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FRANCESCA’S HEART POUNDING, she waited a moment until she was sure she was strong enough to respond. “I’m not coming home, James. I’ll be staying at the estate for a while,” she said over Bear’s throaty snarls directed at James.
“Please come home, Frankie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you.” James went silent when Missy burst into the living room without knocking, chock full of attitude. Only Francesca would allow a subordinate, a maid nonetheless, to blatantly disrespect her employer, he thought.
Pouring tea into two cups, Missy eyed James like a rabid raccoon, ready to pounce at any misstep. “Here,” she said, setting cup and saucer on the coffee table before him with a thump.
“Respect your employer.” The quiver of temper edged into James’ voice.
“I do respect her. Her you go, Frankie.” Missy’s tone was sweet as honey when she delivered the teacup into Francesca’s hand. “He better not be staying for dinner. Father Matthew is joining us, and I don’t believe he’d be pleased with the stench of brimstone at the dinner table.”
James’ anger surging, his voice became clipped and hard. “Why you...”
“Thank you, Missy.” Francesca flicked eyes toward the door.
“You sure, Frankie? I can stay,” Missy said, and only when Francesca nodded did she leave, but not before giving James one last scorching look.
“I suppose you’ve polluted her mind with your bullshit.”
“No, James, I didn’t. I’m too humiliated and ashamed.” Francesca raised a hand to her cheek. “But there’s only so much concealer I can apply.”
“I’m so ashamed about that, Frankie. You know that’s not the man I am. I’ve been under a lot of stress at work. It’s no excuse, but I let it get the best of me.”
Her face expressionless Francesca remained silent. The only sound in the room then was Bear’s growls, which stopped the moment James shot him a fiery stare, and he ran out of the room.
“Please, Frankie, I need you home. I need you next to me in bed. I haven’t been able to sleep well since you left.”
I, I, I, Francesca thought. “I’m sorry, James, but I need time for myself.”
“I miss you, Frankie.” James closed the distance between them. In a lunge, Francesca rounded the sofa to put it between them. “What do I tell your father?”
“Why would you need to tell him anything?”
“I’m having breakfast with him this Friday, and he’s bound to ask about you.”
And there it was. James wanted her back home to make the case to her father that he was the perfect husband, son-in-law, and the optimal choice to sit on the board.
“What am I to tell Peter if he asks about you?”
Tell him, you raped me on our honeymoon and that you’ve physically and mentally abused me because deep down, you’re a bully and a coward. But James wouldn’t utter those words. Even if he did, they’d be wasted on her father, who believed James Templeton III walked on water. Clean him up, dress him up with fancy manners, a fancy education, and a family lineage that traced back to some puffed-up pedigree, but underneath it all, James was as common as they came. And worse, a cowardly bully, pure and simple. Peter, however, would never see James Templeton III to the foundation of who he really was.
“Tell Daddy what you want, James. Right now, I want you to leave my home,” she said with the confidence she garnered when she saw Father Matthew arched at the living room door. Today, she was in control and wasn’t going to allow James the upper hand.
James followed Francesca’s smiling gaze. “Who are you?”
“I figured my stylish cassock would give me away. I’m Father Matthew, a friend of the family.”
James’ eyes followed Father Matthew to the console table, where he poured himself a cup of tea. No Priest he’d ever seen looked like he’d stepped out of the centerfold of a magazine as he did. He was tall. The brilliant Viking blue eyes were sultry. Even under the flowing cassock, James made out the sinewy arms and broad shoulders.
Eyes flicking to Francesca, James thought he saw her eyes deepen with emotions as they scanned the priest’s face. “Friend of the family?”
Father Matthew rounded the sofa, sank into it in a fluid motion, and Francesca joined him. “More like a spiritual advisor.”
“I see. And what has Frankie been asking you to advise on?” James shot Francesca a warning look.
Father Matthew saw Francesca pale, the lick of fear flashing in her eyes and was overcome with the need to protect her. “Nothing much, and even if she had, much like a lawyer, I couldn’t break the seal of disclosed information. Under any circumstances.”
“Good to know.” James eyed Francesca with a cautionary stare. “Still, I wouldn’t put too much weight on whatever Frankie may say. She tends to overreact. Women are weak in that respect.”
“Funny, I find men to be the weaker sex and to overreact to excess,” Father Matthew said in a mild tone that was in contrast to the fire burning eyes James aimed at him.
The bitch told the pretty-padre everything. Her version, no doubt, James concluded. And Francesca was so obtuse she didn’t see the play celibate-padre was making to bag her. James imagined the delusional ideas of self-worth, strength, and the many platitudes the padre was pumping her ego with. Well, the padre was in for a rude awakening. Francesca was a Templeton. She was his, and no one laid claim to what was his.
“May I top up your tea?” Father Matthew offered when James fury laced eyes lingered on him. “I’m sorry I never got your name.”
“I never gave it,” James spat out.
Eager to smooth James’ boorish behavior, Francesca stepped in. “Father Matthew, this is...”
“James Templeton III. I can introduce myself. I’m Frankie’s husband,” he snapped with barely restrained fury. “And no on the tea. I’m not staying.”
“I was looking forward to getting to know you, James.”
James heard what he thought was sarcasm drip from Father Matthew’s tone and lobbed it right back. “So was I, but I have more important things to do with my time.” Reaching into his jacket pocket for his car key, James turned to Francesca. “We’re not done with our conversation.”
With Father Matthew sitting inches from her, Francesca’s confidence pulsed fierce. “We are, James. I won’t be coming home. I’m staying here.” She saw James’ jaw set tightly and was sure were it not for Father Matthew’s presence, he’d have raised a hand to her then.
It felt good to have the upper hand on James Templeton III, and at that very moment, Francesca determined to stop running from herself or allowing James control over her. She wouldn’t allow him to terrorize her anymore. James’ dominance over her wouldn’t exist without her passivity.
Francesca decided then she was going to fight James to the death in court. She was going to humiliate him. She was going to win the Mulligan case—for herself.
She told Father Matthew precisely that when they sat down for dinner and talked it out with him when they took Bear for his walk on the estate.
He didn’t talk her into it or out of it. Father Matthew merely pointed out the pros and cons, which was what she needed to hear because, in the end, it was her decision to make.
Pros and cons laid out and talked out led her to decide to press on with the case. Fighting James was what she had to do for herself. Taking James on was what she had to do to regain her self-dignity.
“You’re sure it’s what you want to do?” Father Matthew said when they walked past the gardens and gazebo. The perfumes of fall floated in the cool night air, and a bright moon cast the land in a blue wash and shadows.
“I’m as sure as that moon is round and white tonight that it’s exactly what I want to do.” Francesca looked up to the starred night sky. “Not for Noah Mulligan, not for my father, not for the people at work, but for me.” She was tired of running, of being afraid.
“I’m proud of you, Francesca, and be sure I’ll be right by your side with spiritual and emotional support through it all. ‘So do not fear, for I am with you ... I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’”
“Isaiah 41:10,” Francesca quoted, and aside from being surprised, he was impressed. “I guess the catechism classes paid off,” she said with a shy smile playing across her face. “Anyway, I am going to need your support. I’m not as strong as I appear.” Francesca walked toward the nurse log, sat, and Father Matthew followed suit. She could hear the sound of the creek’s gurgling water splashing over rocks.
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re a strong, resilient woman.” Father Matthew watched Bear raise his leg to the elm, then run ahead and disappear into the tall grass. “He’s not going to get lost, is he?”
Francesca shook her head. “He knows this property like the back of his paw. Anyway, we’ll find out just how strong I am because I’m in for a nasty fight.”
After meeting James, there was no doubt in Father Matthew’s mind Francesca was right, but he said nothing. Visiting the challenges the case brought on her personal life wasn’t going to help Francesca’s nerves. For a long, while they sat in silence listening to the murmuring creek, owl’s hoots, crickets, and cicadas serenading their prospective mates.
“It’s beautiful out here this time of night.” Father Matthew watched Bear reappear, sniff his way around them until he settled down at their feet.
“I love this spot. I used to come here often with Tommy. We’d sit here for hours talking and watching the stars. He was a star watcher.” Francesca hoped to stir memories, but all it did was stir her emotions.
Sitting next to the man she loved and he not remembering her or their past made Francesca feel immensely sad. To have found the kindness, strength, and the protection she needed in him and not be able to be close to him—maybe forever—was tearing Francesca apart.
“He sounds like a romantic sort.” Father Matthew glanced up to see Francesca staring at him with tender eyes. The tightening in his gut, raw and intense, was unexpected and one he hadn’t felt before. It made him nervous. Confusion turning into concern, he said, “We should start heading back. It’s getting a chilly out here.”
