Page 70 of Madcap with a Marquess
“You were saying?” he prodded, shoving away the convoluted lust attempting to cloud his mind.
Franny drew in a slow breath. “Our class may put us above them, but those very people you and your mother think so little of are the ones who saved me, Rupert. They are who made it so I could endure all those years living under the Earl’s rule.”
An uncomfortable, thick film of self-loathing settled over him. It was itchy and made his skin crawl, and he wanted to be rid of it.
She leaned forward. “I am not going to guess at why your mother believes what she does. But I know the Earl and how he treated his tenants. Trust me when I say that is not a man you want to emulate.”
Rupert opened his mouth, but hesitated. Why was it that whenever his wife spoke, he questioned everything he had ever been taught, everything he had thought he had understood about theway things should be done?
“I plan to go, Rupert. And I hope that you will join me. I hope me going will not disappoint you.” Her words ended small and soft, and they tore his heart apart more aptly than a cutlass.
“I am pleased you are going, Franny. I think this change in the way we Winthrops interact with our tenants is full of merit. Despite my earlier protestations.”
Her eyes lit up, gold stars bursting in green irises.
“However.” Her beautiful eyes dimmed the instant his lips started forming the word, and it was as though the entire room dimmed as well. “I have much to do here, and joining in a day and night of revelry will only detract from it.”
He forced as much sincerity as he could behind his smile. This would work out well. It provided him with some time away from her, away from temptation, while she was doing something she enjoyed. Where she could be happy. “I will look forward to hearing all about the festival when you return.”
A smile curved her pink lips, but it was one of those smiles that only affected a person’s lips. The light behind her eyes was still gone, the corners of her eyes didn’t crinkle, her cheeks didn’t bunch. A smile that didn’t do anything a smile should.
“I am glad you take no issue with me attending,” she said softly. “That means a great deal to me. But please think on it. I would dearly love for you to join me.”
A part of him—a fundamental part—felt as though it was being pulled in two directions. The desire to be with her, to let go of rigid propriety, spend a day and night free from it all, warred with the need to reset himself, regain control. It was an odd, disorienting feeling. Deep down, he knew he wanted to change, to question what he’d been raised to believe. But it was like he was fighting one-and-twenty years of conditioning, like trying to cut away deep-rooted weeds that only grew back thicker, more stubborn.
He felt…adrift, had no clear sense of who he was anymore. But with Franny by his side, he was hopeful whoever he became would be a much better version than the man he was trying to leave behind.
“I will think on it,” he said gruffly.
35
Franny
Frannymeanderedthroughthecrowded village green, a sea of faces illuminated by the flickering flames of the bonfire greeting her. She smiled, nodded, waved at the revelers as she strolled. A warm light breeze kicked up, carrying with it the smoky scent of roasting meats. All and all a splendid day.
Except Rupert hadn’t joined her.
When she had stopped in his study quickly before departing for the festival, she had been so stupidly full of hope. She knew he had been hesitant the day before, but things had been so dreadfully pleasant between them lately. She could have sworn she saw a spark of excitement light in his warm brown eyes at the mention of the festival. She thought he just needed some time to get accustomed to the idea.
But no, he was busy withpressingbusiness matters. She was starting to wonder if he was terrible at business matters. They always seemed to be pressing. If one addressed them, wouldn’t they stop pressing? Or press less?
She let out a heavy sigh, swinging her woven basket full of goodies from the stalls she had stopped by earlier during the day.
“Here you are,” Billy Doherty said, his low voice blending with the beat of the drums, and handed Franny a cask of wine.
She set down her basket and shot a small smile up at him, hoping it didn’t look as sad as she felt. “Thank you, Billy.”
It wasn’t as though she was unhappy. Things were improving with Rupert. Though he wouldn’t bed her and seemed to be avoiding touching her. And she got the feeling he was holding back. She stared up into the starry sky. She wanted them to be free, be Franny and Rupert; no restrictions, no expectations, just them. And she thought that version of Franny and Rupert would very much enjoy this night’s revelry.
But that wasn’t to be. And she wasn’t going to be Friday-faced over it. She held up her cask to Billy. “Cheers?”
He tapped his jug of ale to her cask and bestowed a warm smile on her. “Cheers.”
They turned and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring out at the three bonfires lighting up the night. Men and women and children alike danced to the vibrant melody of a fiddle and jingle of a tambourine, a group of men singing with deep, rich baritones. The sun had long since set and the fires lit.
“Why are there three?” she asked and sipped her wine. She needed a distraction from the melancholy mixing unpleasantly with the sweet wine in her belly.
“Each has a different power. There is the Bonnefyre, which is made of solely bones, the Wakefyre, which is made solely of clean wood, and the St. John’s Fire, which is a mixture of both. They ward off evil spirits and appease the fairy folk.” He bumped into her shoulder, and she looked up at his grinning face. “It is said the St. John’s Fire is so powerful it can even ward off dragons.”
