Summary: The cliche of falling for your brother's wife, lesbian edition.
A/N: A little drabble that popped into my head. I'm deep in writer's block so I'm happy I was able to get a little something out. I promise I haven't given up on my WIPs.
Francesca chased after (y/n), the rain soaking her dress and undergarments, but she didn’t care. She needed answers.
“Why do you hate me so?”
(y/n) scoffed, her back still to the taller woman as she marched towards the house.
“I don’t think of you enough to hate you,” she spat.
Floored, Francesca stopped dead in her tracks.
“Truly?”
At the lack of footsteps (y/n) whirled around. Her heart softened at the sight.
Tears welled in Francesca’s eyes as she stood, her chest heaving from the exertion of trying to catch (y/n).
“You truly never think of me?” Francesca asked, her breath just above a whisper.
(y/n)’s throat dried.
She did not mean to hurt the younger woman. She had not meant for any of this. All she wanted was one last summer before her mother shipped her off to London to be bought and sold like cattle on the marriage market.
So (y/n) cast her gaze to the side.
The summer monsoon was an unexpected freak accident.
But the humidity did little to warm the coldness of (y/n)’s demeanor in Francesca’s eyes.
“All I have done since I have arrived is think of you. You, and not my husband…your brother,” Francesca confessed, quivering and stuttering.
(y/n)’s gaze snapped back onto Francesca.
“You don’t mean that. Please don’t say things like that,” (y/n) chided.
“It is the truth!” Francesca protested.
“Is it folly,” (y/n) cursed back as she marched up to Francesca.
(y/n) stopped just short of the taller woman. She looked up at Francesca and swallowed hard. She hadn’t been so close to her in weeks.
“You are my demise Francesca Bridgerton,” (y/n) breathed unsteadily.
A tear fell down Francesca’s cheek, easily masked by the rain.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized tenderly.
So tenderly that it tugged at (y/n)’s heartstrings.
(y/n) reached up and cupped Francesca’s cheek. It was warm under her touch.
Francesca leaned into the contact.
“You are my brother’s wife. I should not think of you,” (y/n) said without conviction.
Francesca’s gaze dropped as she nodded slightly, not wanting to part from (y/n)’s touch.
“But I do think of you….”
Francesca’s gaze shot back up to meet (y/n)’s. “You do?”
(y/n) let out a great sigh then smiled, relieved.
“Morning, noon, and night. You haunt my dreams and when I wake I cannot rid my mind’s eye of your pink lips or gentle gaze.”
Blush crept across Francesca’s features. Her gaze softened.
(y/n) stroked Francesca’s cheek with her thumb.
“Then why do you rebuke me so brusquely when I attempt to know or spend time with you,” Francesca asked as she closed the small gap between the two women.
(y/n)’s breath hitched in her throat at the closeness.
“Because I cannot have you as I wish to. It is easier to push you away than it is to hold you this close knowing you will never be mine,” (y/n) professed.
Francesca brought her forehead against (y/n)’s. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, slowly.
“If I had known you first…,” she dreamed wistfully.
(y/n) let out a bitter laugh.
“You would have thought me a great prospect for friendship.”
Francesca sighed, knowing that it took weeks for her to realize what she felt for (y/n) went deeper than friendship. The breadth and depth of her feelings scared her at first as she had never felt such things for John. Though she cared for her husband deeply it paled in comparison to the roaring bonfire that raged within her whenever (y/n) was near.
Francesca shivered.
(y/n) noticed the amount of goose pimples that covered Francesca’s arms. She pulled away from her and laced her fingers with Francesca’s.
Then (y/n) led Francesca to the shack next to them that contained all the family’s sporting equipment.
In it she found an old blanket, but it was clean from what she could tell. So she wrapped it around Francesca as best she could given the height difference.
“I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
Francesca frowned. “What about you?”
(y/n) smiled. “I am warmed by your very presence.”
Blush returned to Francesca’s cheeks. She lowered her gaze.
“We can wait out the rain here,” (y/n) stated then cleared an old bin and flipped it upside down for Francesca to sit down.
Francesca did so then patted her lap.
(y/n)’s brow furrowed.
“You can’t stand the whole time. Who knows how long the rain will last,” Francesca reasoned.
Summary: You are the very opposite of everything Francesca has ever known, has ever been told was possible. You absolutely befuddle her. So she has no idea why she gravitates towards you, and why she needs your approval more than anything else.
A/N: 50s Au, not super period or location accurate. Janet Stirling is not Black in this story unless you want her to be. Leaving Janet as John’s stepmother to allow MC to be of any ethnicity/race. Catching up on Bridgerton and I needed to write something for Francesca. Hope you all enjoy it!
*Fran’s POV*
The train ride to the countryside was quiet save for Eloise’s questions regarding the castle that would be their home for the remainder of summer.
As they neared their destination John cleared his throat and brought the two ladies’ attention to him.
“Before we arrive at the estate I would be remiss if I didn’t give you both proper warning,” John lamented.
Eloise’s brow furrowed. “Warning? Do you have a ferocious guard dog,” she joked half heartedly.
John remained serious in his expression.
Eloise’s half smile fell.
“I must warn you about my sister, (y/n),” John explained.
Francesca nodded softly. “You briefly mentioned her when we began to get to know one another but didn’t say much about her.”
“That is for good reason. (y/n) is not like anyone else either of you have known. She is…unique.” John finished with a compassionate look.
Eloise turned to her sister, still confused.
Francesca didn’t have to look at Eloise to know what the older Bridgerton was thinking.
“Is there anything we should know to avoid upsetting her?” Francesca asked.
John shook his head. “I’m rather more concerned she will upset the both of you.”
Francesca’s brows raised. “Oh.”
“(y/n) mostly keeps to herself but she is very strong willed and if she does not get her way she can lose her temper. It’s best the both of you just leave her alone,” John cautioned.
“I love a strong willed woman. Perhaps we will get along,” Eloise interjected.
John looked at Eloise with a grim expression.
Eloise deflated once more.
Francesca swallowed hard. She was nervous about meeting John’s family, if they would approve of her, and now she was even more concerned.
How was she to get John’s sister’s approval if she was so difficult to know?
“What about your mother?” Francesca asked.
John rarely talked about his family.
“Stepmother actually,” John clarified.
Eloise’s ears perked up. “Really?”
John smiled softly. “My stepmother, dowager countess of Kilmartin, is warm and lovely. She will take to you both very easily, I’m sure of it.”
Some of the tension eased from Francesca’s shoulders.
At least she only had one family member to worry about.
So she spent the rest of the ride thinking of ways to get on (y/n)’s good side.
But in order to do that she would need more information and it seemed John was hesitant to provide any more.
Francesca mulled it over in her head. She would simply have to find a way.
-
*Your POV*
(y/n) stared at the setting sun as she sat amongst the garden’s daisies, her favorite flower.
John would be arriving soon, with his new wife in tow. Their arrival would only reinforce (y/n)’s mother’s desire to see (y/n) wed.
Every year (y/n)’s father delayed her debut in society was a win in (y/n)’s eyes, but as she turned yet another year older she knew she would not be able to delay it any longer.
Especially now that her father, her most steadfast supporter, had passed it was inevitable that the summer was to be her last as a free woman.
Her brother loved her, and knew her truth, but even he could not belay the tragedy of the marriage mart any longer.
The dowager countess Janet Stirling would not see her only daughter shrivel up as a lowly spinster, and now without her husband to give deference to, there was no one to stop her plans.
So (y/n) blinked the tears that threatened to spill forth and vowed to spend the summer being every bit as reckless and subversive as their family acquaintances thought her to be.
Perhaps then no man would want her upon her debut.
It wouldn’t even be too hard.
She was after all already a rumored aberration in the eyes of society.
A lesbian.
A word no one dared even whisper. Instead they called (y/n) rebellious and unconventional if they wanted to be kind, a pervert and unseemly girl if they didn’t.
“My lady,” a servant’s voice called out and pulled (y/n) from her melancholic thoughts.
He informed her that John’s car was seen just past the estate’s gate and would be arriving shortly.
So (y/n) followed the servant back into the estate and she walked to the foyer where her mother awaited.
(y/n)’s mother smoothed her skirt and fidgeted with her hairdo.
First impressions were everything, as the dowager countess so often reminded (y/n).
“There you are,” (y/n)’s mother chided as soon as she noticed (y/n) enter.
“Here I am,” (y/n) replied with a half hearted smile.
Janet Stirling approached her daughter and started to straighten up her appearance, a frown spreading across her aged features.
“I thought I told you to put on that nice dress I bought you the other day?”
(y/n) let out an exasperated sigh.
“You know I don’t wear dresses, mother.”
Janet’s hands fell from her daughter’s jacket, her displeasure clear.
“Teenage rebellion isn’t so darling when one’s teenage years are behind them,” she chided.
(y/n) smiled placidly, knowing such a reaction would irk her mother.
“Then it’s a good thing I have one last year with teen at the end of my age.”
A familiar horn interrupted their conversation before it could devolve into their usual arguing over (y/n)’s actions.
So (y/n) rushed out through the front doors and down the steps to see the Kilmartin Rolls Royce come to a stop in front of the estate.
An earnest smile was pulled out of (y/n) at the sight of her brother’s return.
The driver got out and walked over to the back door. He pulled it open and John exited first.
“Johnny,” (y/n) called out.
John stepped towards his sister but didn’t make it too far before (y/n) crashed into his arms and wrapped him up in a tight embrace.
John let out a warm laugh. “I missed you as well baby sister.”
(y/n)’s eyes naturally closed to inhale her brother’s familiar scent of mahogany and amber. It reminded her of their father as he and John wore similar colognes.
When her eyes opened she met the gaze of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.
The mystery woman’s hazel eyes seemed to hold onto (y/n)’s with equal amounts of curiosity and rapture.
The world seemed to stop.
She froze in John’s arms.
Of course her brother noticed. He pulled away to follow (y/n)’s gaze.
“Ah, I see,” John began, then let go of his sister to walk towards the beautiful woman’s side. “Mother, sister, this is my wife, the new Lady Kilmartin.”
His wife….
(y/n)’s heart sank into her stomach.
She tore her gaze away from the new Lady Kilmartin, which felt as impossible as sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, and tried to mask her disappointment.
Thankfully the dowager countess swept in and greeted John’s wife warmly.
“Francesca,” John called her.
Francesca, (y/n) turned the name over in her mind.
So lost in her thoughts she almost didn’t hear Francesca.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance (y/n),” Francesca said, with a voice so lovely it sounded melodic.
This woman was going to be a problem. (y/n) knew it by the way her skin goosepimpled at the sound of Francesca saying her name.
Everyone gathered watched as (y/n) avoided Francesca’s gaze.
“The ride was dreadfully long,” came an unknown voice.
A second woman emerged from the car.
Beautiful as well but (y/n) did not feel that same world shattering butterflies she had with Francesca.
John introduced the woman as Francesca’s sister Eloise, who would be joining them for the remainder of the summer.
Her mother greeted the two women warmly and played the part of host perfectly. It was impossible for Janet Stirling to be anything but perfect.
Something (y/n) was constantly being reminded of.
Suddenly, she needed to be anywhere but there.
(y/n) cleared her throat and turned to her mother.
“Mother, Michaela invited me to supper with her family. I forgot to mention it earlier.”
Janet Stirling gave (y/n) a strained, polite, smile. Clearly more for company’s sake.
“Michaela will forgive you if you miss it.”
But (y/n) didn’t relent. “Their cook made rice pudding. You know how much I love it.”
John let out a deep laugh. “We can’t have you missing the rice pudding can we sister?”
(y/n) met her brother’s warm gaze with a sheepish smile.
Janet approached her daughter and lowered her voice. “We have guests (y/n).”
(y/n) dared a quick glance in Francesca’s direction.
She quickly regretted it.
Francesca gave (y/n) a shy smile.
It made (y/n)’s throat run dry.
“I already promised Michaela I would go,” (y/n) protested with a dry cough.
A stern look washed over Janet’s features. She opened her mouth to speak, and to no doubt chide her daughter, but John stepped in.
“Francesca and lady Eloise have the rest of summer to get to know (y/n), mother. I think we can survive a dinner without her.”
But Janet Stirling would not give in. She crossed her arms against her chest.
“And (y/n) can survive a day without seeing Michaela.”
(y/n) frowned. “She’s my best friend.”
“I hardly see my best friends anymore (y/n). You must grow up sometime,” Janet replied with thinly veiled irritation.
Again, John stepped in to mediate between mother and daughter. He approached his sister and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Go, say hello to Michaela for me.”
(y/n) nodded eagerly. “Thank you,” she whispered and placed a quick kiss on John’s cheek.
Then (y/n) turned to her mother with a triumphant smirk on her face.
Janet Stirling was not pleased, but she could not go against the Earl of Kilmartin. So she swallowed her anger and turned back to Francesca and Eloise. She invited them in for tea and led them inside.
A servant brought (y/n)’s motorcycle around just as the group entered the estate. She slid her helmet on and donned her driving gloves. Then she started the bike and sped off towards Michaela’s estate.
-
The bike ride to Michaela’s estate was quick and easy. Michaela and (y/n) grew up together and never could be too far from one another.
They were as close as sisters.
Though many around them whispered that the pair of friends was something more, something unseemly.
These of course were just rumors. Michaela was not like (y/n), she enjoyed men- a little too much for her parent’s liking who had to keep a close eye on her every ball they attended.
Michaela’s parents also weren’t fans of their daughter’s enduring friendship with (y/n). They did not care for (y/n)’s reputation, but they didn’t protest much as (y/n)’s father was an Earl.
(y/n) parked her bike haphazardly on the lawn then walked into Michaela’s home casually, as she had many times before.
She said a quick hello to Michaela’s parents as she passed them on her way up to Michaela’s room.
They were not pleased to see her.
Still, (y/n) continued on her way.
Once at Michaela’s door (y/n) brought her hand up to knock on the ornate white door but before her knuckles could rap on the wood the door swung open.
“(y/n),” Michaela exclaimed with a grin.
(y/n)’s hand fell back to her side. She did not return the happy expression.
Michaela’s smile fell.
“What’s wrong?”
(y/n) pushed past Michaela and walked into her room. She fell onto Michael’s bed and buried her face in a pillow.
“My heart has been struck by cupid’s bow,” (y/n) murmured.
Michaela closed her bedroom door then walked over to sit next to her best friend.
“Again?”
(y/n) brought her head back up just enough to glare at Michaela.
“This is different.”
Michaela raised a brow. “How?”
(y/n) sighed then sat up to face Michaela.
“John is back.”
Michaela’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you happy about that?”
“I am, but he returned with a wife,” (y/n) continued.
“And is she horrid? Ugly? Does she have an unsightly mole on her face?” Michaela questioned, desperately trying to find reason in (y/n)’s cryptic explanation.
(y/n) groaned. “The exact opposite, and that’s the problem Mickey.”
Michaela shook her head softly. “I still don’t follow.”
“She’s beautiful…beautiful beautiful,” (y/n) replied and placed emphasis on the word beautiful the second time she said it.
Michaela stared at her best friend for a second before it clicked.
“Oh…”
It finally dawned on Michaela.
(y/n) sighed and fell back onto the bed. “What am I going to do?”
Michaela laid down beside (y/n).
“There’s not much you can do. Maybe avoid her? How long are they staying?”
(y/n) sighed and turned her head towards Michaela.
“The whole summer.”
Michaela grimaced. “You’re fucked.”
For the first time that day (y/n) let out a laugh.
-
*Fran’s pov*
Francesca gazed out of the window as Eloise continued to settle into her bedroom for the summer.
“You said you were going to help me unpack,” Eloise complained.
Francesca tore her gaze from the window. She blushed and lowered her gaze apologetically.
Eloise threw a blouse back onto her suitcase and sat opposite Francesca.
“What’s got you so lost in thought?”
The blush on Francesca’s face deepened.
“(y/n) is not quite what I thought she would be,” Francesca confessed.
“She’s marvelous isn’t she? Totally free, and I’m positively green with envy.” Eloise replied with an excited glint in her eye.
Francesca mulled Eloise’s words over in her head. Eloise’s vague desire for something she saw as freedom had always confused Francesca.
“I don’t know,” Francesca continued, “It was a bit rude that she didn’t have dinner with us. We are her guests after all.”
Eloise shrugged. “Maybe a little rude…,” she conceded, then leaned forward on her thighs. “But did you see that she drove off on a motorbike?”
“I did,” Francesca answered halfheartedly.
Eloise beamed. “I didn’t think women were allowed to ride on such things let alone drive them.”
Francesca mumbled a reply. “Mmm.”
Then Eloise noticed Francesca’s mind had once again wandered.
“What is it now?”
Francesca titled her head to one side, pensive.
“Do you think I offended her, somehow? Or did I make a poor first impression?”
Eloise rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m sure you made a fine first impression.” She reached forward and held her sister’s hands in her own. “You are the picture of poise and beauty Francesca.”
Blush dappled Francesca’s features. “You flatter me sister.”
“And you promised to help me unpack,” Eloise replied accusingly as she let go of Francesca’s hands.
Francesca stood from her seat and made her way towards the door.
“It’s getting late. I should get back to my bedroom and get ready for bed.”
Eloise stood up and placed a hand on her hip. “How convenient.”
Francesca let out a small laugh then bid her sister a goodnight.
On her way to the primary bedroom she would now share with her husband her mind wandered back on (y/n).
(y/n) was certainly unique, in that Francesca agreed with John. It didn’t bother her but it did give her pause.
Francesca had no experience with someone so outside of what she knew.
But Francesca was determined to succeed in her new role as countess of Kilmartin and wife of John.
So she would get on (y/n)’s good side, somehow.
-
Later that night, Francesca looked at the clock on her nightstand.
It was ten o’clock at night and (y/n) hadn’t returned.
The servant who had informed John that (y/n) was still out excused herself from the room. Then John sighed and returned to the bed and slid in beside Francesca.
“Is she normally out so late unchaperoned?" Francesca inquired.
John let out a small sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. “Your father allowed such behavior?”
“He didn’t love it,” John began with a beleaguered expression, “...but as you saw (y/n) has a strong will and always found a way to do what she wanted.”
“Isn’t it unsafe for her to be out alone.”
John smiled mischievously. “(y/n) is tougher than she looks. Besides, it’s completely safe here.”
Then John looked away from Francesca and got lost in thought.
“What is it?” Francesca pressed.
The new Earl of Kilmartin shook his head softly then returned his gaze upon his wife. “I just remembered the time (y/n) cut her hair short like a boy and snuck out into town.”
“Oh, for what possible reason?”
“Our father wouldn’t let her stay at any town festival past sundown because she was a girl. So when she returned at midnight and my father lectured her, her defense was that she was now a boy and boys could do as they pleased.”
A throaty laugh escaped John as he reminisced.
Francesca’s brows remained raised. “Why do I get the feeling you encouraged such behavior?”
Another laugh from John.
“We have always been partners in mischief.”
Francesca smiled. “How did your father feel about that?”
“He and Janet tried countless times to make a proper lady out of (y/n) but eventually they both gave up,” John explained. “Well, my father gave up and just let her be. I think Janet still holds out hope.”
Francesca let out a deep breath.“Scotland certainly is different from England.”
“Is that a bad thing?” John asked with a furrowed brow.
Panic shot up inside Francesca.
“Oh no, no, it’s a good thing- I think. It’s new to me but I am excited to get to know your sister better.”
John’s expression lightened.
“And I’m excited for you to get to know her too. I’m sure the two of you will be thick as thieves in no time.”
Francesca’s lips thinned into a tight smile.
“Goodnight John,” she said, then turned away from her husband and settled back into bed.
John bid her a good night then turned out the lights before he went to bed.
-
Sleep did not come for Francesca. She tossed and she turned.
All kinds of anxieties lingered in her mind.
The bedroom suddenly felt too small.
So she carefully got out of bed, pulled on her nightrobe and slippers, then made her way downstairs.
She got a bit lost at first then recalled the way to the kitchen.
A glass of milk would settle her nerves.
Luckily- or unluckily- one of the cause of her nerves walked into the kitchen at the very same moment she did.
It startled Francesca.
(y/n)’s gaze met Francesca’s.
“My apologies.”
Francesca’s stomach tightened. She didn’t know why.
“It’s alright. I was just a bit startled is all.”
(y/n) looked away from Francesca and remained silent.
Francesca wasn’t sure what else to say.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted the glass of milk anymore.
The air turned awkward to say the least.
(y/n) then shuffled towards the stairs.
“I should get to bed,” she said under her breath as she passed Francesca.
“Yes, it’s very late,” Francesca replied absentmindedly.
(y/n) stopped, her back to Francesca.
“You sound like my mother,” she said over her shoulder.
She’d put her foot in her mouth, hadn’t she?
Francesca started to sputter. “Oh I didn’t- I mean I-”
(y/n) turned around to face Francesca. She crossed her arms against her chest.
“I’m a grown woman you know, not a girl to be watched over like a prized hog at the county fair.”
She said and closed the distance between her and Francesca.
Francesca’s face warmed. This was as close as she had ever been to (y/n) and she was just now realizing how beautiful (y/n) was, even if it was an unconventional sort of beauty.
“Of course I wouldn’t dream of-”
Then Fran caught a whiff of alcohol coming from (y/n).
“Are you drunk?” She whispered and leaned her head towards (y/n).
(y/n)’s eyes widened. Then she huffed and marched down the hall and up the stairs.
“Good night, countess Kilmartin,” she replied dismissively.
Francesca shrunk in on herself as she watched (y/n) storm off.
Not the best start for the sisterly bond she had hoped to develop with (y/n).
