Page 103 of Madcap with a Marquess
“In this room, my lady. Your guest is already waiting.”
She frowned, her mouth opening and closing. This time, she succeeded in glancing back at him. “My guest? Rupert?”
He chuckled. “Goodness, Franny. Can you not let a surprise be a surprise?”
Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature to not prod and push and poke and figure out what the bloody hell was going on.
He grinned and quirked a brow. “Careful, love. Unless you want to pay for that impudence later.”
That really wasn't the threat he thought it was.
Rupert indicated toward the door with a nod. “Now, go. I’ll…wait here while you greet your guest.”
Franny studied him suspiciously for a heartbeat and then whirled around and marched into the room. Who on earth could her surprise gu—
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Franny!” A lightly curved petite woman with flaming red curls hurled herself at Franny. And Franny found herself promptly enveloped in a hug that cut off all oxygen to her lungs. And she gave a bone-crushing hug right back.
“Phi,” she said, her voice choked. She hugged her best friend tighter. “How are you here? Blast and damn, it’s good to see you.” Franny pulled away and studied her friend’s blurry person. She hastily wiped away her tears. Her heart, as happy as it was, sank a bit as she took in her friend. “Goodness, Phi, how much you’ve changed in a year’s time.”
Phi grinned and palmed her breasts, pushing them up. “I know! Can you stand it? I have a bosom now! Who would have thought going from sixteen to seventeen would land me a pair of breasts?”
Franny snorted and glanced back at the door. Her husband still remained hidden in the hall, but there was no way he hadn’t heard that. Oh, she and Phi were going to be the bane of her poor husband’s existence.
A choked laugh came from the back corner of the room, and Franny’s attention slid to Phi’s maid sitting quietly, a hand covering her mouth as her eyes danced.
Franny’s smile dimmed slightly, her heart sinking even lower. Though she supposed they wouldn’t be the bane of Rupert’s existence. Not with what was currently traversing the rumor-mill.
“Unfortunately, Phi, I’m not so sure it will be easy for us to continue seeing each other, even with my…father no longer forbidding our friendship.”
Phi cocked her head, her blue eyes blinking owlishly at Franny. “Whyever not?”
Franny lowered her voice. “You probably haven’t heard the rumors yet. Well, they’re not rumors. But the talk spreading through the ton right now—it’s that I am a bastard. Iama bastard. I’m sure your father will not want us to associate with each other going forward.”
A sly smile spread across Phi’s face, and her blue eyes took on a saucy glint. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about there, Fran. That stuffed shirt you were always complaining about having to marry? He spoke with Papa.” Her smile split into a grin. “There won’t be any issues on that front.”
Phi’s gaze flicked to the doorway, and Franny turned, her already melting heart now a complete puddle. Her husband leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his features soft, his eyes warm brown pools of affection. Her hand went to her mother’s locket, their miniatures nestled together inside. All this time, he’d been paying such close attention to the things that mattered to her.
“You did this?” She gestured around the room and at Phi. “All this. For me?” she said, her words faint and thick with emotion.
He dipped his chin. “She’s important to you, Franny. Which means she’s important to me, to have in our lives. You will want for nothing now. That includes your friendships.”
Phi sighed behind Franny. “For a stuffed shirt, he’s awfully dreamy,” Phi whispered wistfully.
He was. He really truly was.
53
Epilogue - Franny
Afewweekslater.
“You are doing fabulously, my dear,” the dowager Duchess of Ironcrest murmured to Franny after the latest guests moved on to join the rest of the revelers in the ballroom.
Franny had been tucked to the dowager’s side for the last hour as they’d received attendee after attendee. Franny was the dowager’s highly esteemed guest, after all. And no one would dare refute the dowager’s stance, even if that stance was supporting a bastard. Someone with tainted blood.
Franny smoothed a black-gloved hand down her red gown. A deep wine red. Blood red. She may have chosen the color when commissioning the dress as an act of defiance. She wouldn’t hide her bastard status. The ton might view it as a black mark on her person, but to Franny, it was a liberation, that she was in no way connected to that man.
