Page 49 of Madcap with a Marquess
“I see you are unhappy with me, my lord. I shall fix the problem straight-away.”
Back ramrod-straight, chin lifted with a regalness that would rival his mother’s, she glided from the room.
Disquiet built and curdled in his gut. Her acquiescence was anything but reassuring.
26
Franny
Frannyyankedthebreechesfrom her trunk, one of the pairs she’d stolen from her brothers. She glared at the cracked black leather trunk covered in brown leather straps and gold fastenings. Still full of her belongings. Fitting she hadn’t unpacked her things. She was not long for Rutledge Manor, that was for certain.
Did he think she would put up with his tyrannical behavior? She had already been subject to one jailer growing up. She wasn’t going to be handed over to a new one and suffer for the rest of her life.
The only thing that got her through the isolation and the abuse all those years was knowing she would one day get to walk away. Walk away to Rupert, of all people. But still, she had thought he would be a million times better to live with than the Earl.
She had thought wrong.
It had been miserable growing up with that man. Miserable was too tame a word, really. But she would take a jailer who screamed at her, who beat her, who destroyed and took away anything she loved—one she didn’t care about—over one she…. Her eyes fell shut, her heart giving a painful thump.
I have dreamed of this.
Rupert’s admission came rushing back, unwanted and unbidden. And with it, the kiss in the hunting lodge. The first one and last one. One heady and hot and hungry, the other soft and soulful and sacred. The kiss in her chambers. The flowers. He dreamed of her. But it meant nothing—was merely twisted optimism spun by her own imagination. A lonely, pathetic woman’s desperation conjuring nothing into something.
You have never behaved as a proper lady ought.
This would all be so much simpler if you could just be an obedient wife.
I don’t know if I can even take you out in public without risking embarrassment.
Do you understand the humiliation you have brought to me and this family…
Franny shoved her legs into her breeches and shoved away her hurt, stepped on the pain and buried the heartache into the soft sage rug beneath her feet. She had tried. She truly had. But her trying? It wasn't good enough. She would never be what Rupert wanted her to be.
There was no “other man” to walk away to, now. No more chances. And he wanted to take away the only happiness she had left—her tenants.
She was done clinging to something that clearly did not exist. It was up to her. She just needed coin. She would figure out a plan of where she’d go after she had money.
Clearly, the Earl was not a feasible option. Nor were her brothers. They were made from the same ilk as their father. Their abhorrence made more sense now that she knew she was a bastard. They knew, had always known. The reason behind the gleam of disgust in their obsidian eyes, so much like the Earl’s, the reason behind them never acknowledging her presence in a room, even when she spoke directly to them, the reason they'd let their lecherous friends harass her, do what they wanted with her.Attemptto do what they wanted with her. But Franny had always been strong. She had always protected herself, saved herself. And she would again now.
Perhaps she could stay with her best friend, Phi, while she figured things out. She shook her head. Phi’s father would alertLord Rutledgeimmediately, he would never harbor another man’s wife. Another man’s property.
Not a problem to worry about right now. Step one—coin. Step two—figure out the rest.
She grabbed her short stays that tied in the front, shrugged into it and hastily began tightening the ties.As tight as possible, Franny. Make those breasts of yours disappear.
She whisked up a lawn shirt from the trunk and glanced at the looking glass. Bare toes and calves, baggy breeches with the placket hanging open, shirt dangling from her hand, short stays rather feebly flattening her bosom. It was flat-ter.Franny threw the shirt over her head, wriggling her arms into the sleeves. She turned from side to side, inspecting for a hint of the curve of her breasts. She cocked her head. Nothing a waistcoat and wool coat couldn’t hide.
She studied her face in the mirror. There wasn’t anything she could do about her delicate features—her pert nose and thin brows. Her jawline was slender, her chin dainty. Feminine. The opposite of Rupert’s stern, heavy brow and rectangular, solid jaw. He was the hardness to her softness.
Her heart clenched, a fist latching onto it and squeezing with all its might, like how she currently fisted her lawn shirt. But, whereas, whatever gripped her heart succeeded in crushing the life from her, her fist was ineffectual in squeezing away the despair.
Time to decide your own fate, Franny.She set her jaw and stared hard at herself, black hair pulled back tight, soon to be hidden under her bicorne hat. Another item she’d filched from her brothers. She glanced down at the open trunk, no hat in sight. She winced. Most definitelycrushedhat.
No matter. Where she was going, it was probably best she looked a bit…disheveled.
Franny pulled her bicorne hat lower over her forehead, attempting to shield herself more from the other guests who sat with her at the grimy card table in Scythe Tavern.Why do you never think things through, Franny? She tossed down her last shilling.
“Minimum is two shillings,” the man dealing growled, his thick sideburns so bushy they were the same length as the hair on his head. In the dim light of the murky tavern card room, it made him appear to be a face floating in a circle of dark brown hair.
