on the Rutledge estate.

But as she made her way to the familiar cottage, the askance looks thrown her way and the low murmurs had her second guessing her choice to be actively involved in the planning of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. It was clear Lord Rutledge and his mother didn’t enjoy a high level of esteem with their tenants. She hoped this visit would be the start of a change in that. And maybe…maybe she could prove she was good for something, too.

She’d never be the demure, well-behaved wife Rupert wanted. She’d spent too many years flouting propriety. It was so ingrained in her at this point she didn’t know how to be anything else. But this? Franny could see herself being happy doing things like this. Maybe there was a place for her, after all; somewhere where she provided value and didn’t have to force herself into a mold that would never fit.

Soft-grey stone cottages with dark, weathered thatched roofs dotted the pebbled lane, large plots of seemingly endless green farmland separating them. On occasion, two cottages were situated relatively close, butted up to the plot line.

She approached one such cottage, pushed through the small wooden gate in front of the home, and paused before the familiar white door with ivy crawling up to the thatched roof on either side.

Stop being silly, Franny. You will be welcomed here.

She let out a breath and knocked.

The muffled thud of footsteps sounded, growing louder, and then the door swung open. A rosy, round-cheeked mature woman with dark auburn curls piled atop her head stood before Franny.

The woman’s face broke into an ear-to-ear smile, and her hands came together in a flurry of clapping. “Lady Francine! Oh, sweetheart, it is a joy to see you. Come in, come in!”

Franny grinned as she was ushered into the woman’s kitchen before she had a chance to say a word.

“It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Doherty. It has been much too long.” Franny lifted her basket and gave it a little wiggle. “I have brought some provisions.”

They settled at the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen, and Franny took in the home with a soft sigh. Just as she remembered. The front of the cottage was entirely open. A small kitchen blended right into the sitting area, where two armchairs and a lone settee rested before the modest hearth. Six chairs lined the walls near the kitchen, which would be pulled up to the wood table when it was mealtime. Meals Franny had joined in many times growing up.

Mrs. Doherty’s hazel eyes went wide, and she dropped her gently curved form in a curtsy. “Oh, heavens! My lady! It has taken place then, the wedding to the Marquess. You have my congratulations, darling—my lady.”

Franny pressed her lips together, stifling a rising chuckle. She swept out her arm before her. “I am now Francine Winthrop, Marchioness of Rutledge,” she said in a low Major Domo voice. They shared a small smile. “Please, Mrs. Doherty, you can call me darling or sweetheart as much as you’d like. It doesn’t feel right to have you call me ‘my lady’. Not when I’ve chased your pigs through the village.”

Mrs. Doherty’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, that was quite the day. You know, I’m still not convinced Billy hadn’t let the pigs loose on purpose, so you’d end up covered head to toe in mud.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” Franny said with a nostalgic smile. “Little Billy’s revenge for the time I beat him skipping stones in the river.”

Franny pushed her basket toward Mrs. Doherty. “I brought some essentials from the Rutledge Manor: pantry staples and cured meats, soaps, bandages, sewing kits, hair pins…”

“How lovely, my dear. Very thoughtful. Are you visiting and getting to know your tenants, then? Some might remember you coming round here, though that was three years past now.”

“That is my objective. I thought I’d start with a familiar face. My courage nearly deserted me at the looks sent my way. As though I was a mystical being—and possibly dangerous.”

Mrs. Doherty chuckled. “I suppose many tenants would equate the Winthrop family to mystical beings. Talked about but never seen. Lord Rutledge and his steward have always taken good care of us tenants, but I can’t say I’ve ever even laid eyes on the man, nor his mother.”

“That is why I’m here. I would like to change that. I think it would be beneficial if His Lordship and I actually spoke with you about your concerns and needs. We all need each other, and it is of utmost import to me that you are all happy here.”

Mrs. Doherty reached over and squeezed Franny’s hand. “Such a dear. You have always had the largest of hearts.”

“Yes, well, someone had to make up for the fact that my father completely lacked one.” Franny shot Mrs. Doherty a wink, and the woman grinned, but her eyes dimmed. Franny had escaped the Earl’s abuse more times than she could count here in this very kitchen. Until three years ago, when he’d found out.

Franny shoved away the maudlin thoughts and moved on to a happier topic. “The first thing I was hoping to help with is the Midsummer’s Eve festival. I know we usually provide provisions for the feast, but I would love to be involved in other ways, if at all possible.”

“Oh, that is wonderful news! I do hope you will join in the celebration as well.” Her grin turned sly. “It is a merry night of revelry. Perhaps you could convince Lord Rutledge to join. The young people always have such a grand time.”

Franny’s smile faltered. “I will see if I can convince His Lordship. But I will most definitely be there. Do you know any ways—”

“Lady Francine!”

A high-pitched squeal that would have been painful if Franny hadn’t been too excited to care shot through the kitchen. And then Franny was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug—surprising, coming from the waif-like frame of the strawberry-blonde-haired girl giving said hug.

Franny stepped back, hand in hand with the woman one year her junior, and they examined each other.

“Miss Genevieve Doherty. Goodness, is it wonderful to see you,” Franny said, her cheeks aching from the force of her grin.

“This here is Lady Rutledge now,” Mrs. Doherty said to her daughter with a quirk of her brow.

Genny’s green eyes widened, and she bounced on her toes. “Congratulations, Lady Francine—Rutledge. How wonderful!”

“Thank you, Genny.” Not even the subject of her marriage could dampen the warmth that had seeped into Franny the minute Genny had stepped into the cottage.

“Her Ladyship wants to take part in the preparations for the Midsummer’s Eve festival. Perhaps you two can gather some herbs from the garden, enjoy the beautiful day, and come up with some ideas on how she can assist.”

Genny tucked Franny’s arm in hers, and they were already halfway out the door when she called out, “Great idea, Mama!”

Franny laughed as Genny overenthusiastically tugged her around the back of her family’s cottage to their garden. They each picked up a basket hanging on the fence, and the familiarity of the action had some of the frustrations from her marriage dissipating. It was so comforting being back here. The Doherty’s had been the closest thing to a family Franny had ever had for a short while.

“I am dying to hear about married life! Is it a dream?”

“I’m not sure how much information I can provide, as I have only been married a few days. I’m hardly an expert.” She said it lightly, but her stomach constricted. She was so far from an expert. Three days into her marriage, and her husband was already avoiding her like she was covered in boils. Preferring his own hand to her company. She bit back a growl. The beetle-headed hog grubber.

She forced a smile and glanced at Genny. “And with how beautiful you are, I am sure the men are fiercely vying for your hand. You will have your choice of husband and find out soon enough.”

Genny’s lips flattened. “Not if Billy has any say in it. Scares ‘em all away. Haven’t even been able to steal a kiss with him hovering about, the overprotective lout.”

Franny’s eyebrows shot up as she settled before a thyme plant. “Little Billy Doherty is frightening people? Do the men in this village have no backbone?”

Genny snorted so loud she started coughing. “Oh goodness, my lady. Billy is anything but little now.”

That was almost inconceivable, considering he’d been nearly a head shorter than Franny the last time she’d seen him three years past.

“I think I’ll have to see it to believe it,” she murmured, snipping some twigs of thyme into her basket. The rhythmic movements were calming; she’d done it so many times before when she was younger. “So, tell me about the Midsummer’s Eve festival. How can I help? I know Rutledge Manor sends down the feast each year, but there must be other things we can do.”

Genny wrinkled her nose as she collected some chives. She caught Franny’s eye before hastily looking away. She opened and shut her mouth and then let out a soft “hmmm”.

Franny chuckled. “What on earth, Genny? Are you having a fit?”

Genny rolled her eyes and flipped her rosy plait over her shoulder. “The feast the Rutledge’s provide…it leaves much to be desired.”

Franny’s brows scrunched. “Well, that’s no good. What would you like to be included?” She set her shoulders. “I am in charge this year, so you have an inside source. You name it, and you’ll have it.”

Genny’s eyes lit up, and she grinned. “Definitely keep the roast pig. But perhaps you could add meat pies to the menu. Any vegetable other than something that resembles a leaf. There is always sooo much cabbage and kale.” Genny’s nose turned up. “Perhaps sweetbreads and sweetmeats. Oh, and St. John’s apples! It is supposed to bring good luck to roast them over the fire, since it will be St. John’s Eve and all.”

“Duly noted,” Franny said with a firm nod and lifted her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll make it happen.”

And she would. The warmth that had settled over her as soon as she’d seen Mrs. Doherty grew, bubbling and fizzing like cheerful champagne. This was something she could do, something she could be good at. Look at her, enjoying an acceptable ladylike activity . Take that, Rupert.

“We also make garlands to wear and crowns, which you could assist with.” Genny glanced over at Franny, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Each type of bloom has a magical ability, bringing the wearer things like wealth, love, good health.”

Franny huffed out a laugh. “Magical abilities?”

“Yes.” Genny nodded adamantly, her green eyes wide and serious. “Never doubt the folklore of St. John’s Eve.” Her eyes narrowed, and a smirk curved her lips. “They say Verbena blooms enhance romantic relationships. How are romantic relationships, hmm?”

“Genny!” Franny tossed a sprig of thyme at her friend.

Goodness, what was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t admit the Lord and Lady of the Manor were a complete and utter disaster.

Genny chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not asking you to explain anything. My family are pig-farmers, my lady. I’m not ignorant of what goes on. Though I do hope there is much less squealing.”

Franny choked on a laugh, and Genny shot her a grin. Genny had always been a fiery one. It was probably a part of why Franny had been so drawn to the Dohertys. She had fit in with them. While she was able.

Franny glanced away from Genny’s expectant look and picked at her skirts, now stained with dirt from where she kneeled on the ground. She was sure Perfect Perty would have something to say about that when she returned.

“I don’t believe I’m the one you want those answers from, Gen,” she said quietly.

“Franny?” Concern coated Genny’s soft words, and her use of Franny’s Christian name pulled Franny back to their childhood days. Mr. and Mrs. Doherty had emphasized the importance of not forgetting Franny’s title—the line between tenant and noble. But when they’d all run off to play, the formality had been forgotten.

And she so desperately needed a friend right now. “We actually have already had a spat.” She looked up, her smile brittle. “Three days into my marriage, and we are already quarreling. He has been avoiding me. I suppose that is not the best of signs.”

Genny worried her lower lip. “Does he—is it a marriage in name only, then? I know that is commonly done in your rank. A marriage of convenience.”

Franny shrugged and fiddled with her pruning shears. “I am honestly not sure. We are an arranged marriage. Neither of us had a choice in the matter. But I would like it to be more than a facade.” Her thoughts shot back to last night, catching Rupert with his hand wrapped around himself—saying her name. Heat bloomed in her face. “I think he might want that, too. I’m just not sure how to get him to stop avoiding me.”

Genny’s gaze flicked down to Franny’s burning cheeks. When their gazes clashed again, devilry reflected back at Franny.

“Perhaps,” Genny said, leaning forward, her eyebrows lifting meaningfully. “You should seduce him.”

Even amidst the gloom her thoughts had created, Franny couldn’t prevent her laugh from bursting free. “Genny, I fear for Mr. and Mrs. Doherty. No wonder Billy keeps such a close eye on you.”

Genny lifted her shoulder, matching Franny’s smile. And as they turned back to filling their baskets with herbs, Franny’s mind drifted back to the night at the inn. Rupert’s gaze on her while she wore her sheer night rail. Hungry . Perhaps there was something to Genny’s advice. And Franny knew exactly how to get Rupert’s attention.

All she had to do was misbehave.