Page 25

25

Rupert

Rupert was sure his wife’s thundering footsteps could be heard all the way on the continent. He drew in a deep, steadying, and completely ineffective breath from where he sat behind his large rosewood desk.

The footsteps were closer now. He gripped the tops of his thighs.

It was amazing how his slight wife could pound her feet into the floor with the same force as thunder. He had known this conversation wasn’t going to go well before his wife made her furious presence known. His features contorted, but he quickly flattened them, smoothing out the corners.

His mother’s words scraped through his mind, sharp and overloud. One does not debase one’s status by associating with the drudges.

Franny burst into his study, yellow and orange pinstriped skirts swirling around her like an angry sun. Skirts that were stained with mud around the hem. They were always stained around the hem. She stopped before him, chest heaving and—weak as he was, his gaze dipped to her breasts—breasts slick with sweat. Fuck. He quickly averted his gaze, and it fell to her hands. Gloveless hands. Clenched hands. Dirt-covered hands.

One does not dirty his hands with peasants.

“You summoned me, my lord.” Franny’s words bit at him, teeth that were razor sharp.

He needed to tread carefully here.

“Franny,” he began, and her nostrils flared, her lips pinched. “It has come to my attention that you are…associating with the tenants.”

“Yes, my lord. I have taken on the planning of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. Just as your mother had done.”

A feeble flicker of yearning built in his chest, as it always did upon hearing of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. But the festival was not something a lord took part in. Rupert doused the weak flame.

“We supply the provisions for the feast each year, which my mother had a hand in planning,” he acknowledged. “I applaud your desire to be involved, Franny. But everything you need to do can be done from here. My steward can visit the tenants if you require any additional information. We have planned the feast for years, and there is not much you need to do besides see what my mother has done for past years.”

He tapped his thigh, his gut tightening, bracing for his wife’s explosion.

It didn’t come.

“I am aware of how it was done in the past.”

No explosion. Why did that feel worse? She slowly walked forward until she pressed up against the front of his desk.

“But I wanted to be involved, directly involved. I wanted to speak to my tenants, my people, and hear for myself what they desired for our celebration. If there was any other way I could—we could—assist with the festival.”

She rested her fingertips on the desktop and leaned forward. “And I was not doing it for your patronizing applause, my lord.”

Rupert’s eye twitched, but he held back the wince.

“These are our people,” Franny continued. “Their hard work is what provides for the clothes on our back, the food on our table. I believe that warrants, in the least, my support, my physical presence, to be more than a faceless name or authority. Join in their celebration, our celebration. This is to encourage the success of the remainder of the growing season and ensure a bountiful harvest. It is important, Rupert.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger on his forehead. How could he get his wife to understand that what she spoke of wasn’t done? She made excellent points, he wouldn’t deny it. He agreed with her, wished it could be the way she said. But everyone had their place in this world. She needed to recognize hers.

“Which is why we provide the feast,” he said. “It is not typical for the Lord of the Manor to attend the festival. My father never attended when he was well enough, and neither did my mother, nor I. We do not directly associate with the tenants. That is not about to change. This is the world we live in, Franny. There are expectations for how we must behave. Society will make an utter scandal of us—”

“So let them talk! I fail to see what is so outrageous anyhow. Their opinion means nothing to me, but our tenants, Rupert, do matter.”

He swallowed past his tight throat, swallowed down his frustration, and—bloody hell—swallowed down the hurt. Because, damn it, it hurt. That she seemed utterly indifferent to how her actions reflected on the honor of their family name. Didn’t care. About him.

“I know my parliamentary ambitions are not a secret to you, Franny. I would have thought you might care even the smallest amount because of that,” he said quietly. A cold numbness washed over him in a slow wave, everything slowing, his breaths, the blood in his veins. “You may not like it, but the life we live is all about appearances. I would argue there is nothing more important.”

Her jaw ticked, and she shook her head at him. It was like she refused to open her eyes. He didn’t make these rules. Yet she looked at him like he was the devil.

Rupert blew out a sigh. “You have frolicked across the estate naked, Franny. You must realize that was not acceptable. Beyond that, I was informed you were seen riding double with a tenant, assisting in repairing a fence. As my marchioness, you cannot be seen lowering yourself in such a way. God, look at your hands, Franny, your skirts. They’re covered in muck and—”

Franny’s chin reared back, and he abruptly stopped speaking.

She blinked at him. “Lowering myself?” She gaped at him before she finally found her voice. “As you could probably expect and will most definitely deride, I spent much of my childhood running rampant through the tenants’ villages. Your tenants are no different from you and me. I would argue they are above some lords I know.”

Her pointed glare ripped right through him. Ripped right through him, same as when he had been informed she’d been seen riding double with another man.

“They are lovely people. Much kinder than the Earl ever was to me.” She let out a low laugh. A laugh that raised the hair on his neck in its haunting hollowness.

“I am not saying they are bad people, Franny,” he said, impatience creeping into his tone. “I am saying that they have their place, and we have ours. There is a wide divide between those two places, and it is important they know that. That you know that. You cannot debase yourself and this family, sullying yourself by working side by side with such people.”

“Do you hear yourself, Rupert?” She shook her head at him, looked at him like she didn’t even know him. “Debasing myself with such people? The only time I ever feel as though I’m lowering myself is when I’m with you.”

He gritted his teeth, her words rubbing over his skin, abrasive and inflaming. A sick, acidic burn in his gut was afraid of how true they were. This was going nowhere, and his patience was slipping away like sand through a sieve.

“Regardless of your feelings on the matter, it is not done. So, your visits will cease. Either Mrs. Higgens or my steward will be your point of contact going forward. Are we understood?”

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyebrows lifted in the manner he’d seen a million times before as children, in complete and utter disgust, making him feel smaller than the girl a year his junior. But he was no longer a boy. He was the man of this manor, the lord of this estate. She could not make him feel small any longer.

“No.”

He barely contained his roar of frustration. Her refusal fueled his anger. It fueled the cutting in his tone. It was odd, this anger wasn’t hot, it wasn’t fire. It was cold. It was bitter.

“That is unfortunate,” he said, leveling a hard stare at her. “Let me help clear it up for you. You were seen. Arm-in-arm with our tenants. Sweating and doing manual labor with them. Riding double with another man— with a peasant .”

Her nostrils flared, and her jaw ticked.

“Do you understand the humiliation you have brought to me and this family because of that? Do you not think that there is talk you are cuckolding me with this man? We have been married nigh a fortnight, and you are shaming this family. You may not like it, but there are rules we must abide by. So, yes, your visits will cease. I advise you don’t disobey my orders. You will not like the consequences.”

His hands shook, even clenched as they were on his thighs. Every word had been painfully pulled from him, long and slow and covered in thorns. But they had to be said. He didn’t know how else to get his wife to understand.

She will require a firm hand, Rupert. Her father could never control her. You must not fail where he did. Once again, his mother’s words echoed through his ears. He was really starting to fucking hate them.

And that was when he registered the silence. She should be raging at him, shouting or throwing sarcastic retorts at him, possibly even throwing physical objects at him. Instead, she had a smile on her face that appeared plastered on by paste, and it was utterly terrifying.

“I see you are unhappy with me, my lord. I shall fix the problem straight-away.”

Back ramrod-straight, chin lifted with a regalness that would rival his mother’s, she glided from the room.

Disquiet built and curdled in his gut. Her acquiescence was anything but reassuring.