Page 24

24

Franny

Franny made her way down the pebbled lane, striding straight for the Dohertys’ cottage. She prayed Genny was around. She needed a distraction, something to dispel the heavy, thick cloud her marriage seemed determined to be. She knocked on the white front door and waited.

It was a twisted sort of storm, her and Rupert’s marriage. More often than not, it raged, angry and dark, gusts that lashed at your skin, waters that sucked you under, pulling you into its cold, lonely depths. But every so often the storm broke—never fully, but it calmed—the sun’s rays flitted through the gloom, hinting at the possibility that the storm would pass. Only for it to pick up again. It was cruel, the hope it created.

She flattened her hands over her orange and yellow day dress, even though it was perfectly pressed. And perfectly new. And perfectly pretty. She’d never had anything so fine before.

A gift from him.

She didn’t understand what it meant. How it could feel like he wanted her—yet didn’t want to want her. That occasionally a different man ventured out from beneath the rigid exterior he and his mother had created. A man she quite liked. Would quite like to see more of. That man was the weak rays of light trying to penetrate the storm—just enough warmth to make her believe the skies might clear.

But the storm always won.

He was also the man who had almost kissed her today during the painting of their family portrait. When their eyes had met, only inches separating them, she swore she saw it—that same aching longing reflected back at her. But then he’d turned down her invitation to play tennis. She’d thought perhaps the flowers, the apology, the dresses…meant something. Meant he wanted to spend time with her.

But again, he denied her.

There were only so many times her hope could be crushed before she no longer had the strength to rebuild it. Before she had to accept the dreams she foolishly harbored were not and would never be a reality. How long did she hope for?

After no response at the front door, Franny walked around behind the cottage to see if the family was in the back tending to their livestock. She spotted a familiar broad frame, hat covering a head of shaggy, dark-red hair, standing by a pen of piglets. Her mood instantly brightened. Distraction was a beautiful thing.

She paused in front of a low pen, little black piglets with the telltale Hampshire white band around their front half and forelegs squealing and scurrying about.

“Quite a litter of piglets you have this year, Mr. Doherty.”

The shaggy red-haired man turned, and his face lit with recognition, the many smile lines on his weathered face crinkling deeply. “Lady Rutledge! How lovely to see you, m’lady. I was hoping when the Missus said you had stopped by, I’d be seeing you.” He glanced at the pen of squirming piglets. “My prize sow, Sadie, really produced for me this year. Twelve piglets, not one needing culling. Or chasing.” He grinned at her, his rosy cheeks bunching over his toothy smile. “Looking forward to what trading I can make with them at the festival.”

She grinned in return. “If they ever get loose, you know who to call for. Considering none of your three strapping lads could do the job. It’s fortunate for you that I’d been around that day. You needed a woman to get a job done right.”

Mr. Doherty chuckled and murmured, “You have that right. Don’t know where I’d be without the Missus.”

Her heart squirmed uncomfortably at the love and admiration in his voice, like it desperately wanted to flee, couldn’t stand being exposed to the affection it so dreadfully lacked.

“Is that Lady Francine?” a deep male voice rumbled.

Franny turned, and her smile faltered as she blinked up, up, up at little Billy Doherty. Who was no longer little anything. Genny hadn’t been lying when she’d commented on her brother’s intimidating size the prior week. No wonder he was scaring away all her suitors.

“Goodness, Billy. Did you double in size since I last saw you?”

He grinned, identical to his papa, just a thinner, younger, and quite handsome version.

“I may have done.” He pulled on a red wave hanging over his brow. “It has been a few years now, and I finally hit that growth spurt I had always been hoping for. Ma couldn’t get me in trousers that fit for near two years with how fast I was outgrowing them. Thankfully, it seems I’ve finally stopped.”

“I daresay you could catch an escaped piglet now,” she teased.

He furrowed deep-red brows, pursed his lips thoughtfully, and tapped his chin. “I s’pose I could now. But it’d be much more fun to watch you get covered head to toe in mud again.” He threw her a wink.

“Probably shouldn’t be sayin’ you’d like to see Her Ladyship in a pile of muck, son. ‘Twill get you in trouble.” But there was no heat in Mr. Doherty’s tone, and his eyes danced.

Even so, Billy Doherty’s green eyes stretched owlishly. He quickly doffed his hat. “Lady Rutledge? ‘Tis true?”

Franny chuckled. “Yes, Billy, I am the lady of my own house now.” She leaned forward and said in a hushed voice. “Is it bad that I still want to chase pigs if I so desire?”

Billy quickly bent over the pen and scooped up a squealing piglet. He held the little squirming black and white pig out like he was about to let it loose, his face splitting in a devilish grin. “I would be happy to oblige, my lady. ‘Tis a benefit of being the Lady of the Manor, getting to do as you please now.”

Franny reached out and pet the soft animal, a smile tilting her lips, but it was sadness that filled her chest. Getting to do as she pleased… Her husband would not agree with that sentiment. “Thank you for the offer, Billy. Even if your true aim is me ending up in that mud pit.” She nodded her head in the direction Billy had held the pig out, where a large pool of water had gathered from a recent rain, creating a slick patch of mud. “Is Genny around? I was hoping to take some air with her.”

Billy carefully placed the piglet back in the pen, shaking his head.

“Mrs. Doherty and Genny are off at Mrs. Fields’s,” Mr. Doherty said. “Helping her with tending to some housekeeping. The poor woman’s gout flared up, and she has been struggling to keep up.”

“How kind of them. Your family has always been exceptionally generous. We could use more people like you in the world.”

Mr. Doherty blushed a deep red from the collar of his neck scarf to the tip of his ears and shifted back and forth on his feet. “Thank you, m’lady. We do what we can to help those who need it.”

Including her.

“Was there something particular you needed Genny for?” Billy asked. “I can try to act as a substitute, though I warn, I won’t don a dress and plait my hair.”

Franny bit her lower lip and did her best not to snicker at the image of the mammoth of a man before her wearing a flowery day dress. “I do believe a soft green would look lovely on you,” she added thoughtfully, examining his mahogany cropped hair.

He glanced down and flounced back and forth, grabbing the skirts of his imaginary dress. “Do you truly think so?” He looked up at her, fluttering his eyelashes.

She let out an inelegant snort, followed by a chuckle. He may have grown a few feet, but he was still the same goofy boy.

“Billy, you need to head over to Jack Lancaster’s and fix that fence of his in exchange for some fodder for the pigs, don’t forget.”

Billy winced. “Ah, yes, I should get to that today.” He shot Franny an apologetic glance.

“If you don’t mind the company, I could accompany you. I was going to see what more I could learn from Genny about the upcoming festival.”

His face brightened. “You’re coming to the festival?” He bounded on his feet slightly, little Billy Doherty peeking through the man he now was. “It’s a real treat; you’re going to love it. You are welcome to join me if you don’t mind doubling up and riding out to Lancaster’s field. I’d be happy to tell you anything you want to know.”

Well, wasn’t that a shock? A man who didn’t mind her company. Her invitation from earlier and Rupert’s refusal came spinning back in a sickening, dizzying rush. And there went her heart, flung in the pile of muck behind her. No matter. If her husband didn’t want to spend time with her, at least she had friends who did.

In the next thirty minutes Franny found herself up on a large burly dray, Billy at her back, trekking out to a far-out field. The dray’s gait was choppy and clunky, her hands clutching the gelding’s mane to keep from toppling off, even with Billy’s arm wrapped around her middle. It was an odd feeling, a man not her husband at her back, a hollow feeling. She had ridden double with Billy before. But that was years ago. Every lurch of the horse’s gait brushed her into Billy and served at a distinct reminder that he was not Rupert.

“I’m happy to hear you’ll be at the Midsummer’s Eve festival. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you around the farms,” Billy said

Three years. It had been three years since she’d visited. For the longest time Franny had thought the only one she put at risk in visiting the Rutledge tenants was herself. She had given up visiting her own tenants early on. But her father couldn’t do anything to harm those who weren’t his own people. And she could handle the Earl’s wrath. She always had.

“I’m very excited to experience the revelry. Everyone speaks of the thrills and amusements of the festivities.” Franny forced a brightness into her voice. A brightness those old memories were doing their darndest to steal away.

Billy Doherty had escorted her back to the property line three years past when a summer storm blew in unexpectedly. Her father had met her halfway to the Abbey, having spotted them as he’d rode in from his daily ride. His rage had been overflowing, worsened by his annoyance at having his ride cut short by the storm. He’d threatened the entire Doherty family, threatened to ruin Billy for dallying with his ‘ whore of a daughter ’. ‘ Rutledge would never accept a sullied bride ,’ he’d said.

Billy hadn’t once touched her. Goodness, at the time he had been a head shorter than her. If he’d tried to touch her, she would have clobbered him. But her father always knew how to enforce obedience on his daughter. Threaten someone or something she cared about, and she couldn’t possibly risk putting them in harm’s way. That had been her last visit to the Rutledge tenants.

Until her marriage. And oh, what a joy it was to be back. And considering the way her marriage was going, it was a balm to have some friendly faces where she felt she was accepted, her presence enjoyed.

“You al’right, imp? You’ve gone quiet. Not usual for you.”

Her heart clenched at the old nickname. “Yes, just glad to be back to seeing the Doherty clan. I’ve been working with Genny on making sure we have the perfect provisions in order for the feast. And I’ll be helping make garland and crowns. Though I suppose the men don’t don those. The folklore of the night is fascinating.”

Billy huffed out a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it, my lady. For it being celebrated in the name of St. John, it is rife with magic and pagan customs. Sometimes I think each year the lore gets wilder and wilder.”

“I know of the flowers and their magical properties. Genny was sure to fill me in,” she said with a soft laugh. “What other lore surrounds the festival?”

Billy drew their mount to a halt and slid off the horse before assisting her down. He caught her eye and winked. “Fire.” He grabbed his spade and strode over to a three-rail fence where a section looked as if it had been barreled through, a post completely torn from the ground and rails strewn across the field.

“Fire is the main magic of St. John’s Eve,” Billy called back to her. “It symbolizes the sun’s power, and that’s right important, being this night marks when each day will get shorter and shorter until harvest time.” He set to work with his spade, digging a hole to reset the post. “The fires have many powers, but one of the most crucial is whether it will grant us a successful growing season and a bountiful harvest.”

Franny dragged over a rail caked in dried mud and dropped it near where Billy was digging. She dusted off her hands. “How will you know if it will grant you a bountiful harvest?”

Billy looked up, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and grinned. “We pack a cartwheel with rushes and hay, set it aflame, and roll it down the hill to the river. If it reaches the river still lit, it’s a sign an excellent harvest is on the horizon. If it doesn’t, then we can expect a poor harvest.”

Her eyes widened. “Fascinating.” And seemingly dangerous. How thrilling! “Has it held true for past Midsummer’s Eves?”

Her friend leaned on the handle of his spade, swaying around in a circle, waggling his brows at her. “It has not once been wrong.”

Franny’s mouth popped open, and Billy tipped his head back and laughed, his rich, red locks flopping.

“Trust the magic, imp. Do not doubt. Now, we also have large bonfires, some people will bring torches of it home to light their own hearths. Any way fire can be incorporated, the better our chances the fates will bestow prosperity upon our people.”

“Hmmm,” Franny hummed thoughtfully. “What about fireworks? Do you have fireworks at the festival? Would those bring good luck as well?”

Billy snapped as straight as the post he’d set. His gaze flew to hers. “Fireworks?” His eyebrows lifted like an eager boy about to be given a second helping of dessert. “Fireworks would definitely increase the fire’s power of the night. It is common in many villages’ celebrations. However, we’ve never had them here. They are quite costly.”

She grinned. Here was another way she could help her tenants. “Well, consider it done this year. The Rutledge’s will provide fireworks for this year’s festival.”

Billy whooped and beamed at her. The rhythmic beat of hooves pulled their attention back toward the village. Franny lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. A green-and-gold liveried rider approached. Her shoulders slumped, her stomach sinking, and she suddenly wished she had Billy’s spade to lean on. There was no way this was a good sign.

A young dark-haired footman pulled up his horse and hopped off. He hesitantly approached Franny and bowed low. “My lady, a letter from His Lordship for you.” He held out a letter.

Franny took it and quickly read it.

You are to return immediately. - Rupert

Oh, she could strangle the dictatorial arse. She turned to the footman and smiled through stiff cheeks. “Thank you for the message. That will be all.”

“My lady?” he asked uncertainly.

“You are free to return to the manor. Please inform His Lordship I received his missive. As you can see, I am busy here, so I won’t be able to accommodate Lord Rutledge.”

He closed his eyes, and his features contorted at the same time as his cheeks flushed. “Urm, my lady. He said I was not to come back empty-handed.”

She growled. She couldn’t prevent it, couldn’t hold back the frustration. It was like he knew she was happy right now. Were the fates playing some jest on her? Every time Franny is happy, let us steal it away!

A strong, comforting hand settled on her shoulder. “Is everything a’right, imp?” Billy’s familiar gaze searched hers.

Everything in her went weak, tired, ineffective, her body having no desire to support her any longer. She looked up at her friend and shook her head slowly, sadly. “No, Billy. It’s not. But unfortunately, it doesn’t matter.”

His brows drew together, but she was already turning and marching toward her footman. He held out his hands to assist her into the saddle.

She turned to him and smiled with as much warmth as she could muster. It wasn’t the poor man’s fault. “Thank you. You are not the source of my ire. I appreciate the escort.”

He smiled nervously at her and pushed her up into the saddle. “You’re welcome, my lady.”

The footman led the horse back to the cottages where her carriage awaited, the poor man baking in the late spring sun in full livery trudging beside the horse. She would make sure Mrs. Higgens provided him with extra refreshments and rest when they returned. As for her husband… She would provide him with a healthy dose of recalcitrant wife.