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Rupert

Rupert paced his front drawing room and glanced at his watch. Six o’clock. It had been just shy of three hours since the search party went out. And no word. Five hours since Franny had left for her ride. And who wasn’t out there searching with his servants? Him. He wanted to roar with frustration.

“Rupert, cease your pacing. The unrefined and vulgar pace. Gentlemen do not.”

A litany of curses flew through his brain, but he bit them back, halted before the window, clenching and unclenching his fists, his breaths coming short and fast. Pacing was what was keeping him from completely losing his mind. He was crawling out of his skin with panic. And the entire reason he wasn’t out there was because of her . He shot a glare over his shoulder at his mother. She was happily knitting under a pile of blankets on a settee.

It had taken an inordinate amount of time to get Mother settled. He’d tried to focus on his mother’s initial comments to remain calm as the longest hour of his life had passed. Franny most likely stopped to partake in some sort of diversion in the field—a swim, a traverse in a meadow to pick flowers—and Blaze freed himself and trotted off. The stallion was known for being temperamental and misbehaving. As was Rupert’s wife. And she had been exceptionally cross with him when she’d left. He wouldn’t put it past her to go roll in the mud and greet his mother dripping in muck just to spite them both.

But once Mother had been settled and Franny still hadn’t returned, panic had truly set in. He’d called for his horse and had been about to mount when a servant had come rushing in to alert him that his mother had fainted. He’d nearly laughed. He was truly fearing he was losing his mind. But this day was clearly testing how much strain a man could handle. And he wasn’t sure what it said about him, but his first thought had been that his mother had fabricated the incident. He was losing his bloody mind.

He’d returned to the manor to find his mother limp and lifeless on the floor of the drawing room. Some hot tea and a light meal later, and she was seemingly revitalized. An unfortunate consequence of traveling alone at my advanced age , she’d said. It had felt a lot like an accusation. Like he should have been with her and the fainting incident would have never occurred.

Multiple times since, he’d called for his horse. For his mother to promptly countermand his orders and remind him that if he were to ride out now, he wouldn’t be here when his wild wife made her way back home. And he was fucking torn. Because he didn’t want to miss his wife’s arrival. God, if she was injured, he needed to be here when she was brought in. He’d already called for a doctor preemptively. There was also a big part of him that didn’t want to risk the possibility of his wife and Mother ending up alone if he did ride out and she were to return. He could only imagine the carnage he’d come back to.

Bloody fucking damn it.

“My lord, Her Ladyship is approaching the kitchen gardens,” Sanderson said from the doorway of the drawing room.

Thank Christ. Rupert bolted past his butler and veered down the hallway toward the kitchen. His mother called after him, but he couldn’t make out what she said, nor did he care. Probably something about how gentlemen didn’t run. Well, this one bloody did. The only thing that mattered was getting to Franny as fast as possible.

Chest heaving, he blew through the kitchen door and then halted. He frantically scanned the area, desperate to lay eyes on his wife. His gaze fell on her, sitting pressed up tight against Billy Doherty as his horse led them to the Manor. A conflicting storm of relief and rage raced through him. She was well. She was alive. She was in another man’s arms.

Billy drew his horse to a stop, hopped down, and aided Franny to the ground. He murmured something to Franny, and Rupert clenched his jaw. But then Franny was walking. Walking toward Rupert. The suffocating weight that had settled over him lifted, and he finally was able to draw in a full breath.

That was when he noticed the limping. Footmen stood on either side of her, anxious expressions on their faces as they spoke to Franny. She waved her hands at them repeatedly, a scowl on her face. And then she looked up. Their gazes clashed. Her face turned to marble. And, once again, he couldn’t get enough air.

His wife was livid.

A shocked inhalation sounded from behind him. “Dear heavens!” his mother said. “Is she dressed in men’s attire? Rupert, how could you let your wife run rampant in such attire?” Revulsion bled into her voice. “And who is that man she was indecently sharing a horse with? He looks like a peasant! If word of this gets out, you will be a laughingstock of the ton. Oh, I can just picture Lady Billingsworth now. If she finds out, the entire ton will—”

“Mother,” he clipped out. “Now is not the time. My wife’s welfare is what is of most import.”

He strode to Franny, meeting her halfway. He paused before her—

And she continued past him.

He turned, opening and closing his mouth. Like a daft gaping trout.

He rushed after her. “Franny, what on earth happened?”

She ignored him.

Her wet clothes registered, her sagging, soggy coiffure. Wait, was that blood? All his blood left him.

He fell into step beside her. “Franny. Love. What happened?” He really hoped the doctor had arrived. She needed to be seen immediately.

She remained silent, her stony visage telling him nothing.

His hand shot out, gripping her arm, and she finally stopped. He stepped in front of her, and they locked gazes. Hers gave nothing away.

He furrowed his brow, a chill seeping through him, and he shifted from foot to foot. “Why-why won’t you speak to me? You are bleeding, love. What happened?”

Something dangerous flashed across her face but quickly disappeared, though her expression remained hard.

“I see,” she said flatly, “you didn’t bother yourself with looking for me.”

“I did, Franny. I sent a search party out looking for you.”

A twisted smile curved her lips. “Yes, you sent the servants. You didn’t join the search, my lord.”

A laugh sounded behind him, and Franny’s gaze moved over his shoulder, her entire body stiffening.

“My dear girl, why ever would my son lower himself to perform the duties of a servant, especially for the mere happenings of a hoyden. A loyal wife, after all, would never subject her husband to such undignified behavior. Strutting about in men’s clothing, gallivanting about the estate without a care, cozying up to other men. You risk tarnishing his reputation, destroying his political ambitions. How could you be so insolent?”

Rupert’s shoulders tightened, and he ground his teeth at the vehemence in his mother’s tone. She went too far.

Franny limped past Rupert, her shoulder knocking—rather forcefully—into his. She halted in front of his mother, and he waited with bated breath. She held his mother’s gaze, her chin lifted; nothing about her stance, her stare, demure nor respectful. She lowered into a perfect curtsy, her gaze not once dropping. Defiant. He couldn’t imagine the strength it took her, not to so much as wince as she lowered before the dowager.

“Mother, how lovely of you to grace us with your charming presence,” Franny said, slowly rising, her voice one that put his mother’s bored aristocratic drawl to shame. “The manor was truly overflowing with unbridled joy and lighthearted gaiety in your absence. Thank goodness you have come to our aid, as we were in desperate need of rescue from the dreadful fate of enjoying ourselves.”

His mother’s sharp inhalation rent the air and everyone—everything—stilled.

But Franny didn’t stop there.

“How fortunate I am,” she said softly. “To have you here to enlighten me in the suffocating rigidity of convention. A skill you have clearly mastered if your pinched expression and uptight bearing is any indication.”

“Wha-Why I never,” his mother sputtered as Franny turned, giving her back to the dowager, and limped toward the house.

Mrs. Higgens quickly gathered Franny in her arms, her gaze falling on his for the briefest of moments before she ushered Franny inside. But it was long enough for Rupert to see the disappointment glimmering in his housekeeper’s eyes.

He continued to stare at the closed kitchen door long after it had shut. None of the joy at hearing of Franny’s discovery remained. He looked back and caught Billy Doherty’s eye. He needed to find out what had happened, and with Franny avoiding him, Billy was his only chance.

He headed for the large man, but his Mother’s words halted him.

“What are you doing, Rupert?” she hissed.

He slowly turned to his mother, his face stiff. “I am going to find out from Mr. Doherty what he knows of Franny’s accident.”

“Goodness, Rupert. Have a servant write down the information and report back. Do not associate with the rabble. Look at the man, he looks uncivilized.”

“For God’s sake, Mother, that is quite enough.”

She drew in a sharp breath. At his using the Lord’s name in vain, no doubt, but he truly didn’t give a bloody damn anymore.

“Mr. Doherty is a nice, kind, hardworking man. His entire family is. I am going to speak with him, and you are going to go inside. And while you are at it, please collect yourself. You have been unpardonably rude to my wife.”

Rupert pivoted on his heel and made his way to Billy, his mother huffing in his wake.