Page 19 of Madcap with a Marquess
She clenched her fists. He wasso sure, was he? He wasso wrong. “Would you not want to partake in some tea with me, my lord? Or a walk on the grounds?”
His lips flattened. “Unfortunately, these business matters are pressing. I have been pulled away from them for much too long…” Because of her. Because of the inconvenience of their marriage. “Mrs. Higgens will need to show you the household accounts as well. You will have much to occupy your time.”
“Perhaps I could join you, assist in some way,” she said, reaching for something, anything, to keep from being cast aside. A sticky and uncomfortable sensation slid over her skin. “Or just keep you company…” Ah, yes, desperation—one of her bosom chums. Lord, she was pathetic. Why did she even want his intolerable company?
Because you’d take intolerable, if it meant somebody wanted you.
Lord Rutledge pinched the bridge of his nose, and her blood iced over. This time, she couldn’t stop the memories from barreling back. A forbidding study. Her father making the exact same gesture. A cold frost encased her heart.
This would all have been so much simpler if you had just died along with your whore of a mother.
She barely heard her husband’s words over the dull thrumming in her ears. “You will go with Mrs. Higgens and that is an order.” He abruptly spun on his heel and strode down the hall.
She flinched with each sharp footfall.
“And here I thought this was supposed to be our honeymoon,” she whispered after his retreating figure. Apparently, her success at consummating their marriage wasn’t much of a success at all. And clearly, he didn’t share the same feelings about what had passed between them last night.
“Come, my lady,” Mrs. Higgens said softly. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
Franny glanced at the housekeeper, and the pity she saw in the woman’s drawn expression was almost as hard to swallow as Rupert’s rejection—no, not Rupert. She thought after last night she could think of him as Rupert, but she was wrong.
Lord Rutledge’srejection.
“Once you are settled, perhaps we can start your tour off with the tennis court if that would please Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Higgens added. “I know that was a favorite place of yours growing up.”
A bit of the brittle weight that had settled inside Franny broke off, leaving her feeling slightly lighter. She tried to return her housekeeper’s smile but couldn’t quite manage it. It was one of her favorite places, her sanctuary, where she had been safe from an oppressive man. And it appeared she was still in dire need of it.
Theschlappof Franny’s feet echoed against the stone floor of the Rutledge tennis court,rebounding around her through the cavernous arched ceilings of the room. She looked up and spun in a small circle, smiling at the thick, dark-brown timber supports.
The tennis courts always reminded her of a medieval keep. She could imagine this room—with its stone floor, plastered smooth stone walls, and wood-and-iron towering ceilings—the great hall of such a keep. Her keep. The princess of the keep.
That had been the way she viewed this place as a child. Her escape, a place where she could pretend, dream, of a different life.
“Excellent thought on starting our tour here, Mrs. Higgens.” Franny beamed at her housekeeper.
Mrs. Higgens smiled warmly back at her from where she stood in one of the archways leading out to the court, the place where players would switch sides during a match.
“Now it is yours to frequent whenever you please, my lady. Not that any of us minded sneaking you in and out of here. Goodness knows it doesn’t get nearly enough use as it should. Sitting here for centuries largely untouched.”
Franny ran her hands over the netting of the galleries that lined the court. She could picture the crowds gathered behind the netting to view the match. Though, if this were a medieval keep like the one in her fantasies, there wouldn’t have been netting, just the rectangular window-like openings that ran nearly the entire span of the wall.
A much more dangerous game—for viewers and players back then. Guests had died being hit during matches, been severely injured. The balls used for the match were heavy and hard as rocks. Great for chucking at infuriating husbands.
She paused at the final gallery, giving the netting a firm shake. The toll of bells clanged through the expansive room. The winning gallery. Bells that signified a point.
Her gaze landed on a racket and ball resting against the main wall on the opposite side of the court from where she stood. Excellent. Time to work off her riotous emotions.
She’d love nothing more than to hide away here and play tennis, pretending she wasn’t a day into her marriage and already a hindrance to her husband. But that wouldn’t put her in her husband’s good graces. Nor in his bed. The reckless urge to push boundaries gripped her. And if she wasted the day away in here and Lord Rutledge found out, she was sure to face a stern lecture about alady’sobligations.
She shouldn’t want that. Her fingers twitched, and she twisted them in her skirts, her husband’s retreating form flitting across her mind. Yet, she did. Because she knew—had always known—misbehavior guaranteed attention. And at some point…it had become some sort of twisted game: proving she was every bit the disgrace they expected her to be. Worse.
Rebel, Franny, her subconscious whispered.They think you’re terrible? You’ll see their bet and raise them even more outrageous behavior.
She drowned out the voice, doused the heady thrill starting up in her veins at the thought of showing the world just how reckless she could be. This marriage was her last chance. And she had a feeling that making her husband evenmorecross probably wasn’t the best way to go about things. Even if every impulse inside her was screaming to revert to defiant behavior.
“Lord Rutledge mentioned the household accounts,” she called over her shoulder. “Are there any other things I should be aware of that will require my attention?”
“The main thing upcoming is the Midsummer’s Eve festival in two weeks’ time. The Manor always provides the feast for the festival. If Your Ladyship would like, you can take part in the preparations.”
