Page 18 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London – Chelsea

Much as he’d enjoyed his time at Speke, it was good to be back in London.

Jemie breathed in the air redolent with the scent of horses, dung, food, ale, people, spices as he walked home.

It was excellent inspiration. He’d missed sketching the city and the Thames.

It also took his mind off the Leyland family for a while.

He returned and sat with his mother in the parlour of their Chelsea home as tea was served, yet his mind drifted back to Liverpool as his mother toiled over a letter to his sister, Deborah.

It was good to be away from Frederick Leyland. Just before that final dinner, he’d bumped into young Freddie, tearing along the corridor, tears glistening in his eyes, a split lip and a lump on his head.

“Hey,” Jemie had said with shocked concern. “Hey, what happened to you?” He caught his arm and peered at his face.

Freddie straightened up, chest pumping, and shook his head.

“Okay. Should we find your mama?”

“No. I’m going to my room.” His voice trembled.

“Has your mama seen this?”

Freddie nodded, and a single tear hung on an eyelash for a second before tumbling down his cheek.

“Come on.” He had taken Freddie’s arm and walked swiftly to his room, shutting the door behind them.

“What in God’s name is going on?” he demanded to know as he went to the washstand to wet a cloth. He passed it to Freddie so he could hold it to his mouth, then his face. “What happened to you?”

Freddie hesitated, then stuck his chin in the air. “My father.”

Jemie’s stomach clenched. “He did this to you. Why?”

“I told him I wanted to leave school and go work with him.” He winced as his lip pulled as he spoke and dabbed at it tentatively with a finger.

“And?”

Freddie gestured to his face.

“He hit you?” Jemie recoiled. “Because you wanted to work with him?”

Freddie nodded.

“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”

“Because he doesn’t want me to. He wants me to go to university. We… argued.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Mama told me not to argue, but he’s so… so…” the boy’s eyes welled with angry tears.

“Hell,” Jemie groaned, dragging the boy into a rough hug, patting him on the back.

Freddie allowed it but pulled away after a moment. “Mama was there. She saw. She was upset.”

Jemie had gone over the incident time and time again in the intervening days. He’d found Lizzie and asked her to find Frances urgently, but he hadn’t seen her himself. If he was honest, he was afraid to in case Leyland had hurt her too and what he might do if he had.

What a mess. He was glad to be away from it for a while at least.

“Jemie?”

He jumped at his mother’s voice. “Sorry, wool-gathering. Good to be home?” he asked, forcing a note of joviality into his voice.

“Indeed, it is,” she said, for once not seeming to notice his distraction. “Lovely as it was to spend time with the Leylands, there is nothing quite as comfortable as one’s own parlour, a cup of tea, and a piece of excellent cake.”

Jemie laughed. “Just what I was thinking. What do you think of Frederick Leyland?”

She hesitated and cast him a suspicious look. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering. I’m finding him difficult to paint.

He’s an odd fish. Cold and disinterested most of the time, quick to anger, but quite animated when talking to his business cronies.

” He hesitated, then ploughed on. “He doesn’t seem to like his children above much.

” He took a huge bite of cake, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s like he must be in control of absolutely everything in his life.

Including his portrait,” he nodded at his mother before taking another bite of the cake, “which is quite a challenge, I can tell you.”

“I imagine a man with that amount of wealth and influence needs to control things.” His mother mused.

He sipped from his cup. “True, but really, I was thinking more about how he is with his… family rather than business.”

He studied his teacup for a moment although out of the corner of his eye he could see his mother raise an eyebrow. She was no fool.

“It’s not like that. I’ve grown fond of Frances and the children, that’s all, and he’s often… unpleasant with them.” He sighed.

His mother placed her cup on the table by her chair.

“He is my love. The children adore him and just want him to love them. It’s rather like our Mr Leyland doesn’t know how.

He definitely has no notion of how to show them love and, as a result, is at a loss to know how to deal with the love they offer. ”

His mother’s sharp perception never failed to amaze him. He was considering his next words, but she spoke first.

“If you’re going to tell me he doesn’t know how to love his wife, I’m going to get annoyed with you, Jemie.” Her firm words of warning gave Jemie a jolt.

He laughed and shook his head. “I’m pretty convinced that he most certainly does not know how to love his wife, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to try if that’s what’s worrying you,” he promised her, shocked at how transparent he had apparently been despite trying to conceal feelings he had barely admitted to himself.

She didn’t look terribly convinced, and he saw no point in attempting to convince her, so he took another bite of cake, attempting not to listen to the little voice in his head that whispered to him about just how much he wanted to know Frances better.

He kept telling himself wanting to spend time alone with her was to improve his understanding of her for the portrait, but he couldn’t convince himself, let alone his mother, so he remained silent.

“Jemie, for heaven’s sake, do nothing foolish,” his mother urged him.

“Leyland is good for you. He pays you well to paint him and his family. Do not put that at risk. These portraits will elevate you. Raise your status in the art world. Do not throw away this opportunity, because no matter how lovely or how lonely Frances is, it will be for naught. She’s a married woman and always will be.

When these portraits are all finished, you will go on to your next works and she will remain with her family and her husband. ”

Jemie looked away.

“Be her friend,” his mother suggested with a pleading look. “She needs a good friend.”

It was true, Frances did need a friend, but he had the strongest suspicion that what she truly needed was a friend and a lover who understood her. Who could laugh with her, love with her. Show her how beautiful she was. A flush rippled through him at the thought and he shook it away.

“How will you paint her?”

“Leyland wants a full length, so I’m going to paint her standing. But I want to give some thought about how I arrange the portrait. I want her in a different pose. I want her… I think I want it to not look posed. Something more natural.” He explained.

His mother tilted her head. “Will that work? Particularly if the portrait of Leyland is formal?”

“I think it will.” He knew it would. He could feel it.

Whatever the final composition would be, he wouldn’t have her in a formal pose, standing facing him in the way he was painting Leyland.

Solid, stately, and filled with his own inflated sense of self-importance.

No, he wanted more for Frances. He wanted to show her as the glorious woman that she was.

Wanted her husband to see what sat under his nose.

What he ignored every single day. What he berated and spoke down to. Most of all, what he was missing.

“None of these corsets and…” he gestured vaguely, “bustles and nonsense. I don’t want her strung up. I want her in a loose and flowing gown.” He was warming to his topic now. “I want her in beautiful pinks and creams. I want a tea dress, or something unstructured, loose…”

At his mother’s look, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know it’s not the kind of thing that a woman wears in public, but it’s hardly immodest.”

His mother sighed. “If Leyland is paying the bill, he may have something to say about it.”

“I won’t show him,” he shrugged.

It sounded petulant, even to his own ears, and his mother laughed. “This is really important to you?”

“It is.” It hit him just how important it was. He wanted Frances to be loose and free. He wanted something that no-one else had, that no-one else saw of Frances Leyland. This would be his symphony. His version of her and he knew that she’d love it. Knew it in his bones.

***

“You want me wearing what ?” Frances cried. They were alone in the parlour at the Leyland’s current Kensington house. She was sitting in a pool of sunlight, hair gleaming, but her cheeks were decidedly pink at Jemie’s suggestion.

He tried again to describe the garment that he wanted her to wear. A loose flowing tea dress shown from the back, and the stance he wanted her to take. He’d decided that he needed her standing, but looking back at him, over one shoulder.

His explanation did nothing to calm her.

“Frances, can you just trust me?”

The flicker of hurt in her eyes cut. “I thought I could, but it rather sounds like you are going to paint my husband like an upstanding citizen, a wealthy, successful man on the cusp of the biggest move of his life, and me like a… whore.”

Jemie was stunned at her interpretation. How the hell had this conversation gone so wrong? He was usually good at persuading people to do what he wanted. He was known for it in fact. Yet here he was blundering about like a clod.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. Not at all,” he assured her but to his horror, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, although she fought to hold on to them, to not let them spill.

He dragged a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and moved to sit beside her, offering her the linen. She hesitated but took it and pleated it between her fingers as he searched frantically for the words he needed.

“Frances. I am extraordinarily fond of you. I would do nothing that would cause you distress. I hope you will give me another chance to explain what I want to do. How I want to portray you.” He was wracking his brains because the only damned explanations he could come up with would most likely send her running for the hills.

Hell, the realisation almost sent him running.

“I’m waiting…” she sniffed.

He gathered both her hands in his and took a deep breath.

“I think that… I think…” He stared at her and hesitated. How could he explain himself without betraying his feelings? How?

“I think Frederick wanted the world to see him as an important man. As a man at the pinnacle of his career, as successful and in command of all he surveys. Including his wife and family.” He glanced at her. At least he had her attention.

“He’s a hard man to know. He lives entirely behind a facade.”

“What do you mean, a facade?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Well, Frederick is either entirely without sympathy or sentiment, with no capacity for love, fun and laughter, or he hides all this behind a facade. It’s like he hides behind a wall. You know him better than I, is he… warmer in private?” he ventured boldly.

Frances looked mortified. Beyond mortified.

“Ah, you don’t have to answer that.” He shook his head, realising his mistake.

“I’ve never seen any facade, as you put it. I think that is simply how he is.” Frances pleated the handkerchief awkwardly.

“Whereas with you, I see your social face. The one where you stand beside Frederick, where you are a remarkably successful society hostess. Cool and calm and gracious. But I also see you with your children. With my mother, with your sister and your friends. And I see a woman who is warm, loving, funny, spirited, effervescent and beautiful… but this wonderful, sparkling Frances hides when her husband is around.” Jemie said softly.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

His thoughts crystallised as he said the words. He wanted to take her in his arms. Ached to, but he didn’t. He just sat beside her.

“This… sparkling Frances must tread with caution because her husband doesn’t understand this part of her.

The part that wants to shower love on the children, her friends.

Who wants to be gloriously informal, who wants to gather everyone up in her love and make them happy.

She tries to gather her husband up in that love, but he doesn’t understand it.

Doesn’t want it. He’s safe behind his wall and won’t come out.

In fact, he gets quite cross when she tries. ”

Frances hiccupped, between quiet sobs.

His voice lowered, and he leaned closer to her. “So, this sparkling Frances has to be on her guard; always cautious, always careful.”

Frances leaped up and began pacing the room, the handkerchief pressed tightly to her lips.

“My sparkling Frances hides and faces the world as the wife of an important man. Oh, she’s bright and sociable, but in a very controlled way that her husband approves of.

He wants, no, needs, a quiet wife. One who obeys, one who keeps out of his way, one who lives in his shadow.

” He paused. “One who doesn’t look beneath his facade and disturb his peace by asking him to feel. ”

He stood up and went to stand beside her. “My sparkling Frances peeps over her shoulder and sees her friends, her family, the people who love her and yearns for those moments where she can be free.”

“Jemie?” she whispered, breathing heavily. “You know what happened with Freddie, don’t you? You know what Frederick did?”

“I saw him just afterwards,” he admitted.

“He told me how kind you’d been.”

Jemie didn’t know what to say.

Frances put her fingertips to her mouth and blinked rapidly before casting a heartbroken look at him. Something inside him cracked open and he simply offered his arms. She hesitated a second, then walked into his embrace and clung tightly to him.

Arms stronger than he’d imagined bound him to her as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

He swallowed and rested his atop hers, wrapped her up in his arms, and closed his eyes wishing things could be different.

The knowledge that they could never be settled inside him like an ache in his soul.