Page 23 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London - Kensington

“Well, I think you should tell him,” Lizzie said over breakfast. Frances wasn’t so sure because she knew it would only anger her husband.

“For heaven’s sake, half of London is conversing about him.

” Lizzie had been with her on a round of morning calls and had been forced to listen to the idle gossip about her husband’s business practices.

Things had been simmering for a few days, with veiled comments about Frederick, but out of the blue, things had shifted into decidedly more pointed remarks.

One in particular, a redoubtable matron, a Mrs Levenshulme, who was a bosom bow of the Bibby family, left her in no doubt whatsoever that her husband was seen not just as an interloper, but nothing but a jumped-up clerk, a bully, and a rogue.

“How would I broach it with him? You know what he’s like.” Frances sighed.

“I do know what he’s like, and he’s probably oblivious.”

It was true. Frederick didn’t really care what people said or thought about him and rarely gave trivial gossip a second thought.

Frances buttered more toast and poured more tea for them both.

“Mrs Caldicott was both sensible and kind,” Lizzie said. “I do like her.”

“She was very kind and I for one truly appreciated it.” Rosa Caldicott had pointed out, very coolly, that it wasn’t a suitable conversation for the drawing room. Things had settled after that.

The door opened and Frederick stalked in. Lizzie raised her eyebrows, and Frances scowled at her, shaking her head when Frederick turned to close the door.

“Good morning, ladies,” he murmured without looking at them and went to help himself from the dishes.

“May I pour you some tea?” Lizzie offered in a bright voice. Frances gave her a long look that implored her to remain silent because this would only end badly.

“Thank you.”

Frederick sat down and shook out his napkin.

“What do you have planned for today?” Lizzie enquired with a bite of her toast.

“Work.” Frederick grunted, cutting a piece of sausage, and putting it in his mouth.

“Well, I hope you are a bit kinder to your work friends today, brother dear. Your wife and I had to endure some most unpleasant comments in a few morning calls with friends after what you said to Mr Bibby.”

Frances wanted to slide under the table. She felt the heat ride up her face and her hands trembled in her lap.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Although Frederick addressed her sister, his eyes turned to her. She swallowed as Lizzie enumerated the people who had made small but pointed remarks about him.

Frederick chewed, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and set it down carefully.

“Do either of you imagine I care about that?” he shrugged.

Lizzie laughed. “Lord, no. I don’t imagine you do, but you might have regard for your poor wife who had to endure such humiliation.”

“And just how does my poor wife feel about this?’ Frederick continued to glare at her.

Lizzie shot her a look that she was sure meant, ‘tell him everything’, but Frances turned away.

“It was a little uncomfortable, but I’m sure that all will be well. People have very short memories.” Frances tried to reason, keen to keep the fragile peace.

Frederick nodded. “So, all is well?”

Frances cast an apologetic glance at Lizzie. “It is.”

They breakfasted in complete silence. Frances drank far more tea than she wanted to because she didn’t dare leave her sister alone with Frederick.

***

Later that morning, Frederick joined them in the parlour. Frances was certain it was to make sure that Lizzie didn’t carry on tittle tattling about him and his business. It was most uncomfortable, as he stayed there for the best part of half an hour, and she felt on edge the entire time.

She was enormously relieved when the footman announced the arrival of Jemie and Mr Rossetti.

Jemie put a hand in his coat pocket and produced some tickets with a flourish.

“I have tickets for the Haymarket Theatre to see Pygmalion and Galatea . Would anyone care to join me?”

Lizzie squealed in excitement. Frances managed to contain herself, but only just. They had talked at some length about the play, but her husband had refused point blank to accompany them, considering the theatre a waste of an evening.

“I would LOVE to go,” Lizzie enthused. “You, sir, are a wonderful man!”

Jemie laughed and gave her a bow. “Well, if I’d known that the way to your heart was through a theatre ticket, I’d have done it sooner.”

“Leyland?” Jemie offered.

Frederick just gave him a droll look. “Thank you, but no.”

“I might throw in supper,” Mr Rossetti waggled his eyebrows making Lizzie laugh.

“Not even with supper,” Frederick said, still unamused.

“Pah,” exclaimed Jemie. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Perhaps your lovely wife has better taste?” he turned to her with a hopeful expression.

“I’d be delighted. I’ve heard nothing but good things about it. I believe Mr Kendall is excellent.”

Jemie nodded. “I think his wife is playing Galatea? Madge something?”

“Madge Robertson,” supplied Lizzie with an excited bounce. “This is most exciting. When are we to go?”

“Tonight?”

“Then I must go shopping. Frances, you simply must come with me! Gentlemen, do excuse us,” Lizzie announced and she grabbed Frances to hurriedly take their leave.

***

Frances made a tiny adjustment to Lizzie’s newly purchased hat, angling it just so, and they were ready to leave.

Jemie and Mr Rossetti handed them into the carriage, and Frances sat next to Lizzie, facing the gentlemen who travelled with their backs to the horses.

She resisted the urge to giggle with glee.

Lizzie, however, displayed no such restraint.

“I’m so terribly excited. I can’t thank you enough for inviting us!” she clapped her gloved hands and then pressed them to her face.

“It’s my pleasure,” Jemie smiled. “I’m glad that you could accompany us.”

As the carriage edged through the endlessly busy traffic to carry them across London, Lizzie engaged Mr Rossetti in conversation, leaving Frances to watch Jemie as they ambled along. He looked handsome in evening wear.

“Penny for them,” he murmured.

“Just musing,” she replied. “Do you know what the play is about?”

He laid his head back on the squabs and watched her. “Something about a sculptor?”

She chuckled. “A sculptor who creates the perfect woman who comes to life, much to the consternation of his wife.”

Jemie’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ll wager she was not happy.”

“You’d wager correctly,” Frances told him.

“What happens?”

“Wait and see. I won’t spoil it for you. It’s supposed to be quite funny.”

Jemie’s smile widened.

When they arrived, Jemie helped her down from the carriage, his gloved hand warm on hers, and he held on to her fingers as Mr Rossetti handed Lizzie down. She looked up at the magnificent portico of the Theatre Royal in Haymarket with its huge columns.

Jemie offered his arm with a smile, and she felt quite shy as she tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“Is this your first visit to the Theatre Royal?” he enquired.

Frances nodded. “Can you tell? Am I gawping?” she whispered self-consciously.

Jemie laughed. “Of course not. I take it your husband isn’t too much taken with the theatre?”

“Not in the slightest.”

They walked beneath the enormous columns and there was a row of doors, each with a window above, and Mr Rossetti steered Lizzie in the direction of the boxes.

“Have you arranged a box for us?” Frances gasped.

He flashed her a mock outraged look. “Of course! Do you think I would have you in the pits?”

“Frankly, I don’t care where I sit, but a box will be lovely.”

Inside was an absolute crush, but Frances loved every moment. There was something about visiting the theatre that made her tingle inside with happiness. It was a particular interest of hers, and one pleasure she loved to indulge.

“I believe they have begun performances during the day here now?” she turned to Jemie as they walked on.

He nodded. “Matinees, I think they call them. Not sure it will take off,” he shook his head.

“I think it’s a splendid idea. I’d love to go to a matinee performance. Going to the theatre during the day would be such fun.”

Jemie laughed and squeezed her fingers, hugging her hand to his side.

“You are an absolute delight.”

“And you are a genius for suggesting this. How did you know how much I wanted to go to see Pygmalion and Galatea ?”

“I might have listened to you speak about the theatre once or twice.”

Frances’ breath caught at his thoughtfulness. That he’d heard her talk about the theatre so arranged for her to go. “Am I a dreadful bore about it?” she worried.

For once his eyes were difficult to read. “Never.”

Frances waited whilst Mr Rossetti opened the door to the box, then pushed it open with a theatrical flourish. She lifted the silk drapery with a gloved hand and walked in.

“Oh… oh, my word,” she breathed as she marvelled at the sheer opulence. It wasn’t a huge theatre, just two tiers, but the ceiling, adorned with glorious paintings, stole her breath.

“It’s splendid,” Lizzie squeezed her arm. “Come on, move up. You’re blocking the door.”

Frances shook herself. “Sorry,” she moved to the chairs lined by the edge of the box.

She sensed rather than felt Jemie’s hand hovering by the small of her back as he guided her to sit beside Lizzie.

Mr Rossetti was on the end, so she perched on the chair beside Lizzie and Jemie sat beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth from his body.

It made her heart flutter even more to be so near to him.

A hush fell over the theatre as the lights gradually dimmed. She had heard all about the new method that allowed the lights to be subdued so it was wonderful to see it.

“I love how they do that,” Frances whispered to Jemie, “I read about it. It’s awfully clever.”

He beamed at her and winked, making her blush.