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Francesca was utterly overjoyed, as her sister announced her wish to accompany the newly wed couple to Scotland. Partly, at least. She loved Eloise dearly, but she could be a bit… much. Francesca had expected a sanctuary of worldly bothers, even focused on it amongst all the other things to ignore the lingering doubt in her chest. Well, Eloise had promised to stay in her wing of the castle; and it would be relieving to have her around.
Perhaps ‘relieving’ had been an understatement. Truth is, Francesca was petrified by the thought of being alone with John and- whatever even lived in Scotland? Cows? Just her and the lovely husband of hers and cows? As much as she liked the quiet and calm, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. John had mentioned his cousin accompanying them as well, but she failed to see how it could be any better.
When she’d spoken to her mama before the wedding, she’d convinced her. Not Francesca herself.
I think you’ll do great in Scotland.
Sweetest mama, if she only knew!
Perhaps the reason she didn’t express her concerns to her mama was that… they simply shouldn’t exist? John was so loving and considerate, romantic in his own way. She plays her songs and he listens, closes his eyes and cherishes them in silence. He’s certainly handsome as well and there’s no doubt to that. So why did she feel this way? He was more than enough: she’d been blessed with a marriage out of love! Was she truly so greedy, to want and even ache for something deeper?
When alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t help but admit that she’d expected love to be more than that - which is absurd, considering John is her perfect match! How very selfish of her.
Francesca worried that perhaps it was their quiet love that was the issue.
‘Violet and Edmund - a match undeniably made in heaven!’ Whispers alike those had followed her parents for years after their wedding, which her mama hadn’t been quiet about when sharing her thoughts about Francesca’s marriage. Eventually, even she’d accepted the slower approach in their love story, and disagreed with her former questioning towards the pair. Maybe the fire that Francesca and her lover lacked was the loud love. The kind that shouted from the rooftops, confessed its existence in front of the queen in England, interrupted everything else and made its way through lies and deception. She wanted to have that twinkle in her eyes when gazing upon her lover, as her siblings before her had.
Yes, she indeed wished for that twinkle and spark. The loud part she would be fine to leave out, though. Her fear was that it was precisely that that was the key. However, all her time with other suitors had proved that theory wrong, she could safely tell herself. So what was the issue? Francesca wasn’t educated in such mysteries, how could she know!
It didn’t help how… underwhelming their wedding kiss had been, even if the wedding itself had been perfect. At least all three already-married older siblings of hers had seemed rather… dismayed on their (first) weddings anyways.
It worked, convincing herself in the moment. Pushing the troubles away, farther into a closet to be sealed one day with the very key she thought of earlier.
-“Not at all! That is wonderful news!” John smiles, Eloise probably his favorite sister of Francesca’s. Give her a key to the library, and she won’t be a bother, Francesca can imagine. “And thankfully my cousin has finally arrived-“
She’d kept the door ajar for so long, but now the closet had became too tightly packed and she had to lean her full body weight just to keep it shut. She was stuck in crossroads: unable to move and risk letting it all pour out.
“-to complete our travel party.”
In front of her, John stood tall with a hand stretched out for hers to grab. I’m sorry. Francesca couldn’t accept it, not only because she was scared but because she was practically bound to the door.
“It gives me great pleasure to introduce:”
Dare she go as far to say she was chained to the closet’s door?
-“Michaela Stirling.”
How quick and simple it is, to just crumble. Outside of her mind-closet, she fell to her knees and freed herself of the weight pushing the door back. In an instant, the door followed the chains connecting it to Francesca and begun releasing what had been kept inside.
“I caution you, every sordid detail John has spoken of me is a lie - the truth is far worse.” So this is John’s cousin? This lady standing in front of Francesca was the infamous Michaela Stirling? What a wicked woman she must be, is all Francesca can think.
It’s not the complete truth though, because her mind was in a state of war and the only thought she could make out of the mess had been exactly that one. How wicked she must be, to force her onto her knees, breaking her chains and absolutely blazing so carelessly. How come the whole ball hadn’t been brought to halt as soon as she turned around in that black dress? A fire had entered the Featheringtons’, yet nobody seemed to take notice. Should Francesca yell out, warn all the guests that they would all burn did they not run?
What a hilarious possibility, considering Francesca wouldn’t run. She would stand her ground, look the fire straight in the eyes and-
“And you must be?” And so she made haste to scramble herself up, taking in her original position against the door again. She shut it, stopping anything else from escaping. The door was still hard to keep closed - even if she saw parts of whatever had been hidden inside scarper. As soon as possible, had she more or less collected herself and could finally answer the fire who evidently had taken interest in her. Was the mutuality obvious to anyone else?
“Uh, I am,” Keep it together Francesca. “Well I’m… Francesca. Bridgerton. Kilmartin!” She corrected herself immediately, upon realizing her mistake. “Kilmartin is my name now.” Right. Being married to John did have more perquisites than she’d known before! ‘Kilmartin’ was a beautiful last name. Ah, you learn something new every day. In more ways than one.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Michaela simply nodded, as if neither she could see the fire that was her? If Francesca had bought a mirror to her, whom would Michaela see? A wicked woman setting Francesca’s hidden secrets free, or a fire burning on free will, whispering ‘do you feel the heat?’?
Francesca had no answer to her. She’d already let too much slip out, she couldn’t allow herself to be greedy or step away from the door. Only she could be the one to guard it, and she would do it even if it’s the last thing she would do.
However, she now fears it might be too late to go back and stop the door from slowly moving open. The chains connected to it were broken, and in front of her now stood not only John, but a woman dressed in black with scorching eyes. Francesca couldn’t help but to stare back with… something in her eyes as well. She would hate to see her reflection, for it’s not impossible she meets the wicked gaze with a twinkle in her eyes.