Page 21 of Madcap with a Marquess
On that note, I saw yet another horrifying scandal in The Morning Chronicles involving those dreadful men you used to associate with at Harrow. It was absolutely abhorrent. I am so proud of you for cutting ties with such company. You always make me so proud, dear Rupert.
I know life has not been easy on either of us. Your father’s long illness left us both without the guidance of a proper man in the household. But I have raised you to be strong. I see it every day in the way you hold yourself, the way you command a room. Your father would be so very proud. Stay on this path, my darling boy, and Prime Minister is sure to be yours for the taking.
The very thought—it brings tears to my eyes. My son Prime Minister! I know sometimes it is a heavy burden to bear. It is in those moments when doubt and uncertainty seep in that you must remember who truly knows you best. I believe in you, Rupert, even when you don’t believe in yourself.
I do hope your new wife understands the pressures you face and supports you as a dutiful wife should. I have arranged a series of teas I will attend with individuals whose influence will be crucial to your advancement in Parliament. Everything I do, I do with your best interest at heart.
Your Loving Mother
His fingers trembled as a wave of guilt crashed over him. He placed the letter down, flattening it against the desktop. She wanted what was best for him. Knew his potential and wanted to help him reach it.
But you don’t want that future.
He was being selfish. She was correct. She had raised him to be strong, done everything she could to show him the way of a man when the head of their household wasn’t capable of such a task. Perhaps it was merely fatigue, perhaps the doubt and uncertaintywereseeping in. His gaze drifted to his drawers again, his mind falling back to the speech he needed to write. On ideals he sometimes doubted he even believed in.
It is in those moments when doubt and uncertainty seep in that you must remember who truly knows you best. I believe in you, Rupert, even when you don’t believe in yourself.
He folded up his mother’s letter and began preparing an outline for his speech.
12
Rupert
RupertpeeredatFrannyfrom his seat across the Rutledge dining table. Head bowed, crowned with a mass of black curls, she absently stirred her soup, not eating, not speaking, just stirring.
Her lady’s maid had woven gold ribbons through her elaborate coiffure, and she wore a pretty, albeit somewhat weathered, olive gown. He quite liked the effect it had on her eyes. When he happened to get a glimpse of them. Which, so far, this evening had been very rare.
He had always been struck by her eyes. They appeared to be some combination of a forest in the height of summer, a striation of deep greens with the sun’s gold light bursting around the pupils. They were the bane of his existence growing up. He’d never been able to look away. Get them out of his head. Out of his dreams.
Even in the dim candlelight he could tell she was somewhere else, quiet. Not typical Franny. And he was the reason. The hurt on her face when he had left her in the hands of Mrs. Higgens came rushing back. He winced. Not left.Abandoned, you arse.
He hadn’t meant to abandon her. But she wanted to talk about last night. Buthecouldn’t talk about last night, not without the rage he felt for himself flaying his sinful skin from his bones. He thought a hard ride would help, that maybe if he rode hard enough, he could outrun the shame. But the minute he saw her being handed down from the carriage, remorse had swallowed him whole again.
He’d lost control last night, and heneverlost control. He had taken his wife like a brute, bitten her, made herbleed. Granted, that was typical of virgins. But, Christ, she had been a virgin. It was painful for maidens, even when a husband was considerate and gentle. And he’d rutted her like a bull. He hadn’t even asked her if she was well afterwards. He was making a complete muck of his marriage, and it was only day two. He needed to make it up to her.
He cleared his throat. “Is there something particularly interesting in that soup of yours?”
She lifted her head, sending a smile that didn’t reach her eyes his way. “Oh, no. It is a quite delicious soup, my lord.” Her gaze dropped back to her bowl.
Yes, it must bequite delicious, given she hadn’t even tried it yet. And there was that “my lord” again. Why did she keep ‘my lording’him? Formal and quiet Franny was never a good sign.
Unease crawled over Rupert’s skin. He discreetly scanned the table, laid out with the Rutledge’s finest China. His gaze homed in on a dish to his left covered by a sterling silver dome, and he narrowed his eyes. He glanced sharply at Franny. Suspiciously subdued Franny. Quite clearly displeased-with-Rupert Franny. She wouldn’t—
His hand shot out, and he lifted the lid. Pheasant. Roasted.Notalive. Not a collection of field mice…like that time he had left his coat unattended while skipping stones by the pond.
“Are you well, my lord?” Franny asked, eyeing him as if he had lost his faculties.
He supposed he had.
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Quite well, I was confirming I wasn’t going to discover a family of field mice instead of roast pheasant under here.” He carefully lowered the lid.
Her lips twitched.Ah, we have a sign of life!His heart skipped across his ribcage.
“I wouldnever, my lord.” She blinked large green innocent-but-not-innocent eyes at him.
He snorted. “Perhaps not at dinner.”
She pressed her lips together, but they curved up a minuscule amount. He noticed. He always noticed with her.
