Chapter Text
Francesca slumped even further down into her bar stool, watching the bubbles in her champagne flute float upwards. She was at an engagement party. Yet another engagement party.
She felt as though she was always at engagement parties.
Either those or weddings.
Or baby showers.
Last May, she attended one of each on back-to-back-to-back weekends. And then she spent the fourth weekend at a hen do.
Apparently, this was her life now. It shouldn't be all that surprising. Being a middle child among seven siblings, lifetime milestones among her brothers and sisters alone added up. Francesca somehow maintained a livelier social circle than she had any idea how to handle as well.
She loved her friends and family, she really did. She cherished this embarrassment of riches of people who loved her and wanted to spend time with her.
But she loved silence too. Perhaps she loved silence more. She loved quiet days spent alone doing as she wished, when she wished. Her favorite company was her own, after all. She'd learned that at a young age amidst never-ending chaos at home.
Nonetheless, she showed up. That's why she sat here, at another social event when she'd rather be home in her comfortable—yet still coordinated and put-together—loungewear. She'd stay for the requisite time necessary for an obligation like this—her mother having raised children who were polite practically to a fault—and then make the proper goodbyes before heading back to her flat and curling up with a book and a cup of herbal tea.
And truly, this being an event for a friend was preferable to it being an event with family. Not that Francesca hated her family. Quite the opposite. She loved them all dearly, they could just exhaust her. Not solely because of the perpetual noise and commotion but also thanks to the incessant questioning regarding her romantic life. It mainly came from her mother, but her siblings were known to participate as well. And worse, there'd been an uptick in this particular line of questioning lately.
When will you get married, Fran?
Why don't you go out on a date soon? Or to a club? Speed dating, maybe?
I've met the most wonderful man that I'd love to set you up with.
And on and on and on.
And on.
They framed it as wanting Francesca to be happy. All of her older siblings, sans Eloise, had found love. Anthony, Benedict, Colin, and Daphne were all happily wed parents at this point and seemed quite determined to proselytize this lifestyle as though the entire foundation of lifelong happiness depended on it. She could bond with Eloise in eschewing what seemed to be a genetic compulsion for needing marriage as quickly as possible that came inherently with being a Bridgerton, but even their younger siblings would try to push the two women towards finding love.
And their mother—oh God, their mother—was the worst of all.
Fran meant it lovingly, but she still meant it with full conviction. Her mother had deeply loved her father from the moment they met and it persisted on even now after his passing. She wanted nothing more than for her children to find the same and now most of her children had. Despite Eloise being older than Francesca, their mother pushed marriage more heavily on Fran. Maybe it was because she'd shown at least cursory interest in dating in the past where Eloise hadn't.
But all that'd done was make Francesca less interested in the whole matter!
Nobody had stood out besides John, rest his soul, and even John had never stood out Francesca believed a match should stand out. She cared for John—even loved him, in her own way—but she never had been in love with him. She never felt any all-encompassing passion with him. Their relationship had felt akin to spending time with a very close friend, which while quite lovely, wasn't the feeling it was intended to inspire.
Eventually, they'd both mutually acknowledged they worked far better as friends. It'd been a relief to Fran, who had spent countless nights agonizing over not feeling the things she was intended to feel for a man who was so kind and handsome. Knowing he felt similarly about her provided a strange comfort. He ended up being one of the best friends she'd ever had, even. One of the people she most easily could spend time around, one of the people who best understood her.
Until he passed suddenly from an aneurysm in his sleep.
It'd been crushing for Fran.
Her mother had read her grief as further evidence that Fran had been in love, but that simply wasn't the case. It'd felt like she imagined losing a brother would. Even two years out from the shock of it all, the memory of John still elicited a pang of sadness in her heart.
And now, her thoughts had returned to him again.
She sat up, taking another drink of the champagne and doing her best to filter out the din of party noise surrounding her. She'd said the customary greetings to the hosts, knowing the groom-to-be from an old job, and then sat alone at the bar for the rest of the time she'd been here. She recognized almost no one in attendance and the people she did know seemed quite taken by conversations with others who were strangers to Fran. So she was more than content to sit alone and periodically check the time, waiting for a good opportunity to leave.
"Fran! What a delight."
The voice made Francesca's head shoot up, eyes scanning the room. She'd recognize it anywhere—joyful, boisterous, and just a bit playful. Almost teasing.
Michaela Stirling.
Fran's eyes met hers and she felt herself break out into a wide grin, moving to stand and embrace the other woman in a tight hug.
It'd been too long since they'd seen each other.
Michaela was John's cousin, but their relationship felt more akin to brother and sister. She'd known Michaela practically as long as she'd known John.
Well, longer now. The thought carried an almost physical pain as it hit her, but she did her best to push it down by squeezing Michaela a bit closer towards her.
Fran and Michaela hadn't spent any time alone until after John's passing but they'd spent plenty of time mutually in his presence while John was alive and dating Fran. He'd made it clear—jokingly, but with a note of sincerity underneath—that they were essentially a package deal. He couldn't seriously be with anyone whom didn't like Michaela or whom Michaela didn't like.
Thankfully, after a few initial growing pains, they'd gotten on well. Despite being utterly different as people, with nearly diametrically opposed personalities, they complemented each other surprisingly well. Since John's passing, Fran had learned they understood each other quite well too. They'd made a commitment to spend time together, tearfully hugging at the wake and promising it.
That plan encountered roadblocks. Immediately, even. Michaela had fled for a few months, ignoring every text and call from Fran. Then, upon her return, their friendship had struggled to recover from Michaela's absence—and silence—and to adjust to a world where it was just the two of them and not them and John.
But they'd managed. For awhile they met up at least once or twice a month. They'd get coffees or drinks. They'd go on walks or visit museums or catch the occasional concert—including the orchestra twice at Fran's delight.
Then normal life had begun to get in the way and it'd tapered off, slowly at first and then completely. Fran realized now that it'd probably been a good five or six months since they'd last spent time together, though they still exchanged the occasional text.
Seeing her now made Fran feel light in a way she'd forgotten she even could feel. As did the twinkle in Michaela's eyes as they pulled back from their embrace.
"Michaela! You're a sight for sore eyes."
Francesca cringed internally at her words. What an odd way to greet a person. What a decidedly out of character way to greet someone, at that.
Would Michaela take it as her flirting? Fran was the last person you'd expect to be such a blatant flirt. And especially not with Michaela, of all people. She was John's cousin, and well, a woman.
Fran could feel her face flushing in embarrassment, but did her best to suppress the feeling when she saw Michaela light up in response to her words.
"As are you, love." Michaela said it with a wink, ever the purposeful flirt.
Pet names were par for the course for Micki, as were teasing winks and double entendre. Fran hadn't met anyone, man or women, more shameless in it than Michaela and the worst part was how well it worked. She'd seen Michaela make a nun blush without even intending to do it, the coquettish words out before she'd realized her audience.
It'd make Francesca detest anyone else. To be perfectly honest, it's a trait that had bothered her from others.
But from Micki? Well, it further endeared her to Fran. Not that that was particularly hard. It was rare for Francesca to genuinely enjoy a person's company. She appreciated solitude and order. She found silence calming. While she'd grown adept at meeting new people, at socialization and interaction, those were hard skills to avoid developing in the Bridgerton household.
It just depleted her.
It took everything out of her, especially when the other person was a social butterfly.
Unless it was Michaela.
In an attempt to temper her spiraling thoughts, Francesca reached for her drink, taking too big of a gulp of champagne. At least the drinking provided a plausible excuse for the blush blossoming across her cheeks.
"You're here for Sarah and Sam?" Michaela's eyes swept across the party as she spoke.
"Yes. I worked with Sam when I still taught primary."
Fran had taught music formally for a period before realizing she was much better suited to offering private lessons. Children were a delight, but one more easily enjoyed when there were fewer than 25 of them. Sam was also a teacher and they'd gotten on well in her time there, keeping up just enough in the years following to apparently warrant this invite.
"Ah!" Michaela said everything with a level of confidence that astounded Francesca. "Sarah was friends with an ex of mine—Jen—but then somehow ended up more of my friend than Jen's once the breakup came."
Always the exes with Michaela. Exes and the passive voice about the relationships, or more so, their end. Fran didn't remember Jen in particular but had her guess as to how it'd went, as it always went the same for Micki. She'd meet a new woman and thoroughly sweep the poor girl off her feet—each inevitably falling hard and fast for Michaela, one after the next—and then once things edged towards getting serious, Michaela would get cold feet and bail out.
It'd exasperated John but he'd learned better than to try and challenge the pattern. Michaela loved to remind him she never lied, never cheated, never led anyone astray. She was upfront maintained things should remain casual to each and every one of the women who fell in love with her.
It wasn't Francesca's place to judge, nor did she have much of an interest in pushing back on Michaela's choices in her dating life. She hated it when others meddled in her romantic affairs—or lack thereof, she supposed—so she avoided doing it to others. Francesca enjoyed living by simple axioms like treat others as you want to be treated. It helped keep things in order. Helped ensure they made sense. Without rules, there was chaos. And chaos was—
"God, Fran. I really have missed you." Micki leaned forward and kissed Fran's cheek. "It's been far too long."
Michaela had yet to lean back, her body and face still pressed in close to Francesca's. She could smell Micki's perfume, sandalwood and bergamot, mixed in with the warm, earthy scent of shea butter. Plus a sharp hint of alcohol, as she'd clearly imbibed beyond the champagne Fran had enjoyed.
Gin martini or scotch on the rocks, Fran thought to herself idly. Her instant recall of Micki's preferences didn't surprise her at all. Sometimes it felt as though she catalogued every bit of information about the woman that she'd acquired over the years. Often, Fran held herself back from listing out random facts about Michaela in conversations that had nothing to do with her. It was hard to stop her brain from finding even the most tangential connections, however. She'd learned this lesson after Benedict offhandedly mentioned a painting and Fran chimed in that she'd seen it with Micki once at a gallery in Edinburgh, eliciting an odd and strangely knowing look from her brother.
Fran tried to collect herself and her thoughts, tried to find something to say, but focusing on anything besides Michaela's proximity proved a challenge.
"Let's swear not to go months without meeting again, yes?" Michaela smiled, eyes sparkling. "Have to make time for the ones we hold dear."
It relieved her how readily Michaela stepped in when Francesca couldn't find words. She had an uncanny knack for being able to read whether a situation warranted patience, silence, or her moving things along. Fran usually struggled with conversation, at least to some extent. She took longer than most to process what'd been said and how to respond and most people—particularly her siblings—pushed ahead while Fran stayed caught up in thought. Or they'd take a comfortable silence and fill it with pointless chatter. Even worse, people often left Fran floundering in an awkward silence, unsure of what to say.
But Micki never did.
She'd chime in effortlessly when Fran needed someone else to steer a conversation. She'd enjoy silence when nothing needed to be said. And she'd wait for Fran to speak when it was clear cogs were turning in her head. The last had taken some time to work towards—with Micki interrupting Fran enough times to spark a frustrated outburst at one point—but she'd been one of the only people to ever actually put that time in.
"Of course, Micki." Fran said, coming to her senses a bit as Michaela finally settled down onto the bar stool next to her. "How have you been?"
"Stressed. Dreadfully so. It's a whole mess, Frannie." Michaela gestured to the bartender for another drink as she spoke. "Grandfather still hasn't come to terms with my not being John. He's talked of selling the estate instead of passing it down."
Stressed had to be an understatement.
The Stirling Estate meant everything to Michaela. The family had always treated John as the natural heir, with him both being older and a man—damn the patriarchy—but John had every intention of Michaela being a co-equal in running it. He had a slight edge on handling the finances and bureaucracy of it all, but Michaela overflowed with both the passion and competency to run the rest. Over the past few decades, the Stirling Estate had been transformed into a museum of Scottish art and history as well as a working farm, modeling historical farming and pastoral techniques for school visits and the sort.
The plan of running it together as cousins morphed into Michaela gunning to run it herself. Already a jack-of-all-trades when it came to the functioning of the estate, she dedicated herself these past few years to academic study of museum science and then building a career in museum work across London. Plus countless weekends of work out on farms and pastures. Knowing what their grandfather was like, it'd be an uphill battle to convince him Michaela was worthy of manning the estate, but Micki was a fighter.
"You're more than qualified at this point to take things over. Why would he sell? What's become of A Stirling must helm the Stirling Estate?"
"He says I'm too flighty, too much of a risk-taker and lacking in focus." Michaela laughed, mirthlessly. "He's convinced I'll run off to a lesbian commune or suddenly decide to move abroad. Or worse, that I'll run it to the ground because I'm too fixated on—and I quote—chasing hussies."
Michaela threw back her drink—scotch on the rocks, just as Fran had predicated—and then asked for another. While she was more than adept at masking her emotions, Fran could sense the anger simmering underneath the surface. Micki had always felt inadequate in comparison to John, at least in the eyes of the rest of the family. It wasn't due to anything John had done, he thought the world of his cousin. But the rest of the family saw her as unserious, more focused on women and drink than work and legacy.
Fran knew better. Michaela loved her fun—loved parties and socializing and… physical pleasures—but she loved the estate even more. She loved showing children the highland cows and leading tours through the home. Her brain held more history about the family and estate than the rest of the Stirling clan put together. She knew the grounds and each building inside and out and could find a way to help any visitor truly connect with the space, and in turn with Scotland. Even being in London these years had been a sacrifice for Micki, who Fran knew longed to be back amidst the verdant rolling hills.
"Bollocks!" The word slipped out thanks to the champagne Fran had indulged in. "No buyer would do half as good a job running things. And, while you do have your dalliances and vices, they've never made you any less dedicated."
"Ah, but Frannie, grandfather says John would've been settled with a wife and already living on the estate. I apparently am incapable of such domesticity, and thus, unqualified to carry on the Stirling legacy. Can't be bringing back any old broad, he told me."
"Hmmph." Fran shook her head. "That's shortsighted. Foolish, even. You don't need a wife to run a museum."
"And I could find a wife! Could probably invite her to my bed tonight and more than convince her to visit the chapel tomorrow."
The idea made Fran bristle. Michaela bedding another woman was to be expected. Michaela marrying a woman? Fran shuddered. Of course, it wasn't the idea of Michaela finding love on its own that turned Fran off. Micki consistently shown outright disinterest in the whole thing, though. With Francesca herself hating the incessant push towards marriage, why would she push Michaela towards it? Michaela genuinely wanting marriage would be one thing, but doing it out of obligation when she'd already proven her worth to the Stirling Estate was another.
"Is that your goal for the night, then?" Fran's voice cracked.
"I want to run the estate as John and I planned. If that means a marriage, so be it. There are worse ways for life to turn out than marriage to a beautiful woman."
"She'll be beautiful, then?" Fran tried to mirror Michaela's lightness, even as her chest constricted.
"Look at me!" Michaela said with a flourish. "Of course she'll be."
"Would it fix things? Convince your grandfather?"
"I'm not sure, truthfully." Michaela's gaze dropped, expression forlorn. "But it's worth trying. Not marriage immediately, of course. But to settle down, so to speak. Present as though I've been in a serious ongoing relationship that's quickly moving towards marriage. See if that tips the scales."
Francesca swirled her champagne and sighed. Michaela was likely right. Trying to secure her inheritance would be preferable to doing nothing—to rolling over and taking it. But the idea still upset Francesca. Michaela deserved better than a random woman who would be chasing money.
Oh, that's unfair, Fran chastened herself internally. Michaela offered more than money. So much more.
Michaela was gorgeous, funny, and vibrant. Francesca hadn't meant anyone more compelling—more engaging, more captivating, better to spend time with.. And, while Fran had no firsthand experience with Michaela's amorous side—nor did she desire any—she figured Michaela had to be doing something right based on her record of seductions. Fran may be straight but she also had eyes. She'd seen the women Michaela had short-lived flings with, had met more than a few when out with John or at one of the gay clubs Benedict would occasionally goad her into coming along to. Plus the ones that had actually become girlfriends, though none ever stuck. Michaela never wanted for beautiful companionship and she'd broken more than a few hearts.
"And it's what you want?" Fran tried and failed to keep her voice even.
"I want the estate. If it means marriage, then marriage I'll chase." Michaela downed her scotch, tongue licking her lips as it went down. "But enough about me, how are you, love?"
"Same as ever. Lessons are going well. Clientele stays steady. Busy as always with various family happenings. Wouldn't be surprised to see at least another baby and proposal within the year." Fran laughed in spite of herself. "And the same pressure to find someone for myself."
"No lucky man on the horizon?" Something flashed in Michaela's eyes as she asked.
"Oh, sod off, Micki. Not you too!" Fran dropped her head to hands sighing.
"What? You're a dashing young woman. You could snag anyone you set your eye. Maybe it's time a love match—" Michaela trailed off into laughter. "I jest, I jest. Not about your being beautiful of course, nor your ability to date. But I know you're uninterested. No need to pile on. You've got 28 siblings and a mother to do that."
"That makes one person willing to spare me."
Conversation flowed easily from there. Micki had always been such a natural conversationalist in ways Fran couldn't even dream of, but she still managed to never make Fran feel inadequate. Speaking to her again after months apart felt akin to coming home after too long sleeping in a hotel bed. It felt safe and familiar, almost warm.
Eventually, Fran yawned, not accustomed to late nights. Micki glanced down at her watch realizing the time and raised her eyesbrows.
"Ah, I'll be late to meet some mates at a club. I'm the worst at keeping promises made while drunk."
"You're going somewhere else after this? It's close to midnight!"
Fran would be going straight home to bed.
"Exactly, the night is young!"
For two women who couldn't be more different if they tried, they got on shockingly well.
"Would you like to get coffee next weekend? Maybe Saturday?" Fran didn't want to end their night without locking something down.
"Let's make it dinner, love." Michaela kissed her cheek in farewell. "We'll need time to properly catch up. I'll text you."
Fran could feel her cheek burning where Micki's lips had pressed in. Often, she hated touch. Particularly unexpected touch. But Michaela's touch made her heart race. She could still feel the thrummng as Michaela collected her things and left the bar, throwing one final grin at Fran over her shoulder on her way out.
Now she had something to look forward to next weekend that wasn't someone's wedding or bridal shower or christening—a night where she wouldn't be asked when she'd be ready to date again.
What a relief.
Knowing it'd be spent with Micki made it all the better.