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Francesca opened the door to the parlor, the grand oak doors creaking as they moved. It had been almost seven months since she’d been at Aubrey Hall, and she’d never imagined that her return would be under these circumstances. She’d managed to slip away from the small crowd of mourners, most of them her own family, and wandered somewhat aimlessly through the halls of her childhood home. At some point, almost predictably, she’d found herself standing outside of the parlor. As she entered, her eyes immediately fixed on the large grand piano in the center of the room.
Her hands shook as she approached it, slowly removing the key runner and seating herself on the bench. As if autonomously, her fingers entered their positions, ready to play. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember the notes to a song that always made her feel better when she was a young girl.
But they never came. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t recall whether the A came before the D, or the E# before the C.
John had always loved her music. After many a late supper, they’d retire to the lounge, where he’d happily sit in his favorite chaise, listening to her play contentedly for hours. His ears seemed to be turned away from stray wrong notes, though Francesca rarely played any. He’d always have a superfluous yet genuine note at the end of her piece, and it was, in a way, their way of unwinding after a long day.
Before she knew it, tears were falling onto the ivory keys. In the rush of the last week since John had passed, she’d had seldom time to herself, and she was beginning to realize that she missed not having time for her thoughts.
Her grief was not dangerous, but it was all-consuming.
Francesca had always prided herself on being even-tempered…it took quite a lot to cause her to break down. She constantly strived to be the level-headed one in any situation, especially in her family of very hot-headed people. She considered herself to be kind and true, and to her knowledge, she had never asked for anything in return, nothing at all. She’d never even given it a second thought.
But this? This was cruel.
Francesca had never particularly been a woman of faith, but she had spent a lot of time in the past week mentally cursing whatever god or divine being had cast this devastating fate unto her.
The widow’s fate. The very same fate that had fallen upon her mother at the age of thirty-six. But Francesca was merely twenty-two, and she was spiraling.
There was a tentative knock on the door, and before Francesca could ask who it was, her mother was walking inside.
“Oh, dearest. We have been looking for you.”
Francesca continued to stare at the piano, fingers still poised on the keys. “I needed some time.”
Violet nodded, slowly making her way to where Francesca was sitting. She continued to gaze at her as she lowered herself onto the couch.
Francesca finally looked up, tears streaming down her face.
“Darling, I don’t-” Violet started.
“I’m with child,” Francesca whispered. Her mother’s eyes widened in shock and then closed as she processed the news.
“ Francesca.”
Violet immediately got up out of her seat to embrace her daughter. “Since when have you known?” She asked quietly.
“The day after John died. He never…he never got to…” She couldn’t finish her sentence; instead, her breath came out in hyperventilating gasps. Her mother reached out to her, but Francesca involuntarily moved away.
“Francesca, I understand, I really do. This pain, it will pass. It shall pass, I promise you. You need not worry about the baby, we will take care of everything. Perhaps you can move to Aubrey full time.”
“You do not understand,” Francesca whispered.
“What?”
“You don’t understand this. Not fully.”
Violet looked slightly taken aback. “Surely I need not remind you of your father-”
“Oh, but mother you had years with him!” Francesca had raised her voice, but she could not bring herself to care. “You had eight, eight children with papa, and you got eighteen years with him.”
Her voice broke, and with it her resolve. “I had less than two years with the man that I- the man that I thought I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. He’s gone, he’s gone.”
Violet was at a loss for words, hurt flashing across her features. Francesca knew she was not being fair to her mother, but she could not stop the words that had been manifesting in her mind the past few days.
She lowered her voice so it was barely above a whisper. “I look at all of my siblings, in their happy marriages, with their children that they get to raise together, and it makes me ache. I physically cannot breathe. And I hate myself for feeling so, but Mama, I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to be around them. It only reminds me of what I have, which is nothing. This child will never know their father, and they will have no siblings to share their memories of him or with. I am two and twenty and I am cursed to spend the rest of my life alone. How is that fair? How is any of this fair? I am a good person. Why is this happening to me?”
Her mother was looking at her with a mixture of pity and the tiniest bit of fear. “You are upset. You need your rest. Please, go to bed, we will discuss this more in the morning.”
Francesca scoffed. “I need to go back to Kilmartin. Some things need to be done, and I’ve already been away for too long.”
“The funeral was just this evening, dearest, surely you need your rest-”
“Please, can you leave, Mama? I would like time to myself.”
Violet looked at her, eyes pleading. “Francesca,”
“ Please.”
Her mother nodded her head, making her way toward the door. She paused at the entrance, turning back to smile sadly at Francesca. “You are right. I had many years with your father, but it was not enough. It will never be enough. I will always wish for more time with him, even now. While I may not understand this heartache at such a young age, I most certainly know what it feels like to lose the one you love. The one you live for.”
“Mama, I didn’t mean-”
“You do not need to apologize, I only wish you to be kind to yourself and your unborn child. Lord knows you will need that kindness.”
And with that, she left, leaving Francesca to feel absolutely horrible. She had never spoken to her mother that way, and she could already feel the guilt starting to seep in.
Not even ten minutes after her mother had left, there was another knock on the door.
“Fran? It’s Anthony. May I, er, may I come in?”
Francesca got up, making her way to the door and opening it to find her eldest brother, whose eyes immediately softened when he saw her.
She looked solemnly up at him. “Have you come to admonish me too?” She asked dryly.
Anthony looked confused, shaking his head. She could tell that he felt very awkward standing there, and so she gestured behind her, inviting him inside.
But he didn’t move. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mother told me about the baby.”
“She told you about the baby.” She repeated.
“Francesca, you must know that I will do everything in my power to ensure that the child is fully taken care of. I’ll speak with the solicitor tomorrow, and we will set up a trust…”
He was speaking the way he always did when talking of official Viscount business. He sounded as though he was recalling a mental checklist of tasks; after all, this was not his first time conducting these types of affairs.
“...And I shall travel back with you to Kilmartin, where we will meet with your accountants and solicitors. I will show you how to balance the ledgers, at least until we know the sex of the…Frannie?”
He stopped talking when he noticed her crying. Granted, he’d witnessed her crying quite a fair bit in the last few days, but Anthony had always had a soft spot for his second youngest sister. She’d always been so pleasant, and in the earlier days of his Viscountancy, when the world had felt as though it was swallowing him whole, Francesca had always been a little light in all the chaos. She’d never really been difficult, and, while he’d obviously cared for her as much as he did his other siblings, Anthony never really had to worry about her, and that was the greatest gift she could have given him at the time.
“Francesca.”
“I'm sorry, I just-” She finally, completely, broke down. Hearing Anthony doing what he did best, taking control , had made everything so much more real.
“I’m not ready…to move on…to…I cannot…” She gasped as he wrapped his arms around her.
Anthony had always been the closest thing she’d had to a father, and right now she needed to cry to her father.
Anthony was entirely unsure of what to do. He’d done this once before, and his heart broke for what he assumed his little sister was feeling at the moment. He tried to think of how he might console little Edmund or Miles, whenever they had a particularly bad day, or how he’d held Kate when Newton had passed.
“It’s ok, Fran, you’re ok” He soothed as he rubbed comforting circles on her back.
But Francesca wouldn’t stop crying. She sobbed herself into exhaustion, collapsing in Anthony’s arms as she finally wore herself out. He figured all this crying could not possibly be good for her baby, but at the moment all that mattered was his sister and her grief.
At some point, they’d ended up sitting on the floor. Anthony continued to stroke her hair, even as she eventually fell asleep. His own eyes began to water as he looked down at her. He remembered how utterly distraught and unreachable his mother had been when his father passed away. Francesca was already doing loads better, despite the current moment. She’d stopped needing him as early as her twelfth year when she went off to Scotland for boarding school. She’d always seemed to be content with her quiet life, playing piano and writing to her heart's content. Anthony would have been willing to indulge her with a thousand of the finest grand pianos if it kept her happy.
After what felt like an eternity, Anthony’s legs were starting to cramp from sitting in the same position for so long, and Francesca didn’t seem to be waking up anytime soon. As gently as he possibly could, he picked her up, carrying her out of the parlor and up the stairs, to her childhood bedroom. Lord knew when the bed had last been changed, or the windows dusted, all Anthony knew was that Fran would want to be in her room.
He put her to bed, taking pains to ensure her comfort as much as possible. When he was sure she was asleep, he slowly got up to walk to the door when he saw his wife standing there, watching him with sad eyes.
“I haven’t put her to bed since she was nine,” Anthony whispered, his voice breaking. “She’s so grown up now, yet so young.”
Kate nodded, reaching out for him. “She doesn’t deserve this.”
“No, she does not.”
Anthony gathered Kate in his arms, inhaling deeply into her hair. “I don’t know what to do, love. She needs her father, and I am not her father.”
Kate kissed his temple. “You’re the closest thing she’s ever had to one. You’re doing enough. She has her mother, her siblings, the whole family.”
His grip tightened on her as his tears began to fall. “She just looks so broken , Kate. And for her to have to carry and raise his child, without him? I could never, never know what to do if you…if you…”
Kate shushed him, using the pad of her thumbs to wipe away his tears. “I am here, Anthony. I am here. The only thing we can do for Fran is be there. Whatever she wants, we are there.”
He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I am so lucky. Lord above, I am the luckiest man alive, you know that?”
Kate smiled softly. “I know. Now, you need your rest too. You’ll have a busy few weeks ahead of you.”
Anthony nodded, his eyes closed. “There is a lot to be done.”
“And none of it can be done properly if you are weary. Come, let’s get you to bed.”
“I suppose you are right.”
“I’m rarely wrong.”
Damn it, that woman.
But Anthony allowed himself to be dragged to their bed-chamber, and subsequently to bed.
And during the night, he held onto Kate a little tighter than he normally did, and she was smart enough to not ask why.