Page 12 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)
Speke Hall – Liverpool
It was official. Mr Whistler was to commence work on Frederick’s portrait, sketch the house and family, and then begin a full-length portrait of Frances.
Everyone was swept in a frenzy of excitement, as it meant that Mr Whistler would spend a considerable amount of time with them over the coming months.
In fact, he’d rather moved in and made himself at home, much to the elation of the children.
Added to that, they expected his mother to join him any day.
The family had taken the decision to delay visiting London for a few weeks and Frances was quietly delighted at that fact.
Whilst she found London thrilling, she was forever worried that her humble origins would show more clearly there in distinguished company.
Frederick didn’t seem to care, but it bothered her.
She was the daughter of a mariner and iron moulder from Northumberland.
Frederick, the son of a woman who sold pies, with no father.
They had begun married life in the poorest parts of Liverpool.
She felt much more at home here, and the added company of Mr Whistler had filled Speke Hall with excitement and energy.
“Having Mr Whistler about doesn’t half cheer the place up,” Lizzie observed as she took tea with Frances. “How is dear old Fred adapting?”
“Frighteningly well, but then he isn’t here very much. He doesn’t have a great deal of time to sit for his portrait, but he turns up occasionally. He’s also very tolerant of the children’s adoration of Mr Whistler, strangely enough,” Frances admitted.
Lizzie appeared startled. “Really?”
“I thought he’d be unbearable, and I’d have to spend my days running between Frederick, the children, and Mr Whistler to keep them all apart, but no. He’s being awfully good about it,” Frances said, unable to hide her own surprise.
Lizzie chuckled.
“He’s even accompanying us to London in a few weeks.”
“Are we visiting the much-anticipated new London home in Kensington?” her sister pressed.
“We are indeed.”
“I suppose every up-and-coming gentleman should have two London residences, just around the corner from each other,” Lizzie teased.
Frances shook her head at her sister’s goading. “I must admit, I’m curious to see what the new house offers that the old house does not, but I suspect my husband would take issue with being described as up-and-coming. As far as he’s concerned, he’s already there!”
Lizzie burst into giggles, as did Frances.
“I hear Kensington is growing rapidly in popularity,” Lizzie remarked. “Someone told me it’s seen over a hundred new houses built in the last few years.”
“I think the house that Frederick has bought is quite new, with all modern amenities and frightfully fashionable, I’m told.
I don’t think it’s quite where he wanted.
He rather fancied Grosvenor Square but settled on Kensington.
Apparently, the staircase in the house used to grace the home of the Duke of Northumberland and that apparently swung it for him. ”
“It sounds very much like something that would appeal to your husband,” Lizzie agreed.
“He’s going to ask Mr Whistler’s advice on the plans he’s drawn up to improve the house.
He particularly wants to show off some of his art collection and his porcelain.
He’s found an architect whom he thinks will devise something that will let him display his favourite pieces. A Mr Jeckyll if I’m not mistaken.”
“I imagine Mr Whistler will be delighted to offer his advice if it means he can spend more time here,” Lizzie smirked.
***
There was much activity about the house as Mr Whistler prepared to paint Frederick in the coming days, and the family prepared to welcome Mrs Whistler.
“What will you wear for your portrait, papa?” Fannie asked, when Frederick joined them briefly for tea one afternoon. Before he could respond, Elinor jumped in.
“Oh, papa, will you wear a red army uniform and stand by a horse?” she asked, eyes wide. “I think that would be the very best idea.”
Her husband looked baffled. “No, I shall wear a suit. One must be in the army to wear the red uniform.”
Elinor’s face fell. “No horses?”
“No horses.”
“I imagine horses are quite hard to paint,” Elinor mused, a thoughtful look settling on her features.
“It would be hard to ask one to stand still in the study. It might make a mess. Perhaps you could stand by a tree with the horse and have the countryside in the background. That would look lovely as long as it didn’t rain. ”
Freddie laughed, and Elinor folded her arms in a huff, having been sincere. Frederick sent an alarmed look Frances’ way as he often did as he sailed out of his depth with the children’s conversations.
Frances, as always, came to his rescue. “You are absolutely correct, darling. It would be far too complicated to paint a horse, and it might be a little chilly to stand outside by a tree. Papa will stand in the study and Mr Whistler will paint him there. He’s already done some wonderful sketches of papa. ”
“Did you have to sit still?” Fannie asked. “Mr Whistler did some sketches of us, but we could move.”
“No, I didn’t need to sit still for the sketches, but I will no doubt have to once he starts the portrait.”
“I hope he sketches us again,” Florence sighed. Florence was the quietest of her children and Frances was pleased to see her joining in the conversation instead of listening as usual.
“Did you like being drawn, darling?” she asked, eager to encourage her.
Florence nodded. “I like Mr Whistler.”
“He’s jolly good fun,” Freddie added. “Mr Rossetti too. Will he be visiting us again soon?”
“I dare say,” Frederick drained his cup, signalling he was about to leave. She was pleased he’d spent at least a little time with the children, even if it was only ten minutes.
“I must get on,” he announced, and Frances ignored how far the children’s faces fell at his departure, knowing they savoured the rare occasion when his foul temper was at bay.
“Bye bye, papa,” Elinor said with a sad little wave.
As ever, Frances made up for his lack of attention by indulging them for another hour and listening to all the trials and tribulations of youth with a glad ear and a smile.
Later that night, as Frances lay in her bed debating whether to read another chapter of her book or settle down to sleep, a sharp knock pre-empted her husband’s arrival in her room.
She was shocked. It was only a few weeks since Frederick had last sought her company and afterwards had seemed to find the experience less than satisfactory, so she hadn’t expected him to return anytime soon.
She sat up and placed the book on the nightstand, trying not to look as anxious as she suddenly felt.
He removed his dressing gown and laid it neatly over the chair nearest the dresser. Frances swallowed, recognising the routine. She lay back against the pillow and waited, heart thumping.
He blew out all the candles, drew the curtains and it was so dark she could barely make him out.
She felt the bed dip under his weight as he lifted the blankets and got in beside her, filling up all the space.
Frances closed her eyes and steadied her heaving chest. She could feel the warmth of his body, hear him breathing heavily.
“Do you still want more children?” he startled her, his voice echoing in the darkness. He never spoke to her in bed. He came, did what he needed to, then disappeared.
She swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Do you?”
“I want another son. You know that.”
She wanted to point out that if he impregnated her again, there was no guarantee of a boy, but kept silent.
“As you wish,” she murmured. She was not averse to another child, just the method of obtaining one. She tried not to sigh or swallow noticeably.
He appeared to hesitate, then rolled on top of her, pushing up her nightgown as he did so, settling himself awkwardly.
Frances turned her head away and closed her eyes.
In her heart, she doubted she could bear more children.
She’d had awful trouble birthing Elinor, and in the fourteen years since, even allowing for the infrequency of her husband’s visits, it was odd she hadn’t been with child again.
She just wished her husband would realise it and stop trying.
She braced herself and screwed her eyes shut, hoping their encounter would be over quickly.