Chapter Text
Francesca Bridgerton had long since learned how to disappear in a crowded room. She had her ways of keeping to herself, remaining present but somehow distant. It was an art, really; one that Francesca had mastered long ago. Some may find it a lonely existence to always be in the moment but never a part of it, but Francesca found such comfort in it. There was never a lack of chatter coming from the other Bridgerton children, so it became quite easy for Francesca to stick to the background. Tonight was no different, where the Bridgerton family was attending the Hawthorne Ball. All the debutantés dressed in their finest gowns, their skirts flowing with such grace as they are spun by their suitors on the dance floor. As much as Fran disliked the constant commotion at such events, she also found such beauty in them. Beauty in the way the crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars as light reflected off them, and in the magnificent artwork hung throughout the ballroom. But the part she found especially beautiful was the music. Music had always been Francesca’s preferred language, because it felt as though the melody could convey so much more than words ever could. A song, in its tempo, chord progressions, pace, and octave can portray such powerful emotion, and it utterly entrances Francesca.
Tonight she is standing next to Eloise, almost in the circle of conversation but ensuring she is never too close. She can hear her Mother voicing some concern to Eloise about taking to the dance floor, but that is a conversation Francesca has heard one too many times, so she instead focuses her attention to the melody being played by the violin quartet. The song is slow and peaceful, like a soft summer breeze drifting through tulips in the garden. Fran can almost feel exactly the moment that the notes are conveying; walking through the garden at her home, surrounded by the lovely scents of flowers blooming with vibrant colors that felt like hope. She could listen to this melody for the rest of time and never grow tired of it. The precision with which each note is played, the masterful timing, the —
“Earth to Francesca!” She is abruptly pulled out of her daydream by a wave of Eloise’s hand in front of her face. “What are you looking at?” Eloise questions.
“Sorry, El.” Fran says, embarrassed at being caught getting lost in the music. “Just thinking. What’s wrong?”
“I have a favour to ask of you.” Eloise states matter-of-factly. Fran knows that whatever request that follows will be another one of Eloise’s antics that Francesca has been dealing with since they were children. “Mama is quite literally going to drag me onto the dance floor tonight if I continue refusing for no apparent reason. You would think that it is reason enough that I cannot stand to be in the company of nim-witted men whose conversational tactics only involve asking me about needlework and pianoforte. No offense. Can you please find some way to help me? I will forever be in your debt if you do.” Eloise pleads. Francesca can’t help but to roll her eyes and chuckle. She should have expected that Eloise was going to be looking for an escape route at one point or another this evening. Even though Eloise’s constant rejection of the marriage scene has gotten old, Francesca can’t entirely blame her. Fran knows all too well how it feels to always be in situations that you just do not want to be in, regardless of how much the rest of the family insists on it.
“Fine. I will go find Mama and tell her that I am feeling rather wearisome and that I should like you to accompany me on the carriage ride home. But you owe me after this one.” Fran says with a lighthearted smirk. Even though Eloise was her stubborn little sister, Fran always will have a soft spot for her, no matter how much El gets on her nerves. Fran visually scans the ballroom in search of Violet, and once she spots her, begins to make her way through what feels like endless groups of high-voiced debutantes and gossiping mama’s until she finally reaches her mother. Violet Bridgerton stood in conversation with Lady Danbury, each of them holding a flute of champagne, chuckling away at something until she noticed Francesca walking up to them.
“Francesca my dear. Lady Danbury and I were just commenting on Lord Amherst and how he has grown into quite the accomplished young gentleman.” Violet states with a smile.
“Indeed, Lady Bridgerton.” Lady Danbury adds. “I hear he also has quite a taste for the arts, specifically pianoforte.”
“That’s great. I’m sure he’s a very respectable gentleman.” Francesca responds, ensuring to remain proper while giving them the hint that she is not interested. It had been almost a year and a half since John had passed. Of course, Francesca was devastated when he died so suddenly; it had shaken her entire world. They were married for only a short time, but the love Francesca held in her heart for her late husband would last for eternity. Although the pain had subsided and she found herself able to rejoin society without being constantly reminded of him, she misses him so very much and knows she will miss him every day for the rest of time. Even though she has rejoined society, she hasn’t officially labelled herself on the marriage mart, and truth be told, she doesn’t think she ever will. She had her one great true love, and most people are lucky if they even get one, so Francesca wouldn’t push her luck.
John understood her in a way it felt no one else had. He realised that Francesca operates differently than others. Even from the beginning, John understood that Francesca found comfort in silence rather than forced conversation, and he learned that Francesca’s love for music wasn’t just about the sound of a song. Rather, when Francesca played the pianoforte it was a way of communicating for her. There is no other way to explain it other than he saw her for who she was, and didn’t expect her to or want her to change. That is a rare thing to find, and Francesca doesn’t want to go searching for someone who will understand her. Instead, she has begun to grow a sense of appreciation for being alone.
“Mama, I am beginning to feel quite wearisome. I believe it is time I went home. I have requested Eloise to accompany me on the carriage ride home. I hope you do not mind” Fran said in the sweetest voice she could muster.
“But Francesca, I do believe Eloise was planning to take to the dance floor with Lord Bu-”
“Mama.” Francesca interrupts with an edge of seriousness in her voice.
Violet lets out a long exhale. “Fine. Eloise may accompany you home. Please do remind her that the matter of her finding a suitor is of utmost importance.” She says. “I at least just want her to try.”
“I understand, Mama” Francesca agrees. “I will mention it to her on the ride home” she adds. “Good evening, Lady Danbury” she says with a nod to the old woman before heading back to where Eloise was standing, watching the exchange with a very close eye.
Eloise already knew that her mother had agreed to allow Eloise to go home, so she linked arms with Francesca and the pair began heading to the door. “Thank you Fran. Truly thank you!” Eloise says enthusiastically, giving Francesca’s arm a loving squeeze. Fran just chuckles at that, and the two of them climb into the carriage together, both of them rather glad to be heading home. “So. I know you told me to stop asking, but-”
“Eloise.” Francesca mumbles.
“I’m only asking, sister. Have you heard anything?” Eloise asks in a genuine tone.
“Of course I haven’t. I stopped writing to her months ago.” Francesca says hastily.
“Oh.”
“I know you enjoyed her company El and so did I, but she left without a word and nobody has seen or heard from her in over a year. It’s best for you to forget about her, such as I have already done.” Francesca states in a tone that signals that the conversation is over.
Of course, Eloise can’t help but push further. “If you have truly forgotten her, why do you get so sensitive any time her name is mentioned?” she asks. Francesca doesn’t grant her a response and instead shifts her gaze to outside the carriage window. “Fran, talk to me. You haven’t said a single word to anyone since Michaela left. I know you two were close and I know you are hurt but you won’t talk to anyone about it.”
Francesca wills her face into a stone cold mask and meets her sister's stare. “Eloise, the reason I haven’t talked to anyone about it is because there is nothing to say. She left, and she is not coming back. I was upset when she left because she was my friend, but she is a distant memory now. That’s all there is to say.” Francesca says with finality.
Eloise found herself unable to pry any further, because she knows her sister better than that. Fran may believe that El chose to hold her tongue because she ended the conversation, but in truth, Eloise could see that Fran was still very much emotional about Michaela leaving so abruptly without even saying goodbye. If there is one thing Eloise knows about her sister, it’s not to continue to push her when she is at her limit, which she clearly is.
The rest of the carriage ride was as they usually are with Eloise, with her prattling on about a book she is reading and her dream of attending university, but Fran didn’t mind. She rather likes listening to Eloise talk about the things she is passionate about, especially if it moves the conversation away from Michaela’s absence.
When she first met Michaela, Francesca always felt somewhat unsure of what to say to her. Michaela had such a different personality from anyone Francesca had met before, and Fran found herself somewhat disgruntled in her presence, but also in awe of how a person can be so sure of themself in every situation. As they began spending more time together, Francesca started to get a sense of who Michaela truly was. Fran grew to care deeply for the fascinating, kind-hearted, caring woman that Michaela was. After John passed, Michaela seemed to be the only person who understood what she was feeling. Michaela was there for her during the hardest time of her life, always with a shoulder to cry on or a warm hug that always made Francesca feel as though the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders. Fran felt more connected to Michaela than she had ever felt to another friend in her entire life. They had shared such a special bond, or so Fran thought.
One night, Francesca had brought up the idea that Michaela would stay in London with her for a while. She was afraid to be alone, she realised now. With John’s passing, Fran feared the idea of being all alone with no one to truly understand her. Of course, she had her family, and she loved them all more than life itself, but they never truly saw the real Francesca. Michaela did. Upon her request, Michaela promised that she would stay in Mayfair with Francesca, for as long as she needed. To this day, that conversation replays over and over in Francesca’s head. The next day, Francesca awoke to find that Michaela had packed her belongings and left without a word. She was sick with worry, worried about where Michaela had gone, if she was safe, if and when she was going to return. But most of all, Francesca felt utterly heartbroken at the fact that Michaela had broken her promise and had left Fran all alone.
Fran had spent the last year doing her best to pretend that Michaela’s departure didn’t affect her. They were acquaintances, friends even, but Fran told herself that the only reason that it hurt her so deeply was because of the grief she was still processing with John’s passing. On the outside, she forces a mask of unafflicted calm whenever Michaela’s name is mentioned, but her heart flinches every time, and she doesn’t understand why. She still can’t help scanning every ballroom, hoping to see the beautiful dark curls that she misses so dearly. But, Francesca is a realistic person. She has begun to come to terms with the fact that Michaela is gone for good, and she must force herself to forget all about her and move on with her life.
***
After first making a stop to drop Eloise off at Bridgerton House, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Francesca’s home, Kilmartin House. Walking up the cobblestone steps to the door, she lets out a sigh of relief that she is finally at her cozy, peaceful, quiet home rather than a noisy and cluttered ballroom. Before Francesca can even close the door behind her, a maid hurriedly rushes through the main hall towards her. “My Lady, you um-” She quickly stumbles over her words. The maid’s face has worry written all over it, and it makes Francesca’s stomach drop.
“What is it?” Francesca asks with utmost seriousness.
“Well ma’am, you um- well, you have a visitor.” The maid says apprehensively.
“A visitor?” Francesca repeats with confusion. “At this hour?”
“Yes ma’am”
“Who is it?” Francesca asks, utterly lost at who would want to see her this late at night.
“Well um, ma’am, I-” The maid mutters once again. Francesca’s brows furrowed, not understanding who could cause her maid to be in such a tizzy. “I think you should see for yourself, ma’am. She is in the parlor, ma’am.”
She. Francesca’s heart dropped. No, it couldn’t be her. Before she can even think twice, Francesca is walking at such a brisk pace that she is almost out of breath when she reaches the closed parlor doors. Francesca’s hand reaches for the door handle, and trembles slightly at the thought of who might be behind the door. She forces a deep breath before gripping the cold handle and turning it. The door swings open, and she peers into the dimly lit room.
Francesca immediately recognizes the figure with her back turned to the door. Her tight dark curls settled right atop her shoulders, her curved waist, her dark burgundy dress. Francesca feels the air ripped from her lungs.
At the sound of the door, Michaela turns, immediately locking eyes with Francesca. Neither of them say anything for a few seconds, both of them scanning each other’s face, as if it was a long lost treasure that has at last been found.
Michaela is the first to speak. “Francesca” she says, no more than a whisper.
Francesca had imagined this moment every day since Michaela left. She imagined she would forget all of the hurt Michaela had caused her, and she would run to her and hug her and never let go. She imagined she might break into tears at the sight of her. But here, now, in the real moment, Francesca doesn’t feel anything but frustration.
“Michaela.” Francesca replies coolly. “What are you doing here?”
“I- well I was in town, and I thought I should come check in on you and make sure you were alright.” Michaela says, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
“You were in town.” Francesca says, with a tone of almost amusement.
“Well, yes”
“And you thought that you should come check on me.” Fran repeats.
“That is what I said, yes.” Michaela responds, with an edge of frustration in her voice.
Francesca can’t help but laugh. It is only a chuckle, but she can think of no other suitable reaction in this situation.
“Do tell, what is funny about this?” Michaela says, obviously confused and angry at Francesca’s reaction to her visit.
“What’s funny about this?” Francesca snorts. After a few more laughs Fran wills herself into composure, suddenly forcing herself back into unaffected seriousness. “You disappear without a word and nobody hears from you for over a year, and now suddenly, you show up at my home to check on me?”
“I’m sorry Frannie. Please just hear me out. I need you to know how sorry I am.” Michaela pleads.
Hearing Michaela call her Frannie, the nickname only used by her, causes Fran’s vision to go slightly foggy. She quickly forces away the tears threatening to fall before Michaela even notices. Michaela takes a step towards Fran, but Fran instinctively takes a step back, needing to maintain the distance between them.
“I don’t want an apology, Michaela. It’s much too late for that.” Fran says quietly.
“Even if you don’t want it, I need you to know it is true. I’m so sorry. I should never have left you.” Michaela says, and Fran notices that her eyes are brimming with tears.
The very admission that Michaela regrets leaving causes Fran's jaw to clench. A quiet tear fell down Francesca's cheek. She quickly swipes it away, but not before Michaela notices.
Michaela’s expression shows sheer heartbreak. Heartbroken that she had hurt Francesca so deeply.
“Please Frannie.” She takes another step forward, but again Francesca steps back. “Please, what can I do to make this right?” Michaela practically begs.
Francesca digs her nails into the fabric of her dress, trying to calm down the anger and frustration bubbling up within her. She glances out the window to see the dark London sky before taking a deep breath and turning to lock eyes with Michaela.
“You can leave.”
“What?” Michaela breathes, shock painting her face.
“You heard me, Michaela.” Francesca says in a tone she had never heard herself use before. She felt numb.
Michaela doesn’t say another word, and instead just walks straight for the door. Before she passes the threshold of the parlor, she stops and turns again to face Francesca, who is standing utterly still, looking once again out the window.
“I am deeply sorry, Francesca.” Michaela says, with no hint of sarcasm in her voice, just true and unabashed sorrow. Francesca doesn’t even look up, and the parlor door quickly shuts behind Michaela, who has now left Francesca quite alone for the second time.