Page 5
5
Franny
Franny followed Lord Rutledge through the doors of the Pearl Swan Inn, held open wide by two impeccably dressed footmen. They approached the ornately carved reception desk, the slap of her slippers and the thud of his boots echoing through the vast entry. Nothing but the best for Pretentious Perty. Stiff and starched from his black topper to his gleaming black Hessians.
She huffed out an irritated breath, and her husband's lips tightened. They’d just suffered an awkward and stilted carriage ride, during which Lord Rutledge had rattled off his expectations of her as his wife. Most of which she hadn’t heard. She’d stopped listening around which China should be set out for the dinners she would need to plan to support his political ambitions. That was all well and good, but blast it all, could they not discuss anything more diverting on their wedding day?
She still couldn’t believe he hadn’t kissed her. Bussed her on her cheek. Like she was some musty smelling elderly aunt. Like he’d bussed his mother. She wanted to throw up all over his shiny Hessians. She reached up and fisted her locket, gaining some calm from the cool, familiar silver.
They stepped up to the desk and a rosy-cheeked man wearing a wig of white curls greeted them with a smile.
“Lord and Lady Rutledge! Welcome!”
“Are our two rooms ready?” her husband asked. “Please have our luggage brought up straight away.”
Franny double blinked. Two rooms? Well, that wouldn’t do. How would they consummate the marriage in separate rooms? She hastily unclasped her locket and slid it into the pocket she’d sewn into her skirts.
Then she let out a sharp gasp.
Lord Rutledge spun toward her, gaze flying over her person. “What’s wrong? Is something amiss?”
Her hand flitted over her bare neck and she looked up at him, furrowing her brows. “Dear me, my locket, my lord. It was my mother’s. It’s all I have of hers. It must have fallen off in the carriage.” Franny rested her hand on her husband’s forearm. His muscles went rigid, and his gaze shot to where she touched him. “Will you check and see if it is in the carriage, my lord? I would be most appreciative.”
Not looking away from her hand, Lord Rutledge nodded. “Yes, yes…of course.”
He stepped away and briskly exited the inn. As soon as the door swung closed, Franny strode to the counter and locked stares with the innkeeper. “How much coin for the only room left in the inn to be a single bedchamber?”
The innkeeper raised a dark brow that clashed with his white wig. “I may be able to be convinced.”
Everyone had a price. She hoped this man’s wasn’t more than her pin money. And what a shock that had been. Pin money? She’d been lucky to have a warm cooked meal at her father’s. No. Not father’s. The Earl’s .
Franny opened her reticule, pulled out a crown, and placed it on the counter. “Will that suffice?”
He stared at the coin. Have some sympathy for a bride on her wedding night. Please.
“One more crown, and I’ll see it done.”
Franny smiled and placed another crown on the counter. She stepped back and clicked her reticule shut. There was nothing more important than a woman’s virtue—one of the few lessons that had been drilled so thoroughly into Franny from her many governesses that it stuck. She didn’t like the fact, nor agree with it, but to be frank, she didn’t agree with much her governesses said. Regardless, her virtue was for her husband. She didn’t want to think of what it meant if her husband didn’t want it. This marriage was her last chance at even a semblance of happiness.
She would get her wedding night.
Her husband was taking her virtue, and he was damn well going to like it.
That and…Franny couldn’t deny she was curious. About shagging. And about the perfectly proper Lord Rutledge shagging. It was hard to picture the starched man as anything but stiff. Though she supposed he did need to be stiff for things to work properly.
A moment later, the creak of the inn door sounded behind her. Her husband walked in, shaking his head. “I didn’t see it anywhere. I have told the servants to keep an eye out. Are you sure you didn’t pack it with your luggage?”
Franny brought the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, silly me! You are, of course, right, my lord. I believe I did pack it away before we left.”
Rupert’s brows lowered, and his gaze narrowed…suspiciously. Laying it on too thick, Franny.
“I am eager to get to our rooms so I can be sure.” She smiled, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. Or, at least, she hoped it’d come across coyly—and not like she was having a fit.
He hastily looked away, a light mottled pink rising on his cheeks. Success!
She caught the innkeeper’s eye and winked. His lips twitched before he quickly removed all expression from his face. “My lord, I regret to inform you we are fresh out of adjoining bedchambers.”
Lord Rutledge frowned. “Well, I suppose that is no matter. Do you have two rooms close by?”
“Unfortunately, no, my lord. We only have a single bedchamber remaining. It is quite spacious, a lovely accommodation. I am sure you and your lady will be quite comfortable.”
Lord Rutledge huffed. “I suppose that will have to do.”
Franny scowled at Lord Rutledge’s broad back. I suppose that will have to do? Don’t sound so thrilled, husband. He was such a stuffed shirt. Wasn’t it supposed to be the gentleman trying to maneuver into a one bed situation at an inn? That’s what always happened in the naughty novels she read. And then they would argue over who would take the bed or the floor and then they’d both end up in bed, and voila…a night full of tupping.
“Excellent, my lord. Please follow me, and I will lead you to your room.”
She glanced discreetly at Lord Rutledge, her gaze tracing his clenched jaw, down his taut neck to his tense shoulders. Oh, Rigid Rupert, you should know better than to think you can avoid me.
She would get her kiss.
And her wedding night.
The innkeeper showed them to their room. Spacious, opulent, as the man had said. A large four-poster bed with crimson coverings was centered against the dark oak-paneled wall to her left, a nightstand on either side. There was a cozy sitting area before a fireplace, the hearth currently empty due to the warm June day.
“I will have your trunks brought up immediately,” the innkeeper murmured with a bow.
“And a dinner tray for the lady,” Lord Rutledge said.
Franny spun around and searched her husband’s face. A face whose gaze was actively avoiding hers . The door slid shut, its click ringing through the silence in the room.
“A dinner tray for the lady? Will you not be dining with me, my lord?”
Lord Rutledge cleared his throat. “I am sure you want to rest after such an arduous journey. I will take my meal down in the parlor.”
Franny’s determination faltered, like it got stuck in her hem and tripped and nearly dragged her down with it. “But it is our wedding night, my lord. Should we not share a meal and—”
“I need to check in with the driver to ensure our travel plans for the morning are settled,” he said quickly. He glanced at her but immediately looked away. “You rest. Do not feel the need to wait for me. I will do my best not to disturb you upon my return.”
Franny’s throat grew thick, and she struggled to swallow, all the while cursing herself. He wanted to be away from her that badly? They had been married that morning, and he didn’t even want to share a meal with her. Didn’t want to learn anything about her. Didn’t care to.
Here she was, stupidly determined to get herself a wedding night. Turns out she couldn’t even get herself a blasted dinner. The unsteadily flickering candle inside her—a candle of hope for…Lord, for the teeniest amount of affection—dimmed to nothing more than a red ember on a wick.
She turned away, refusing to let him see what she hid behind her rough and tumble exterior. What did she hide? Nothing of consequence. Nothing anyone wanted. It shouldn’t hurt. The rejection. It wasn’t a surprise. She was perfectly aware of how Lord Rutledge felt about her. She’d experienced nearly two decades of his chubby-cheeked disdain.
An ensuing darkness settled inside her, around her, a foreboding that her future would mirror her past: alone and avoided. Unless, of course, she had done something that warranted the Earl’s wrath. That was the only time Franny ever received attention. The only time she was seen. When one behaved, they disappeared into the background, ceased to exist. And in a life absent of acknowledgement, even hatred started to feel like affection.
“Mmm,” she finally managed, staring at the crimson bed.
The shuffle of boots against carpet sounded through the room and then the slight creak of the door.
“Enjoy your meal, Lady Rutledge,” he said, though it came out uncertain.
She didn’t bother responding.
The door clicked shut.
On her wedding night.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5 (Reading here)
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
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- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65