Page 20 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London - Kensington

He took a deep breath before lifting the heavy knocker and the butler promptly opened the door to let him in, showing him to the drawing room, where he shook off a cowardly sense of relief that she wasn’t there. Moments later, Leyland strode into the room, hand outstretched.

“Whistler, glad you could make it. I’d appreciate your thoughts on something.” He gestured to the door without preamble or even the offer of a drink.

Jemie supressed a smirk at the man’s total lack of manners. “Lead on.”

Leyland guided him back out of the front door of the house.

Baffled, Jemie followed, walking quickly to keep up with the man’s loping stride.

“Where are we going?”

Leyland looked down at him from his superior height. “We are going to my new house at Prince’s Gate. I have plans for the hallway and the dining room. I want something spectacular. Something that people will talk about and admire for years to come.”

Jemie stared blankly at him.

“I’ve had Shaw working on the place. There is still work to do, but I want it done for next spring.

When the season starts, I want to welcome people to Prince’s Gate in grand style.

I want to discuss with you my thoughts about the hallway, and for you to look over Jeckyll’s plans for the dining room.

” Jemie waited for him to draw breath, surprised to see Frederick so animated about something other than business.

“I’d be happy to,” he tried not to wonder why he’d asked Jeckyll to undertake the dining room and not him. Even so, it was a substantial project and alongside the portraits had the potential to make him a lot of money, to say nothing of the significant lift to his reputation.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, until they arrived at the admittedly impressive door which opened on his approach. Jemie stepped into a grand hallway. Jemie surveyed the open space and whistled at its opulence.

“Impressive.”

Leyland hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat and looked around too with an air of self-satisfaction. “I know. The staircase came from the home of the Duke of Northumberland.”

Jemie turned around and exclaimed more fulsomely as his host was clearly awaiting more of a reaction.

“I want you to decorate it.”

Jemie examined the vast expanse with rather more interest at his words.

“Decorate?” He wanted a decorator?

“Well, design something fabulous for it. For the panels on the staircase, I mean.”

Jemie nodded, relieved. That he could manage.

“Come and see the dining room.”

Leyland rushed off and Jemie strode quickly to match his eager pace.

It really was a splendid house, but in a manner Jemie considered somewhat old-fashioned.

It needed bringing up to date. If Leyland was determined to fix his position in society, he needed to showcase something at the forefront of fashion.

Something people would talk about. He wasn’t sure the Duke of Northumberland’s staircase would do it, no matter how much it impressed Leyland.

“Jeckyll is going to design a means of displaying my Chinese blue and white porcelain collection, and over here,” Frederick gestured to the empty spot over the fireplace, “I want one of your large paintings.”

Jemie furrowed his brow and looked at Leyland. “You’ve asked Jeckyll? Thomas Jeckyll?”

“I have. He’s looking at cabinetry,” he said proudly.

Jemie frowned. “What do you mean by cabinetry?”

A muscle rippled in Leyland’s jaw. “It’s not a hard concept to grasp. A means of displaying my porcelain. Shelves, but more than shelves. I don’t know how to explain it, but he knows what I want.”

Jemie nodded. “I’m sure it will be very grand.”

Leyland’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t sound impressed.”

Jemie shook his head. “No, it sounds marvellous, but…” He paused, wondering how best to phrase his question. “Is Jeckyll well?”

Leyland stared with sharp suspicion. “What do you mean? He came highly recommended, and his work is first rate.”

“His work is first rate, but he has a history of… illness that lays him low for quite some while each time it occurs.” It was an understatement, for the man was well-known for his unstable temperament.

Good as he was, he was liable to collapse under the pressure of a commission of the type that Leyland was proposing, particularly given Leyland’s perfectionist tendencies.

“I didn’t know that,” Leyland admitted.

Jemie shrugged. “Afraid so. I’d be happy to help in any way should you need me. I understand blue and white porcelain. I’m a collector myself, so I can give Jeckyll some…” he circled his hand in mid-air. “Pointers?”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you.” Jemie would have wagered his last commission it had wounded Leyland’s pride to say that. It made him smile to have Leyland indebted to him in that way and he feigned interest as Leyland rambled about the pieces of porcelain he planned for display.

When Leyland mentioned that one of his paintings should grace the room, a slow smile curved his lips. “La Princesse du pays de la Porcelaine,” Jemie murmured.

Leyland shot him a questioning look.

“The Princess from the land of porcelain. I painted it back in… oh, ’65 or so? It would fit perfectly. The princess of porcelain… amid your porcelain.” He beamed with triumph at Leyland.

Frederick Leyland rarely smiled, but when he did, it transformed him.

It took a moment, but it spread across his face and lit him up.

He put his hands on his hips, studied the floor, and then huffed out a laugh.

He was still smiling when he looked up. Jemie held out his arms and tilted his head in a questioning gesture, waiting.

“You’re a bloody genius, Whistler,” he chuckled.

Jemie bowed low then straightened up and winked. “I know. That’s why you pay me so handsomely.”

“I will need you to keep an eye on Jeckyll.”

“If I’m dealing with the hall and stairway, I can do that for you.”

Leyland nodded. “He is very elaborate in his work. I don’t want him to turn it into some sort of…” he waved his hand, searching for the right term.

“You can call on me anytime if you feel things need a… firm hand.”

Leyland appeared pleased with himself.

“Will you be in London for long?”

Leyland shrugged. “I wish I knew. I may need to be back in Liverpool soon.”

“Business affairs to attend to?”

Leyland let his guard down for a moment and looked tired. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s damnably frustrating.”

“What’s holding things up?”

“What isn’t?” Leyland sighed. “I have the backing, I have the finance in place, or I will have.” His face was wracked with guilt for a moment, making Jemie wonder at what he was having to sacrifice to raise the capital for his takeover bid.

He shook his head and put one hand on his hip.

“Old man Bibby wants me to retain the company name if I become the majority shareholder. Wants it to stay as Bibby & Sons.”

“Would you prefer to change it?”

Leyland looked him straight in the eye. “It will be the Leyland Shipping Line when I own it.”

Jemie noted the absolute conviction and telling choice of words, ‘when’ not, ‘if’.

Leyland snapped out of his reverie as quickly as he had fallen into it.

“But no more of that. Do you want me to sit for you today?”

The sudden change of topic took Jemie by surprise. “If you have time.”

Leyland nodded once. “I’ll make time.”

***

Frances came down the staircase of the Queen’s Gate house just as Frederick strode through the door with Jemie. She took a deep breath and pasted on her hostess smile whilst her chest ached with something akin to longing.

Jemie, it appeared, pasted on a smile too. His lovely blue eyes were guarded, and he appeared to be on his best behaviour.

“Jemie, how nice to see you! Can I offer you some refreshment?”

“Thank you. That would be most welcome.” He bowed and held his polite smile in place. She kept her own face completely neutral, trying not to be hurt by this sudden distance between them. Fredrick was thankfully oblivious to any tension between them.

“Whistler is going to work on my portrait later today. Where is it?”

“At my house in Chelsea.”

“I’ll have it brought over.”

“Then perhaps you will join us for luncheon. Lizzie is here, and I’m sure she’d love to see you,” Frances suggested.

“You are most kind.”

She gestured to the drawing room, but Frederick muttered something about an appointment and disappeared, leaving Frances alone with Jemie. She exhaled.

“Perhaps we will use the small parlour,” she led the way. She called for the tea tray, and they stood awkwardly in front of the fireplace.

“Please, have a seat.”

“After you,” he murmured.

She perched on the very edge of the chair, folding her hands on her knees. They waited that way until the tea tray was safely deposited and the door closed.

“Frances,” Jemie ran his hands through his hair.

Frances offered him a bright smile while he continued like a condemned man.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

Frances blinked. “You do?” she wasn’t sure she wanted him to apologise.

“I should never have said all those things to you.”

“You… you didn’t mean them?”

“Of course I meant them. I meant every word, but I shouldn’t have said them.”

“Oh…erm… why?”

He looked at her. Regret etched on every line of his face.

“Because… because…” he gestured helplessly.

Frances’s gaze dropped to her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I’m glad you said them. I know you weren’t trying to…

seduce me, or anything silly like that. You were describing what you saw, and I’ve never thought of myself or Frederick in quite those terms and it…

it… well, it’s made me look at things. Think about things. Look at me,” she admitted.

“I… see.” He cocked his head to one side, considering her. “Are you angry with me?”

“Not a bit. You believe in what you are doing. It matters to you, and I think anyone who looks at your work can see that.”

To her surprise, colour touched his cheeks. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“So, are we still friends?”

Jemie regarded her and a warm smile spread gently across his face as he nodded.

“Friends,” he agreed.