Page 47 of Madcap with a Marquess
Franny took it and quickly read it.
You are to return immediately.
- Rupert
Oh, she could strangle the dictatorial arse. She turned to the footman and smiled through stiff cheeks. “Thank you for the message. That will be all.”
“My lady?” he asked uncertainly.
“You are free to return to the manor. Please inform His Lordship I received his missive. As you can see, I am busy here, so I won’t be able to accommodate Lord Rutledge.”
He closed his eyes, and his features contorted at the same time as his cheeks flushed. “Urm, my lady. He said I was not to come back empty-handed.”
She growled. She couldn’t prevent it, couldn’t hold back the frustration. It was like he knew she was happy right now. Were the fates playing some jest on her? Every time Franny is happy, let us steal it away!
A strong, comforting hand settled on her shoulder. “Is everything a’right, imp?” Billy’s familiar gaze searched hers.
Everything in her went weak, tired, ineffective, her body having no desire to support her any longer. She looked up at her friend and shook her head slowly, sadly. “No, Billy. It’s not. But unfortunately, it doesn’t matter.”
His brows drew together, but she was already turning and marching toward her footman. He held out his hands to assist her into the saddle.
She turned to him and smiled with as much warmth as she could muster. It wasn’t the poor man’s fault. “Thank you. You are not the source of my ire. I appreciate the escort.”
He smiled nervously at her and pushed her up into the saddle. “You’re welcome, my lady.”
The footman led the horse back to the cottages where her carriage awaited, the poor man baking in the late spring sun in full livery trudging beside the horse. She would make sure Mrs. Higgens provided him with extra refreshments and rest when they returned. As for her husband… She would provide him with a healthy dose of recalcitrant wife.
25
Rupert
Rupertwassurehiswife’s thundering footsteps could be heard all the way on the continent. He drew in a deep, steadying, and completely ineffective breath from where he sat behind his large rosewood desk.
The footsteps were closer now. He gripped the tops of his thighs.
It was amazing how his slight wife could pound her feet into the floor with the same force as thunder. He had known this conversation wasn’t going to go well before his wife made her furious presence known. His features contorted, but he quickly flattened them, smoothing out the corners.
His mother’s words scraped through his mind, sharp and overloud.One does not debase one’s status by associating with the drudges.
Franny burst into his study, yellow and orange pinstriped skirts swirling around her like an angry sun. Skirts that were stained with mud around the hem. They were always stained around the hem. She stopped before him, chest heaving and—weak as he was, his gaze dipped to her breasts—breasts slick with sweat.Fuck.He quickly averted his gaze, and it fell to her hands. Gloveless hands. Clenched hands. Dirt-covered hands.
One does not dirty his hands with peasants.
“You summoned me, my lord.” Franny’s words bit at him, teeth that were razor sharp.
He needed to tread carefully here.
“Franny,” he began, and her nostrils flared, her lips pinched. “It has come to my attention that you are…associating with the tenants.”
“Yes, my lord. I have taken on the planning of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. Just as your mother had done.”
A feeble flicker of yearning built in his chest, as it always did upon hearing of the Midsummer’s Eve festival. But the festival was not something a lord took part in. Rupert doused the weak flame.
“We supply the provisions for the feast each year, which my mother had a hand in planning,” he acknowledged. “I applaud your desire to be involved, Franny. But everything you need to do can be done from here. My steward can visit the tenants if you require any additional information. We have planned the feast for years, and there is not much you need to do besides see what my mother has done for past years.”
He tapped his thigh, his gut tightening, bracing for his wife’s explosion.
It didn’t come.
