exceptions for your parades
tags - bridgerton, post season 4, wlw, franchaela, francesca stirling, michaela stirling, domcesca, secret relationship, casual, angst, toxic yuri, francesca freakerton, regency strap
warnings - bridgerton season four spoilers, mentions of major character death, grief
story summary - after michaela leaves, francesca finds her open wounds from her husband's death navigating to her soul. loneliness overcomes her until michaela sends her a letter stating her return to scotland. however that visit back changes and destroys everything in order as other things than wounds begin to open.
chapter summary - francesca grows increasingly more depressed the more her lonesomeness simmers. that is until she visits the bridgerton house and gets some advice. after taking in the advice, she goes home and receives a surprise letter.
word count - 1.4k
Chapter I
She'd finally gotten comfortable with the impossible cold that came from the blankets that covered everything from her neck and down. Finally, her eyes felt heavy and began to shut on their own. Her mind drifted-
Knock, knock
"..jesus christ," Francesca muttered to herself before sitting up, "Yes?" Her door opened. Eloise.
"I sure do hope you aren't going to lay in the darkness all morning.. sulking." She walked for the curtains and pulled them open, letting the sunlight soak into the room.
Francesca scoffed, "Me? Sulking? Please, Eloise, have you gone mad?" She pulled the blanket off of her and sat up, her arm dragging beside her on the bed. Her hair wasn't even done. Eloise observed her state and pressed her lips into a line.
"Is it John?"
"Eloise, please."
"..Michaela?" Francesca clenched her jaw for a moment, her eyes drifting away from Eloise.
"No, and tell Mother to stop sending you all the way over here. There are moments in my house that I should spend alone. I am grieving my husband." Francesca claimed, finally landing her gaze back onto Eloise.
It was obvious Eloise couldn't think of a response to Francesca's words as her hands held each other and a silence snuck into the conversation. Suddenly, the room felt dry and suffocating to both of them.
No one would bring their own business up at the dinner table in the Bridgerton household since Francesca adapted her odd, isolating behaviors. It was clearly from both John and Michaela leaving her within short time periods. Only Eloise was brave enough to dare mention their names in Fran's presence. Her boldness helped with nothing.
Now Francesca was alone, her tongue coated in a chalky texture that made her graze her teeth against the muscle until her spit was joined with blood when she accidentally bit down.
Yet she still paid no mind to it, for her blanket finally laid over her comfortably again. Her eyelids suddenly felt heavy again and she put her back against the mattress once more. Her long awaited rest was finally finding its way to her. She finally relaxed and began to sleep.
. . .
Believe it or not, the Bridgerton house was once a colorful place to Francesca. The walls reminded her of a garden with a wide range of different flowers with their many patterns. Now it seemed gloomy and minimalist. Francesca began to think of it as a jump through an upset cloud in a gray sky. That chalky feeling never left her mouth from the week before when Eloise had visited.
It was so repetitive. A quick bath, a small meal, but a long nap that never got rid of the beating exhaustion. Despite her heavy heart, she sat at a table by a window, drinking a tea. Her head leaned against the glass as she took a deep breath, soaking in the orange sunlight that covered the ton.
She made her way inside rather quietly, not letting anyone know she came in until they woke up. At least not until Mrs. Wilson came into the den, gasping to herself when she saw Francesca sitting on the couch, watching the fireplace. She made her tea and stood by, making sure everything would remain in order.
"You have not came in a long time, Francesca." Mrs. Wilson said, keeping her voice low to keep Fran's wishes to remain undiscovered.
"I miss home." Francesca responded, finally turning her head away from the cool, clear surface. "I'm so trapped in the black hole that was my house at some point. It sucks every inch of recovery into its paintings of John. Every room we talked in." Her voice lowered, letting her think about her next words more. Nothing but Michaela passed through her head, so she remained silent.
"Yes . . . However, the family misses you. It's all Mrs. Bridgerton talks about. 'Francesca this, francesca that.' Anytime Sophie and Benedict visit they ask where you are. John's death effected everybody."
"I know. Everyone made that clear at the funeral. John understood me best." She caught her breath with a brief pause, "May I tell you something, Mrs. Wilson?"
"Of course, Mrs. Stirling."
"Only two people have ever really understood me in such short time. John and Michaela. The Stirlings', they just . . . I don't know, I guess I'm glad I'm apart of their family." Her hands began to fidget with themselves. "I'm obviously proud of my own family as well, they're blood- yet I still find that they are clueless about my development and character. Obviously, Michaela knows best of my development; at one point I . . . Well, you know the story of our friendship.
"In reality, I haven't brought up either of them in such a long time. I felt as though my throat was locked up anytime I'd even try to say their names. My anger with Michaela, with John, with myself- I didn't want to dare associate with anyone just in case I'd break my promise to try to forget them, but here I am.
"The guilt I have still inside of me for breaking the rule John had set to not bring a suitor towards Michaela- our trip should've made that rule unspoken but I did it anyway. In my soul I still feel as though I should've done more with more care, maybe that is why she has left back home."
Mrs. Wilson waited for Francesca to continue, but she didn't. In result, she began to speak, "It seems as though Michaela may feel anger as well. Nothing towards you. Towards herself, John as well. I beg of you, Mrs. Stirling; do not force yourself to feel terrible because of your own mistakes."
Nothing else was said, but the silence was comfortable and productive. It gave Francesca time to think.
"I think I should go home now. Thank you for the talk, Mrs. Wilson." Francesca stood up, grabbing her coat from her chair and sliding it on. "Can you not tell anybody about me coming here please?"
"Of course, Mrs. Stirling. I can keep a good secret." She winked and gave a small smile to Francesca, who began to make her way home. "Should I call a carriage?"
"Yes, please. It is a long way home." Without another word, Francesca made her way outside to wait for the carriage. When it arrived, she got in and thought about the advice Mrs. Wilson gave her the whole journey from London to Scotland.
. . .
As she stepped in front of her door, she noticed a letter under her feet. She bent down to pick it up. It was from Michaela. Before anybody could see, she quickly went inside, tearing the envelope open.
"Dearest Francesca,
"I'm sure that you have wondered where I've gone; and I hope that you aren't upset with me. I definitely don't wish that our state hasn't declined back into where it was after the incident in Scotland. I couldn't stay there with you, the feelings that I had carried were so strong and I had grown sensitive. My heart was so heavy, I couldn't bare the weight any longer; so I returned back to my home.
"The family knows of John now, which of course sent another big wave of sadness and gray that I had moved from. It's been a while since I've gone anywhere new, and it'll only become a longer time. I should get to the point of this letter before I bore you with my writing. I'm coming back to Scotland. I want to be around my friend. I should be around you.
"We had such a good time before I had gone, obviously it was a little shattered by the tragedy that passed through our family. Yet, despite all of the sadness, we found the happiness; the light through the end of the tunnel.
"I guess I must admit, I miss your perfectionism. I admire it. Your numerically organized jigsaw collection, your alphabetical book collection; the very specifically arranged garden . . .
"By the time you read this letter, I will be on the carriage, almost or halfway to Scotland. I hope you are in nothing but good health. I shall see you soon.
With only the fondest thoughts, Michaela Stirling"
Francesca read through the letter slowly, making sure every word was processed in her brain. This was the first time she even cracked a smile since Michaela had left the ton. It was small and rather fast, but it still made her heart a little bit lighter.
She leaned against the closest wall, holding the paper against her chest. Her back slid down the wall with her as she began to sit on the plush carpet. She smiled one last time thinking about Michaela's return.
One of her fondest friends, returning to the ton for her. Her excitement built the more she thought of it.
Chapter II HERE :
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