Page 27 of Madcap with a Marquess
But as she made her way to the familiar cottage, the askance looks thrown her way and the low murmurs had her second guessing her choice to be actively involved in the planning of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. It was clear Lord Rutledge and his mother didn’t enjoy a high level of esteem with their tenants. She hoped this visit would be the start of a change in that. And maybe…maybe she could prove she was good for something, too.
She’d never be the demure, well-behaved wife Rupert wanted. She’d spent too many years flouting propriety. It was so ingrained in her at this point she didn’t know how to be anything else. But this? Franny could see herself being happy doing things like this. Maybe there was a place for her, after all; somewhere where she provided value and didn’t have to force herself into a mold that would never fit.
Soft-grey stone cottages with dark, weathered thatched roofs dotted the pebbled lane, large plots of seemingly endless green farmland separating them. On occasion, two cottages were situated relatively close, butted up to the plot line.
She approached one such cottage, pushed through the small wooden gate in front of the home, and paused before the familiar white door with ivy crawling up to the thatched roof on either side.
Stop being silly, Franny. You will be welcomed here.
She let out a breath and knocked.
The muffled thud of footsteps sounded, growing louder, and then the door swung open. A rosy, round-cheeked mature woman with dark auburn curls piled atop her head stood before Franny.
The woman’s face broke into an ear-to-ear smile, and her hands came together in a flurry of clapping. “Lady Francine! Oh, sweetheart, it is a joy to see you. Come in, come in!”
Franny grinned as she was ushered into the woman’s kitchen before she had a chance to say a word.
“It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Doherty. It has been much too long.” Franny lifted her basket and gave it a little wiggle. “I have brought some provisions.”
They settled at the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen, and Franny took in the home with a soft sigh. Just as she remembered. The front of the cottage was entirely open. A small kitchen blended right into the sitting area, where two armchairs and a lone settee rested before the modest hearth. Six chairs lined the walls near the kitchen, which would be pulled up to the wood table when it was mealtime. Meals Franny had joined in many times growing up.
Mrs. Doherty’s hazel eyes went wide, and she dropped her gently curved form in a curtsy. “Oh, heavens! My lady! It has taken place then, the wedding to the Marquess. You have my congratulations, darling—my lady.”
Franny pressed her lips together, stifling a rising chuckle. She swept out her arm before her. “I am now Francine Winthrop, Marchioness of Rutledge,” she said in a low Major Domo voice. They shared a small smile. “Please, Mrs. Doherty, you can call me darling or sweetheart as much as you’d like. It doesn’t feel right to have you call me ‘my lady’. Not when I’ve chased your pigs through the village.”
Mrs. Doherty’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, that was quite the day. You know, I’m still not convinced Billy hadn’t let the pigs loose on purpose, so you’d end up covered head to toe in mud.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” Franny said with a nostalgic smile. “Little Billy’s revenge for the time I beat him skipping stones in the river.”
Franny pushed her basket toward Mrs. Doherty. “I brought some essentials from the Rutledge Manor: pantry staples and cured meats, soaps, bandages, sewing kits, hair pins…”
“How lovely, my dear. Very thoughtful. Are you visiting and getting to know your tenants, then? Some might remember you coming round here, though that was three years past now.”
“That is my objective. I thought I’d start with a familiar face. My courage nearly deserted me at the looks sent my way. As though I was a mystical being—and possibly dangerous.”
Mrs. Doherty chuckled. “I suppose many tenants would equate the Winthrop family to mystical beings. Talked about but never seen. Lord Rutledge and his steward have always taken good care of us tenants, but I can’t say I’ve ever even laid eyes on the man, nor his mother.”
“That is why I’m here. I would like to change that. I think it would be beneficial if His Lordship and I actually spoke with you about your concerns and needs. We all need each other, and it is of utmost import to me that you are all happy here.”
Mrs. Doherty reached over and squeezed Franny’s hand. “Such a dear. You have always had the largest of hearts.”
“Yes, well, someone had to make up for the fact that my father completely lacked one.” Franny shot Mrs. Doherty a wink, and the woman grinned, but her eyes dimmed. Franny had escaped the Earl’s abuse more times than she could count here in this very kitchen. Until three years ago, when he’d found out.
Franny shoved away the maudlin thoughts and moved on to a happier topic. “The first thing I was hoping to help with is the Midsummer’s Eve festival. I know we usually provide provisions for the feast, but I would love to be involved in other ways, if at all possible.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news! I do hope you will join in the celebration as well.” Her grin turned sly. “It is a merry night of revelry. Perhaps you could convince Lord Rutledge to join. The young people always have such a grand time.”
Franny’s smile faltered. “I will see if I can convince His Lordship. But I will most definitely be there. Do you know any ways—”
“Lady Francine!”
A high-pitched squeal that would have been painful if Franny hadn’t been too excited to care shot through the kitchen. And then Franny was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug—surprising, coming from the waif-like frame of the strawberry-blonde-haired girl giving said hug.
Franny stepped back, hand in hand with the woman one year her junior, and they examined each other.
“Miss Genevieve Doherty. Goodness, is it wonderful to see you,” Franny said, her cheeks aching from the force of her grin.
“This here is Lady Rutledge now,” Mrs. Doherty said to her daughter with a quirk of her brow.
