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Francesca Bridgerton Stirling’s house in Kilmartin, New Hampshire was her little escape from the standard chaos of her ridiculously large family. She counted her lucky stars every single day that she was a Bridgerton. There was no other family she would rather belong to, but she was very much the odd one out. She was quieter, more reserved, and was much more interested in living a quiet life in the country. Her eldest brother, Anthony, had worked on the Presidential campaign of John F. Kennedy, her ‘accidental twin’ Eloise (a year older exactly to the day) was a journalist for the Boston Globe, Benedict was a respected artist in the New England community, and the Bridgertons were generally viewed as go-getters, who mingled with families like the Kennedys, the Bouviers, the Rokesby, and the Skakels.
Everything important that had happened to Francesca had happened in Kilmartin. It was where she and John had had their wedding reception, it was where she’d found out she was pregnant, it was where John had died, it was where she miscarried a few days later.
Now, though, she was content sitting on her porch with her typewriter, writing children's books. Not having a child with John by the time he died was the one regret she had from her time with him. It had taken them two years to conceive, but that had ended in tears.
All was peaceful, and calm, and quiet. It was a nice, peaceful, calm, quiet, life.
The telephone rang.
“Hello?” Francesca said. She didn’t get many telephone calls, only really from her mother.
“Frannie? It’s me” came the voice on the other end of the line.
Michael.
Michael Stirling was John’s cousin. Francesca had met him 36 hours before she’d married John, and they’d become the best of friends. The three of them lived in their own little world, dinner and movie nights and going dancing.
When John died, though, Michael upped sticks and disappeared to California. They’d kept in contact for a few months or so, but Francesca hadn’t heard from him in nearly four years.
“Michael?”
“Look Frannie, I know you’re going to be majorly pissed at me but I’m coming back tomorrow”
Michael was right, Francesca was indeed majorly pissed at him.
“Back? What do you mean back? Back to New England?” She asked.
“Back to Kilmartin. Can you have a cup of coffee ready for me?”
“I’m going back to Aubrey the day after tomorrow, Michael”
“I’ll come with you. I missed you Frannie, please”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael,” Francesca said as she hung up the phone.
Francesca suddenly felt nervous at the thought of Michael coming back. The last time she saw him in person, she was in the throes of grief for John and their lost baby. How would they act around each other? Just the two of them? It had hardly ever just been the two of them, and now there was no possibility of John coming back into the room.
When they had been alone, though, it had always been interesting.
Michael was what Francesca liked to call a ‘man-whore’. He slept around and had a reputation, and was far more worldly in that manner than Francesca would ever be. Every time they were alone, Michael would tell her the story of his latest conquest, making sure to get to the dirty bits before John came back. It wasn’t that John would have minded, nor would Francesca or Michael have minded if he came back and heard it, but it was their little thing.
“Michael, tell me a dirty story” she’d say, the minute John was out of earshot.
Now, though, there was no John to come back.
Francesca hardly slept. She was far too nervous. By the time Michael actually turned up, she was sure she had worn a hole in the living room carpet.
She heard the car pull up on the driveway, and she watched through the window as Michael climbed out of the driver’s seat, getting his bags from the trunk. In nearly four years, the only thing that had changed was the odd sparkling grey hair at his temple.
She leant against the front door frame as he made his way up to her.
“Frannie, you’re even more beautiful,” He said, smiling widely. Francesca slapped his arm playfully and let him in, telling him to put his stuff in his room. The guest bedroom at Francesca’s house was so rarely used these days, and so often used by Michael in the old days, that it was really his bedroom.
“What’s dragging you back to Aubrey, then?” He said as he walked into the kitchen, accepting the offered cup of coffee with a huge smile. God, he was glad to be back with her.
“Anthony’s having a party, well, Kate’s having a party,” Francesca explained, “everyone’s going to be there so I thought I better show my face”
“Does your mom know you’re going?” Michael asked. If there was one person he knew Francesca really missed from back in Massachusetts, it was her mother Violet.
“Anthony let slip, the bastard,” Francesca replied, “I wanted to surprise her”
They talked about the party and what their plans were and what time they would be leaving in the morning, and all the while Francesca was feeling a huge amount of relief. It all felt the same. Being around Michael felt exactly the same as it had done four years ago.
The drive back to Aubrey was actually fun, unlike the normal apprehension Francesca was used to feeling.
They arrived back in good time, and Francesca’s mother was as excited to see her third daughter as had been expected.
“Darling! God I missed you so much!” Violet exclaimed as she embraced her. Francesca had always been the quietest of the eight Bridgerton children, and so she was the one Violet saw least often. A Francesca Homecoming was enough reason in itself for a party as far as Violet was concerned.
“You remember John’s cousin Michael, right Mom?” Francesca said as Michael shook her mother’s hand.
“Of course I do Francesca, it’s lovely to see you again Michael”
“You too Mrs Bridgerton,” Michael replied, quickly kissing the back of Violet’s hand, “you haven’t aged a day”
Violet blushed, and Francesca rolled her eyes, wondering what mischief Michael was going to get up to at the party that evening.
Francesca had to admit that Anthony and Kate had done a fantastic job with decorating the garden. They’d even gone so far as to have a temporary wooden dancefloor built in the middle of the lawn, speakers hooked up to a record player surrounding it.
She’d put on her nicest pair of dark flared jeans and a chic white blouse, hoping it was the right level of fancy. One never knew when it came to Anthony Bridgerton.
She stood at the edge of the party, sipping a beer. Her youngest sibling Hyacinth, recently turned 21, was having the time of her life. Her brothers were dancing with their wives and fiancés (with the exception of the still-single Gregory), and the only sister missing was Eloise, who was far too busy covering the Watergate trials down in Washington to come back for a family party.
There was an extraordinary number of guests considering it was a “family” party, but Francesca knew that meant “important New England families”. She could see Ted Kennedy and his wife Joan talking to Anthony about something to do with politics from her vantage point.
She was on her second beer when Michael swanned over to her, offering her his hand. She allowed herself to be dragged onto the dancefloor and into Michael’s arms. She felt her heart skip a beat as he wrapped his arm around her waist, and suddenly her brain went into panic mode.
This was absolutely not happening. No way. Absolutely no way was she going to develop feelings for Michael. She was determined that she was not going to let it happen. She carried on dancing with him, hoping the feeling was just shock and not anything more than that.
As she sat in the corner ten minutes later, watching Michael dance with her sister-in-law Sophie, she realised it wasn’t shock. She finished her beer and disappeared into the house, wanting to be as far away from Michael as she could be.
She was in her pyjamas and half asleep when she heard a knock on her door. She took a deep breath and opened it, and found Michael standing there.
“Why did you run away, Frannie?” He asked as he invited himself in.
“I didn’t run away,” Francesca replied, “I was just tired”
Michael walked up to her, standing close, “really? You seemed to be having a good time dancing with that guy”
“Joe Kennedy is younger than Hyacinth, Michael, he asked and it was polite”
Michael sighed and ran his hand through his hair, the moonlight through the window catching the silver streaks.
“You spoke to so many people, I’ve never seen you be that much of a social butterfly”
“You only ever knew me once I was married, before I married John I was more like this”
“Oh so that’s what it is? You’re looking for a new husband?” Michael replied, pacing around the room.
“Would you have a problem with that? If I was?” Francesca almost shouted, wondering why Michael cared so much if she was putting herself back out into the dating scene.
Michael didn’t say a word. He just stormed across the room and kissed Francesca with all he was worth. Her arms flew around his neck, and soon her legs flew around his waist. She melted into his embrace, giving as good as she got, until the realisation hit her. She was kissing Michael. Michael. Her late husband’s cousin. Michael who would tell her dirty stories, Michael who was the only one allowed to call her Frannie, Michael who had been gone for four years. What frightened Francesca most was how much she was enjoying it.
She pulled back, her brain suddenly full of thoughts that she couldn’t comprehend.
“What is it, Frannie?” Michael whispered, doing devilish things to her earlobe.
“I…I can’t, Michael” She whispered. Michael pulled away quickly.
“You can’t?”
“I just- I don’t know, Michael”
Michael pulled back from his semi-reclined position on top of her, quickly kissing her cheek. He left the room without a word, and Francesca was left in the middle of the bed with a million thoughts running around her mind.
She drove them back to Kilmartin early the next morning, and immediately shut herself in her room. They’d spent the car journey switching between talking about anything but what had happened, or not talking at all. It had been absolute hell, and all Francesca wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and not feel anything ever again. It was impossible, as she could hear Michael talking on the phone to somebody downstairs. She couldn’t avoid him, and yet that was all she wanted to do.
She was determined not to have feelings for Michael, but when he left lunch and a cup of coffee outside her door without a word, just a knock to tell her it was there, she knew the first part of the battle was lost.
She went down into the kitchen in the evening. Michael could throw together a quick lunch for them, but she wasn’t sure whether he could manage an evening meal too. Michael was sat at the table, drinking a coffee and reading a book when she appeared. This continued for a week or so, Francesca and Michael like ships passing in the night.
“Frannie-” Michael said one evening, as she walked into the kitchen.
“Don’t say anything Michael, it’s in the past” Francesca interrupted, anxious to get in and out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. She stood at the sink and washed up her plate from her lunch, placing it in the dish drainer. She could feel Michael behind her, and when she turned around she was stunned by the look on his face.
He was looking at her like she had hung the moon.
She ran.
It was raining heavily, but she ran and ran and ran. She turned around, and saw Michael following her. She stopped under a tree, and caught her breath whilst he caught up.
“Why did you come back, Michael?”
“Because I love you, goddamnit! Because I’ve always loved you. Because I loved you when you were with John, and I loved you when I was in California, and God only knows I don’t deserve you, but I love you, anyway”
They stood in silence, breathing heavily, the only sound the rain pouring down.
As she stood there, it all clicked into place for Francesca.
She hated him. She hated how he’d waltzed back into her life like nothing had changed, but it had become obvious that everything had changed. She hated how he made her heart flutter, and how she became short of breath when she looked at him. She hated how he made her lunch and left it outside her door. She hated how special he made her feel.
Most of all, she hated how much she loved him.
All these thoughts went through her head in a millisecond, and all she could do was kiss him, fingers tangling in his soaking wet hair.
“I love you, you idiot” she whispered between kisses. She felt Michael smile, as his lips made their way from hers around her jawline and down her neck. He laid her down on the grass, and pulled away for a moment.
“Marry me, Frannie?”
She nodded, and kissed him.
They got married the next day, walking down to Kilmartin’s tiny courthouse hand in hand together in the early morning. By the time Francesca’s favourite coffee place opened, they were husband and wife. As a wedding present, Michael bought Francesca a cup of coffee. For him, she bought a slice of carrot cake. As they sat there, they planned their future, their lives, and how they’d tell Violet they’d eloped without her collapsing.