Work Text:
Fran stares unseeing at the expanse of dark canopy above her bed as the doctor puts the delicate porcelain dish under her elbow.
“It’s clearly the cause of too much blood,” he explains, for what must be the hundredth time in her life, as he ensures the sleeve of her chemise is pushed up and out of the way. Don’t want to ruin the beautiful fabric.
Fran’s so numb to it all, she doesn’t even feel the prick of the sharp instrument on the physician’s thumb but she feels the warm ooze drain over the sensitive skin and into the pristine bowl. It serves as a reminder that Fran is the blight on her family. Her brother is married and the crown jewel and Fran is nothing but a stain on the ornate rug.
The physician places a folded up cloth at her elbow and bends her arm to staunch the flow of Fran’s cruor. She closes her eyes and sighs. No matter how much she protests this treatment it’s all that is ever offered for her melancholia.
***
It’s well past dark and Fran is laying in her bed, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion. The fire has nearly put itself out and she’s lost in the shimmering orange glow of the embers. Sometimes she imagines times past as a young girl, playing in the fresh spring time sun, jumping in puddles and ruining her new dress.
Her stomach twists at the memory, torn between the joy of youth and the shame her mother put upon her for ruining her garment. Fran tries not to think about the dark haired companion who encouraged her to hike up her skirts and walk barefoot in the stream. Those stolen moments were always the best but they’re gone now.
She’s pulled from her thoughts by the rattle of the doorknob and turns half expecting one of the servants to come in and check on her so her mother doesn’t have to. Instead it’s a familiar mop of black hair and twinkling dark eyes that meet her gaze. She blinks, half expecting herself to imagine it. Perhaps the physician took too much blood and this is some sort of heavenly afterlife.
Phillip, her oldest friend, slips in and shuts the door quietly behind him.
“Phillip,” Fran hisses. “Since when have you been back?” Fran asks, sitting up.
“Since I found out Judd is giving up his living to work as a barrister for Paul.”
Fran gives a tired smile. “I heard some rumblings of that.”
“Even locked away in your tower, Frannie?”
“Annie, the maid who’s always been sweet on your eldest brother, came and whispered it to me yesterday morning.”
Phillip sits at her bedside and brushes her hair away from her face. She should blush and shoo him away, it’s indecent to have him here like this. But he’s always been a warm comfort to her, even on her worst days. Sometimes she wishes– Well– As her mother says, not even a rake like Phillip would want to be stuck with her.
“So you know what that means?”
“Hmm?”
“That I have the run of the country estate, my mother will stay in town with Paul. The whole family, of course, will invade every summer– But!” He grins and takes her hands. “I’ll have the run of the place.”
Fran glances away. As much as she’s aware of Phillip’s tendencies it hurts to be reminded of them, especially by him.
“Come with me,” he urges suddenly.
“What?”
“Come with me. Stay with me.”
“You want a sickly maid to take up residence in your estate?”
“No, Frannie. I want my best friend to leave this place that makes her so miserable and doesn’t cherish her.”
Fran bristles. “And what of your mistresses?”
“Please, I haven’t kept one in a year. I don’t see a reason to resume that habit. I have much better ideas for that if you’ll humor me.”
“The physician will be back tomorrow,” Fran says dismissively, certain Phillip is teasing her.
“Then that settles it. We’re leaving tonight.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Phillip stands, looks at her prone form in the bed as if he’s taking some sort of measurement before gathering her up, sheets and all to carry her out into the hall.
“Phillip,” Fran hisses, kicking her feet.
Phillip just shushes her, sets her down, before hoisting her over his broad shoulder. She beats his back with her fists even as he gathers the bedding up so he doesn’t trip on it before descending down the back stairs.
“Phillip, you’re going to get us caught,” Fran whispers.
He doesn’t say anything, just continues to creep down the back stairs.
“You’ll make fools of both of us.”
All she earns from him is a snort before he leaves out the back door.
His boots crunch on the gravel as he walks through the darkness, her heart and breathing are loud in her ears and she wonders if he can hear her heartbeat too. She’s certain they’ll be caught by the house staff and be the scandal of society. Or worse Phillip will be sent to the stocks or made to duel. Not that Fran can imagine anyone who would want to duel for her honor… well, except perhaps Phillip and only because he’d think it’d be some grand adventure.
“Up, ya go,” Phillip says, barely letting her feet touch the grass before he’s lifting her up into the saddle and climbing on behind her. He wraps one arm around her, holding onto her firmly before setting the horse into a gallop.
“Phillip, where are we going? This is ridiculous.”
“We’re going to Horry’s, he’s holding my carriage.”
“This isn’t going to work, Phillip.” Fran stays leaned back in Phililp’s embrace, reminded of their childhood of riding though the pastures, that was until her mother decided she was too old for such fun.
It’s an hour before they’re at Horry’s home, another neighbor and childhood friend, although older than the two of them. He’d been a childhood sweetheart of Phillip’s sister until a bad kick from a horse. He was lucky to have lived.
Phillip dismounts in front of the stable, the carriage and horses at the ready, Horry himself standing watch.
“Didn’t ride her too hard?” Horry asks, taking the bridle and stroking the horse’s muzzle. There’s the tell tale crunch of an apple, a reward for her late night service.
“Of course not. Frannie would never let me,” Phillip jokes.
Fran glares at her supposed captor, pulling the sheets around her when she remembers how she’s dressed.
“The trunk is loaded?” Phillip asks.
“Of course. My mother sends her regards and best wishes,” Horry states.
“Best wishes?” Fran asks.
Phillip doesn’t reply, just lifts her off the horse and carries her to the carriage.
“What’s the meaning of this, Phillip?”
“The meaning of what?”
Fran glares at him and she’s certain that even in the darkness of the carriage he can make out her expression.
“I think you deserve a better life, Frannie.”
He’s always called her that.
“My mother has always hated that name.”
“Yes, but you don’t.”
Fran can’t help the curve of her mouth. He’s the only one she tolerates that name from. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“What if we got married?” He asks her and she wonders when he lost his sense.
Fran scoffs. “You’d want an invalid wife?”
It’s Phillip’s turn to scoff. “You’re hardly an invalid.”
“I know you don’t believe me but there are some days I can’t get out of my bed.”
“Yes and I’d like to think that perhaps a change in scenery and the people around you, might help weaken the hold this infliction has on you.”
“You were always a dreamer, Phillip,” Fran sighs. It’s always been a little tiring to argue with him when he gets an idea.
“You’ve had your moments, too.”
“Oh, of some knight in shining armor coming to take me away? What child doesn't?”
“I may not be a knight, nor am I wearing shining armor, but I hope you’ll see the sentiment is there.”
Fran looks out the window. “Wait, we’re not going to your place?”
“No. You know it’d be the second or third place they’d looked.”
“At least,” Fran agrees.
“At the very least.”
“You really do want to force a marriage,” she says more to herself than him.
“I know you think I’m fanciful but I do love you, Frannie. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
“Phillip–” She says tiredly.
“No. Listen. I’ve loved you since we were children.”
Fran rolls her eyes.
“You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“When I turned nineteen, I asked your father for your hand in marriage. Even asked him what would be required of me to earn such a privilege.”
“What?”
“He denied me of course. Said that I was too young and that a third son wouldn’t be worth your dowry.”
“I–”
“Had no idea. I know. I took it hard on the chin, as is my way and I decided that if I couldn’t be with you then I would just make myself so unavailable that everyone and no one could have
me.”
“And how’d that work out?”
“Well, somehow you didn’t despise me, so better than expected, I’ll admit. However, your family hates me more and more every season. So, if you can tolerate my tarnished reputation then I say we get married at the church next to Wendy’s estate.”
“You truly wish to marry me?”
“Yes.” He sighs, and switches to sit on the bench next to her instead of across from her in the carriage. “I wish you would just believe that I love you.”
“Enough to put up with the worst parts of me?” Fran feels like crying, she’s not sure if she should be happy or feel tricked. Perhaps this is just some dream she’s having. Perhaps this is all some sort of charity to appease the guilt he carries.
“You’re not a thing to put up with. You’re my best friend and perhaps, if you’ll allow it, the love of my life.”
“Phillip, this is– this is—”
“A lot, I know. But if it wasn’t it wouldn’t be me, Frannie.”
Fran’s heart flutters in her chest but all she can see in her mind is him resenting her just like her family.
“Marry me, Frannie. Please.”
“What if– What if you hate me?”
“Not possible. You’re my favorite person.”
“And what if I’m a cold wife?”
“Then we’ll find a way that works for both of us, everyone else be damned. At least let me be your companion. Let me protect you.” His voice cracks with emotion, no longer the carefree facade that he shows everyone but her. “Please, Frannie. I’m not good for much else but I think I can be good at this.”
Fran raises her hand, cups his cheek and is surprised to find a teartrack with her thumb.
“I would have said yes, you know. If my father would have allowed it.”
“And now?”
Fran sucks in a breath. “I don’t think I could accept anyone but you.”
Phillip’s breath hitches and he wraps his arms around her, holding her close. His lips press to her temple as his hand cups her head. “Even in this impetuous way?”
“Don’t make it sound thoughtless, Phillip. I know better.”
His chin hairs and mustache poke at her skin as he kisses her temple.
He leans back on the bench and she follows him, letting him hold her for the remainder of their journey.
***
They are married within a few days, before her family can even consider looking for Phillip at his sister’s, having chosen to search for them on the road to Scotland instead.
“You’ve shamed us, Francine,” Her mother scolds when she finally tracks them down.
“Is it really more shameful than having me hidden away. Did anyone besides the servants even notice?”
Fran’s mother gives a sour expression. “Come Herbert, it seems Francine is determined to make a fool of herself. I refuse to let her make a fool of her family as well.” The older woman stands and turns towards the door.
Phillip protests the insult but it is not heeded by either of her parents who’ve both chosen to decide he doesn’t exist.
“The servants packed your things and the trunk will be unloaded before we depart. I’ll have a letter sent with the information on your dowry. Don’t think you’re ever coming back, Francine. I’ll see you in the poor house before you’re back with us.”
Fran feels like she wants to be sick but Phillip just clasps her hand tighter.
When her parents’ carriage pulls past the drawing room window, Fran is wracked with sobs as she feels the heavy weight of her parents’ burdensome expectations be free of her.
Phillip is next to her in an instant, holding her close, her wailing cries muffled against his chest. When she quiets he carries her up to their room, helps her undress and tucks her under the covers before disrobing and joining her.
“You don’t regret marrying me do you?” He asks as his palm rubs her back.
She shakes her head. “No. I think– I think I’m relieved.”
“We’ll go home in a couple days, get you settled in,” Phillip tells her.
“Tomorrow, can we go down to the stream? It was so lovely when we went the other day.”
“Of course. Anything you want.”
***
The first few days in Phillip’s, now their home, goes quickly. There’s the unpacking of her things, getting to know the servants, and learning the workings of the house. Then there’s getting used to being a wife.
Phillip isn’t demanding. He’s gentle and patient and the thoughts of feeling like she doesn’t deserve him come crashing down upon her after another night of falling asleep with her head on his chest after a chaste kiss.
Fran wakes in the middle of the night, stays awake but lays still. She feels like some opportunist, taking advantage of Phillip while giving him nothing in return. What if he married her out of pity?
Silent tears fall down her cheeks, soaking the pillow. When Phillip wakes just after sunrise, he rolls over, wrapping an arm around her.
“Hey,” he rasps.
Fran can’t make the words come and she dreads the idea that he might send her away or send for the physician.
“Frannie?” Phillip asks, propping up on his elbow to peer over. His concern is thick in the air around her and mars his handsome face. “What’s the matter?” He encourages to roll over so she’s forced to face him.
Fran shakes her head. Tucking her head under his chin he holds her reaching up to ring the bell.
She pushes away in panic, shaking her head.
“I’ll just have them bring up some tea and toast for you. That’s all. No doctors. I promise. Not for this anyways.”
The burst of energy exhausted her so she shifts to lay back down, Phillip guiding her to lay on his chest, his hand gently rubbing her back. But they’re not alone for long before the maid comes in.
“Oh, I’m sorry–” The young woman says before backing out the door.
“No, her ladyship isn’t feeling well. Bring some tea and a tray with some toast. A soft boiled egg or two, as well. As that is what she prefers.”
The maid curtseys before backing out into the hall. Fran’s not hungry but that’s a battle for later.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
The question is so gentle and pleading it nearly breaks her to admit it.
“I fear you regret your decision.”
Philip brushes her hair behind her ear.
“Why’s that?” He asks.
Fran’s throat feels thick. “We’ve not consummated our marriage and I’ve brought this plague to your home.”
He’s quiet for a moment before rolling her back and for a moment she fears that she’s going to leave except he props himself up above her, pinning her under his broad body and his gentle gaze.
“Frannie. Did you want to consummate our marriage?”
“I –” She squirms and glances away.
He sighs, kisses her nose and her cheeks. “If and when we consummate this marriage I want you to be an active and willing participant and none of the nonsense about you being a dutiful wife.” He uses his knuckle to tilt her face towards him. “This is not a marriage of convenience, or to make heirs. This is a marriage of our own choosing. We make the rules, nobody else.”
She feels silly for doubting him and her cheeks burn.
“Come now,” he says, having her sit up. “We'll get some food in you, and go down to the fish pond. The sun is out and I think it'll do you some good.”
It's strange, not having someone suggest she hide away or do some exhausting social thing that she doesn't have the energy for.
“We can even take the horse if you don't feel like walking.”
She sucks in a breath and looks towards the window. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Phillip kisses her forehead. “Then the next time you’re sad we’ll go for a carriage ride. Maybe I can have a special tub made, big enough for the two of us. Really scandalize the house staff.”
Fran chuckles despite herself. “Aren’t they already scandalized?”
“Thankfully the old timers were used to my parents or I think everyone would have fled.”
She sucks in a breath. “I’ll try your fish pond.”
“Good.”
Food and tea dull the sharpness of her melancholy, enough for her to agree to walk down to the pond, the horse ambling behind them.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Fran says, squinting against the bright sun, the brim of her bonnet fluttering in the breeze.
“I’m not.”
Fran looks up at her companion.
“You know, my grandmother had a similar affliction,” Phillip tells her.
“I didn’t.”
“She always did better surrounded by people whom she loved and loved her well in return.”
“Did she tell you that?”
Phillip shakes his head. “It’s in her letters. I found them when I was visiting my parents’ some time ago, during my wayward youth.”
Fran frowns. “Then why weren’t my parents enough?”
“I could ask them the same about you.”
Fran leans her head against his arm.
“Tired?”
“No. I just don’t know how to ever make it equal between us.”
“Smile, Frannie. But only when you feel like it.” He kisses her head again and they walk the short distance to the pond. There’s a small bench waiting for them and Phillip encourages her to settle on the seat while he takes a place in the grass at her knee.
She remembers this pond, from a holiday weekend her family spent with the Altman’s.
“I’m going to catch you the biggest frog, Frannie. Maybe if you kiss it your prince will appear.”
Fran giggled. “You know mama hates it when you call me that.”
“I know. But you don’t.”
Phillip pulls her from the happy memory by resting his chin on her knee and looking up at her. The wind makes his hair fall in his face and Fran reaches to move it out of his eyes. They’re always so clear and warm. A comfort.
“Where’d you go?”
Fran smiles. “I remembered a time here when we were young. You promised to catch me a frog to kiss.”
Phillip barks a laugh, his eyes crinkling in delight. “No princes, I’m afraid. Just me and the frogs.” His hair is so soft against her touch that she continues to brush it away from his face.
“You’re better than any prince, Phillip.”
“You sure about that?”
Her cheeks already hurt from the slight smile that she’s holding. “Very.”
His eyes dance over her face and he pops up from the ground, pecking a chaste kiss to her lips. “Never forget that I do love you very dearly.”
Fran hopes that one day she finally believes it so she can show him the same sort of regard. “I may need reminders from time to time.”
“Easy,” he leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers. This close it’s almost as if the intensity of his gaze swallows her up. “Now. Shall we stay a bit longer?”
“Please.”
“Okay, but then we’re going back for lunch and I’m going to order us a very large bathtub, big enough to swim in.”
Fran laughs and Phillip smiles, pleased. For a moment she can forget the wariness in her bones and the way her throat wants to tighten with tears. She doesn’t stave it off for long, collapsing back into bed after they return from outdoors. Phillip just tucks her back in, and brings his ink and paper in to sit at the small writing desk to keep her company. It’s strange, there’s no demands, no alarm, just calm acceptance, if perhaps what may be an acceptable amount of worry.
The routine stays the same for a few days before its hold breaks away from her.
“Maybe we can practice kissing,” Fran says one morning as Phillip brushes her hair.
“I would love to practice kissing,” Phillip says, returning her gaze in the mirror.
“What comes after kissing?” Fran says with a frown.
“Usually kissing places that aren’t lips.”
Fran blushes.
“Did I scandalize my own wife?” He chuckles.
“Seems beyond wifely duties,” she ponders.
“It is. It’s typically part of the husbandly duties.”
“Husbands have duties?” Fran asks, that’s never how any of it was explained to her.
“Only the very best ones.” Phillip’s expression is smug and she’s certain he’s the strangest sort of husband but he’s the best kind of friend. Perhaps that makes her the luckiest.