Page 22 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

William nodded with a smile. “We would be delighted to, wouldn’t we, Alastair? Carlisle?”

Alastair leaped to his feet for a playful bow, swiftly followed by Mr Carlisle, making Frances laugh. “At your service!” they chorused.

“I’d be more than happy to act as escort, too,” Jemie offered. “If you’d like to go to the galleries or the theatre, that is. I’m not much for shopping,” he added worriedly.

Frances laughed at the concern on his face. The London season suddenly seemed really quite appealing.

***

In the end, they stayed in London until the very end of the season.

Plans were afoot to return to Speke as July gave way to August and the summer heat took hold, and they were all excited at the prospect of fresh country air.

All except her husband, who seemed to be in a dreadful mood most of the time.

He had flitted back and forth from Liverpool to London on the train during the season.

She was sure he was growing to love railways as much as he loved shipping.

It wouldn’t have surprised her had he returned home with a railway or two added to the company.

However, nothing seemed to progress as he wanted it to with his plans to take over at Bibby.

Today he was in his office, and no-one dared beard the lion in his den.

Frances was planning a jaunt with Lizzie and the girls to the South Kensington Museum to see the art collection from the Great Exhibition and the ornamental art from Marlborough House later in the day.

Jemie and Mr Rossetti were joining them, so she was sure they would have a wonderful time.

Later in the day, they were bound for the zoo.

She was enjoying a moment of quiet when Mrs Caldicott paid her a call.

Frances was delighted to receive her as she enjoyed her company enormously during their various meetings through the season.

She was becoming a good friend. One who had been born into an aristocratic family, whose understanding of the rules of etiquette were ingrained from birth, but one who was always kind and offered a gentle nudge when needed without making Frances feel she had committed some awful social solecism. She was an absolute treasure.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she handed Mrs Caldicott a cup and saucer. “Everything has been so terribly busy with the new house.”

“I believe it is to be a thing of grandeur,” she ventured, taking a sip.

Frances laughed. “He might not show it, but my husband is very enthused about it all.”

They laughed together and talked about wonderfully inconsequential things.

Of shopping and fashion, with Frances receiving some very useful hints and tips about the most up to the minute styles and where to purchase them which she hoped might please Frederick the next time they hosted guests.

Also, Mrs Caldicott was an absolute fount of knowledge when it came to gossip and very entertaining.

She had Frances in stitches about Lady Aranthwaite’s latest musical soiree.

“I must go,” she said eventually. “I have enjoyed your company enormously.”

Frances stood and took her hand. “And I yours. Thank you so much for calling. We must do this again back in Speke.”

“I would love to,” she squeezed Frances’ hand tightly.

Frances rang for the footman and watched her friend leave. She had barely sat down when her husband walked into the room, a frown etched on his face.

“Hello my dear,” she greeted him. “Would you like some tea? I can ring for a fresh pot.”

“No. Was that Mrs Caldicott I saw leaving?”

Frances nodded. “It was indeed. She paid me a call.”

“What did she want?”

Frances supressed a sigh and maintained her smile. “It was a morning call. We have got to know each other quite well.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“It was just a call. Do you not approve? I thought you held Mr Caldicott and his wife in high regard.”

Frederick grunted.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked.

He shook his head and left. Frances felt her headache returning at yet another of her husband’s difficult moods.

***

Jemie wasn’t entirely certain about Leyland’s portrait, but his patron deemed it completed. He didn’t agree for there were a few things that he wanted to amend, to change, and the temptation to start again was so immense it made his fingers itch.

“Absolutely not. If I have to take it from you and lock it up, I will.”

Jemie laughed at the man standing before him, dressed in black. “Do you really feel it’s done?” he asked. “I think I could improve on it.” He grinned at his patron. “I could make you look even more imposing.”

Leyland rolled his eyes and strolled over to scrutinise the work. He tilted his head and gave it his full attention.

“No. It’s just what I want. It’s perfect.”

“As you wish.” Jemie bowed his head.

“You should now paint my wife.”

“Of course.” He could barely wait to paint Frances, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure being locked away with her for long periods of time looking deeply into her soul would be healthy for him, given the feelings he was fast developing for her.

At the moment, simply having dinner with them made him twitch.

It was all he could do not to just sit and stare at her.

“Have you finished your mother?”

“My Arrangement in Grey and Black?”

“Is that what you call it?” Leyland scoffed.

“It is.” It damned well was. He could call his paintings what the hell he wanted. It moved them away from the traditional style. Moved him away from tradition.

“What should I call it? Portrait of my mother?”

A smile hovered about Leyland’s lips at that. “Probably not, although ‘Mr Whistler’s Mother’ has quite a ring to it.”

Jemie glowered at him but then chuckled and shared one of Leyland’s rare, genuine smiles, leaving the man looking very pleased with himself.

***

Dinner that evening was a thoroughly pleasant affair. Jemie had eaten well, drank Leyland’s excellent wine, and managed to keep his eyes off the man’s wife for the best part of the meal.

The ladies had retired to the drawing room, so he sat with the men and accepted a cigar and the port. He poured himself a generous amount.

“Am I to assume that things are not going well with Bibby?” William Bartlett enquired and Jemie listened intently. There were none of his business associates at the table, so he assumed Bartlett felt safe to raise the subject.

Leyland arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Are you assuming that?”

“I’ve heard rumours your approach is… not popular?”

“For crying out loud, Bartlett. This is business. I’m not there to be liked .”

William chuckled. “It sounds like it’s a good thing you are not. Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Leyland huffed, leaning back in his chair and fixing William with a look he probably gave his opponents. The table went quiet and waited.

“That you’ve issued an ultimatum to old man Bibby?”

“Well, I’m not going to sit around forever, am I? I need a decision.”

William held both hands aloft in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not criticising, just curious if it’s true. The gossip mongers are in a flat spin. The rumour is that you’ve told Bibby to either sell to you or face you as a competitor.”

“And if I have?” Leyland shrugged.

William’s lips twitched. “Then you need to warn your wife that when you return to Speke, your name will be mud. It’s certainly doing the rounds here, but I’d wager in Liverpool they will be out on the streets, given how you’re conducting business.”

“Warn my wife? ” Leyland looked genuinely puzzled.

“Well, it’s she who manages your social engagements, she who will have to endure the disapprobation if all of Liverpool think you a monster, and much of London, too.”

“You talk such nonsense, Bartlett.” He shook his head with bemused bafflement and changed the subject, but Jemie knew exactly what William was referring to.

Leyland’s reputation was sinking. Whilst many admired ambition, most didn’t want to see the ruthlessness of the inner workings of success and social climbing.

They certainly didn’t want to see how a man might beat his opponents into submission.

No-one wanted to see behaviour that was less than gentlemanly even in matters of business.

That kind of thing was kept out of the public eye, but Leyland had lifted his head above the parapet and trumpeted his plans to all and sundry.

Apparently, Bibby & Sons had worldwide success for more than seventy years.

Its most recent success appeared to be attributed to Leyland’s foresight in moving the business to steamers and away from liners.

Perhaps he thought that gave him the right to elbow his way to the top in such a brutal fashion, but his latest scheme was going to have unfortunate consequences for his family if he didn’t have a care.