Chapter Twenty-Three
Outside, the wind and rain wreaked havoc on London.
Inside, Franny and Zigzag cuddled together on the settee in front of the fire crackling in the hearth.
Mrs. Benson sat across from them, her needle and thread dancing in and out of the fabric spread over her lap, and her amusing storytelling helping to pass the time.
Franny laughed until tears dripped down her cheeks as Mrs. Benson related a tale about a goat in a ballerina tutu who once upon a time munched on her slipper. While Franny was bent over holding her ribs in place as she chuckled, Mrs. Benson’s story and needle never lost a beat.
Franny had finally contained the chortles rattling her body and was drying her eyes when Mrs. Benson held her project up, turning it for Franny to see.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“ ’Tis lovely,” Franny said, admiring the winding strands of ivy. “What will it be when it is finished?”
“A table covering for Edward.” Mrs. Benson’s eyes glimmered with affection.
“Then I will make one for Richard Glasgow, the gentleman who lives on the second floor. Mr. Benson, God rest his soul, and I never had children of our own. But now I have been blessed with a lawman and a tutor who are like dear nephews to me. What more could a woman ask for?”
“I have no doubts they feel the same way about you,” Franny said. Who wouldn’t adore this woman, after all? “I’ve never had the patience to learn needlecraft.”
“I’d be happy to teach you,” Mrs. Benson offered.
Franny couldn’t help but daydream… Days and early evenings spent at The Silk Knuckles with Papa, Josie, their students, and the women in The Ladies’ Autonomy League.
Late evenings spent in this drawing room with Zigzag, Mrs. Benson, Edward, a warm fire, and a cup of tea.
Franny could learn to embroider and devour Edward’s library.
Once they crawled into bed, he could shower her with delicious kisses and teach her to make love.
How sublime and dreamy. What more could a woman ask for?
Franny exhaled an embarrassingly dramatic sigh.
“Why so sad, my dear?” Mrs. Benson asked. “Embroidery isn’t so horrible. Why, I rather enjoy it. It helps me relax so that I sleep better at night.”
“Oh, it isn’t that,” Franny said.
“Then what is troubling you? Is it whatever Edward is investigating tonight?”
Everything about this kind woman suggested trust and compassion, making it easy for Franny to confide in her.
“I am a pugilist, and someone tried to burn my gymnasium to the ground. My dear friend was injured in the fire, and days later, someone attacked my father. If Edward hadn’t come along, they might have beaten my father to death. ”
“Oh, my.” Mrs. Benson dropped the fabric onto her lap, her sympathetic gaze fully on Franny.
“There are a group of aristocratic ladies who meet at The Silk Knuckles Saloon. They call themselves ‘The Ladies’ Autonomy League’.
Some of them are there to exercise. Some, to gain confidence in their ability to protect themselves.
Others are tired of the subservient role women must play to stroke male hubris.
One of the women’s nephews is a duke, and he is petitioning Parliament with our concerns about coverture laws and female equality.
But there are a few lords, one in particular, who will stop at nothing to keep this from happening. ”
“I see,” Mrs. Benson said.
“The minister at the church next door preaches that we are fallen women. He is demanding we be closed down.”
“What a rat,” Mrs. Benson said.
“A self-righteous rat who does not care if the men in his parish are abusing their wives.” And now for the coup de grace. Franny gathered her courage. “Last year, I injured a woman I fought and since then have been afraid to compete.”
Mrs. Benson’s eyes widened in horror, but her voice remained solicitous. “Bare-knuckle fighting is quite dangerous.”
“ ’Tis,” Franny said. “Yet, it is my life. It is all I know. I love the lifestyle and my gymnasium. But I have been filled with anxiety and unable to compete since that fight. I still train, but not at a competitive level, and I support my friend Josephine, who recently won the Duke’s and Dame’s Championship.
But as for me…” Franny shook her head. There were no words strong enough to capture her nightmarish disgrace.
“I can see the pain in your eyes, my dear. But I don’t think you have to compete to empower ladies to exercise, defend themselves, and stand up for female equality.”
If only that were true. “ ’Tis a long story, but I have no choice.
I must fight in a month for a man with questionable associations.
” Franny huffed. “Which means I must defeat my demons, train hard, and abstain from biscuits, honey cakes, and bread if I don’t want to humiliate myself.
” Franny harrumphed. “Not that the woman I am to fight is skilled. But still.”
“Well, that is unfortunate,” Mrs. Benson said. “Giving up sweets sounds rather depressing.”
“Indeed.” Franny did not even try to hide her pout.
“At least you and Edward have found each other,” Mrs. Benson declared.
Franny blinked. “But we are not together, Mrs. Benson.”
“Why not?” she asked. “You make a lovely couple. You are both unencumbered. He has fancied you for years, and I dare say, you have finally fallen for him.”
“But I… I broke his nose the first time we met,” Franny stammered. “And he is so…” so very handsome and virile. Meanwhile, she was a wild woman with scandalous hair and more attitude than common sense, some days.
Mrs. Benson chuckled. “Do you not see, Frances? Edward needs a spirited woman to match wits with. He is quite heroic and fights for justice for the common man. Only a woman doing the same by fighting for the common woman could make him happy.”
But Franny and Josie had made a long-ago pact to never let a man sway them from their independence. Of course, Josie had met Nicolas. She was happy and in love and had not given up her independence. Could the same happen for Franny?
Egad. Franny was still upholding a pact that no longer existed.
“I can tell you are trying to talk yourself out of a relationship with Edward. But to what purpose, my dear? Stop fighting your feelings and give in to them. You will be much happier. Not to mention, then you can concentrate on the battles truly in front of you instead of this pointless one you invented with Edward.”
As if agreeing with Mrs. Benson, Zigzag tempestuously meowed at Franny.
Franny leaned back and closed her eyes. Perhaps she could stop fighting her attraction to Edward and let him into her life. It would be much easier than all of these emotional ups and downs. Happiness cannonballed through her.
Yes, she could! And she would tell him she favored him with all of her heart just as soon as he returned.
*
A crack of thunder awoke Franny. Once her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she perused the room. Mrs. Benson still sewed, the firelight dappling over her profile. The mantle clock indicated it was almost three in the morning.
Panicking, Franny sat up. “Has Edward returned?”
“Not yet, dear. I’m keeping watch. You go back to sleep.”
There was no way Franny could sleep with shots of fear being injected into her veins. Now that she’d decided to tell Edward how she felt, something terrible had happened to him. She just knew it. She’d hexed him with the mere thought of a relationship.
Please, oh, please, Lord, let him be safe.
A streak of lightning lit up the room. Thunder boomed, and the large house shook. Zigzag yowled. Her hair spiked as if she were half porcupine, and she leapt from the couch.
Mrs. Benson held a hand to her heart. “My, that strike was close.”
“Do you think something happened to Edward?” Franny asked. “ ’Tis so late. Shouldn’t he have returned?”
“Hush, my dear. Do not fret.” Mrs. Benson tilted her head to listen.
Franny followed her lead, discovering a rustling sound coming from the entranceway.
“See, he is home. He is taking off his boots.” Mrs. Benson gathered her sewing together and shoved it into her bag.
Holding her breath, Franny swung her feet onto the floor, then perched on the edge of the settee.
With the next clap of thunder, Edward stepped into the room. Lightning illuminated the water dripping from his hair. Wet clothing was glued to his body, and his feet were bare.
“Edward, it’s about time. Where in the devil have you been?” Franny’s exclamation sounded more like a reprimand than the relief she truly felt.
Mrs. Benson stood. “She was quite worried about you.”
“ ’Twas just a very long night,” he said.
“We shall talk about it tomorrow.” As Mrs. Benson passed by Edward, she patted his shoulder. “Would you like some warm water brought up?”
“Thank you, but not tonight,” Edward said. “I would like to dry off, then sleep.”
“Good night. May you have sweet dreams.” Mrs. Benson peered over her shoulder and sent Franny a knowing look that seemed to say, remember, the two of you are perfect together.
As soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Benson, Franny pounced on Edward, wrapping him in her arms. She did not even care that his wet shirt chilled her torso. “I was so worried about you.” Hopefully, this was all she needed to confess for him to understand her feelings.
“I’m fine.” He ran a soothing palm up and down her back. “We arrested Lance and his crew. They are in the local goal.” He pulled back so that they stared into each other’s eyes, his expression deadly serious. “Lance confessed to setting fire to your gymnasium and the attack on your father.”
“That is splendid,” she said. “So, why do you look so concerned?”
He shook his head, water droplets flying from the ends of his hair. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m just tired.”
“And soaking wet,” Franny said.
He chuckled. “That, too. And I am getting you wet.”
She bit her lip and sent him a coquettish smile. “I will share your bed with you again. But only if you take off those wet clothes.” Now he should know for sure where her heart stood.
His irises darkened, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding, oh, so seductively. Unfortunately, he dropped his arms and stepped back. “I will sleep on the settee tonight.”
The hell he would! She’d made up her mind, and her decisions were final. She would make love to Edward Robinson before the sun rose.