Page 36 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London – Kensington

Jemie stood by the fireplace as his mother sat in the chair beside him talking to some lady he’d been introduced to on arrival at the Cordingley’s and promptly forgotten.

It was a small enough gathering, but Frances would be there, so he was willing to put up with banal conversation in order to spend an evening in her company.

His evening improved considerably when Rossetti ambled into the room, followed by Valentine Prinsep. Jemie smiled at both men and offered his hand as they walked over to where he stood.

“Good to see you,” Rossetti clapped him on the arm. “It’s been an age. Busy?”

Jemie nodded and shook with Prinsep. “Very busy. Leyland is keeping my nose to the grind.” He offered a grin and Rossetti laughed.

“Have you finished the delectable Mrs Leyland yet?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Not yet,” he shook his head and grinned once more.

“You’re painting Mrs Leyland?” Prinsep said.

Jemie nodded. “It’s going well. I spent a lot of time with the family this summer at Speke.” He recalled Prinsep had visited himself on a couple of occasions.

“Are we likely to be seeing the misses Leyland in society this coming year?”

Jemie raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking for any particular reason?”

Prinsep cast him a faux innocent look, eyebrows raised, and although he considered himself to be a man of the world, Jemie was so surprised he almost resorted to his monocle. He fixed Prinsep with a look. “Am I to take it you intend paying court to one of the misses Leyland?”

Prinsep pursed his lips and shrugged lightly. “Perhaps.”

Jemie knew Frances was planning a season for Fannie and Florence, but they were barely out of the schoolroom, and he suddenly felt rather protective of the girls he’d grown fond of.

“Might I be so bold as to enquire which lady has piqued your interest?” Jemie was wracking his brains, trying to work out if Prinsep paid particular attention to any of the girls.

“I’m not saying I’m ready to make any announcements, or advance my suit, so for God’s sake say nothing to her father, but it occurred to me that Miss Florence would make a charming wife,” Prinsep explained.

“She’s terribly young and I’m far too old for her.

She is, however, quite delightful. Perhaps in the future, when she’s a little older? ”

Prinsep was only a few years younger than he was, and he was almost as old as Leyland – Florence’s father. He knew full well a lot of men had a taste for young brides, but if he ever settled down, he would need it to be someone he could have a sensible, rational, adult conversation with.

He wondered how Frances would feel about such a match. Prinsep was a good man, and a talented artist, but how ambitious would Leyland be for his girls? He imagined he would be seeking a title. He wondered how Florence herself might feel about Prinsep being considerably older.

“And here comes the lovely mother and father of the bride to be,” Rossetti teased, puffing out his chest and holding onto one lapel.

“I’ll thank you to keep your retorts to yourself,” Prinsep murmured. Rossetti just chuckled.

Jemie glanced over at Leyland. He seemed purposeful as he headed in his direction.

Frances trailed behind him, arm in arm with Lizzie.

As ever, outwardly, Frances seemed calm, composed, and the very epitome of the wife of a successful and influential man.

But there was something about the tightness around her eyes and tension along her elegant jaw that suggested to him all was not well.

Leyland barely observed the niceties before taking his arm.

“I’d like a word,” he said in a low voice.

“Now?” Jemie glanced at Frances, who looked mortified at her husband’s actions.

Lizzie flirted gently with Rossetti and Prinsep but kept a close eye on her sister.

His heart thumped in his chest as he wondered what Leyland could want.

What might make him appear so… angry? He and Frances had spent a good deal of time together, but Leyland barely noticed.

There had been that kiss and things since had been…

he didn’t know what they’d been, but things had changed between them, but he thought they’d been discreet enough.

“What is it?” Jemie braced himself as he followed Leyland to a quiet corner.

Leyland leaned closer and murmured, “Jeckyll has cracked. He can’t continue with the work.”

A strong sense of relief flooded Jemie, although he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. Well, almost nothing.

“Ah, I see. What happened?” he asked, not at all surprised.

Leyland seemed fit to burst. “He locked himself in the pantry and refused to come out.” Leyland shook his head. “I was told he was unreliable. You told me to take care. I should have damned well listened.”

Jemie bit his lip and nodded. He should indeed. He’d thought all along he should have had the commission for the dining room. However, he plastered a sympathetic expression on his face. “What a shame. He’s a good man… when he’s well.” He added deliberately.

“Have you almost finished the hallway? I want you to take over.”

The vindication was… gratifying. “I’ve made excellent progress with the staircase panels. I was at the house a week or two back with your wife and her sister. It did appear that Jeckyll had a long way to go in the dining room.”

Leyland growled. “There is a long way to go. Can you do it?”

Jemie sighed. “Well, I have other commissions. I might be able to delay them and take it on.”

“Then delay them.” It clearly wasn’t a request.

“How much?” There was no point beating about the bush because Leyland was a businessman about the bottom line.

Leyland’s eyes narrowed. “Two thousand guineas, but I want it done fast.”

Jemie swallowed. For two thousand guineas, he could have it tomorrow. On top of the money for the two portraits and the sketches, this was shaping up to be a deeply significant commission and one that had the potential to attract other significant patrons.

He pretended to consider, and then, with a sigh, he nodded. “I’ll give it everything I have. Do you want to discuss it? I’d like to make some changes,” he warned. “I think some of Jeckyll’s ideas are wrong.”

“Do what you want. Just finish the damned thing,” Leyland commanded.

“What I want? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He towed him unceremoniously away from a group of people drifting in their direction.

“I’m quite happy to follow your guidance,” Jemie said, twisting his arm out of Leyland’s grip again. “No need to drag me.”

Leyland frowned.

“I want to change the colour?”

Leyland looked exasperated. “What?”

“I will need to change the colour. It needs to be verdigris. Verdigris and gold.”

Leyland shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Whatever you feel is right. Whatever you see fit, just get it done. I want to entertain in there. I have some exceptionally important meetings coming up, and I want to impress .”

Jemie bowed. “Your wish is my command.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we have an understanding.”

Not a word of thanks, Jemie noted, but that wasn’t surprising. “You’re welcome.”

Leyland looked momentarily baffled, and then headed back to his wife. Jemie caught Frances’ anxious glance. He smiled and winked to assure her everything was well.

***

The next afternoon, Frances stood behind the screen as Lizzie helped her into the dress, and she listened to Jemie setting up his paints.

She was used to the smell of the oil paint now, and the fluids he used to clean his brushes, and the oils he mixed with the paints, linseed, if she recalled rightly.

She would forever associate the smells of an oil painting with peace and harmony, she was sure.

She shimmied into the gown and allowed Lizzie to fasten all the buttons, then placed the train for her.

Lizzie left, and Frances assumed her position but held her hand to her mouth to hide a yawn. She was tired. She wished they were back at Speke. Her and Lizzie, Anna and Jemie, and the children. That would be perfect, and she sighed at the thought.

“You look tired,” he remarked as he dabbed at blobs of paint on his palette.

“I am. I was just wishing we were back at Speke.”

He nodded. “I miss Speke.” He held up the brush, regarded her, and then disappeared into the painting in the way he always did.

She let him paint for a while before speaking again.

“How is it you’ve never married and had a family?” she asked him. It was something she’d wondered for a while. “I can see from how you are with my children that you would make a lovely papa.”

He froze, stared at her and, to her astonishment, a dull flush spread across his cheeks. “Um… well… I… um.”

She laughed awkwardly. “I beg your pardon. That was terribly rude. I clearly shouldn’t have asked that.”

He put the brush down. “No, I’m… I will tell you. I would have told you, but I… I didn’t want to lose your good opinion. I don’t want to lose your good opinion, and… well… it’s never come up before.”

A chill trickled down her spine, and her smile faded. “Are you married?” She hesitated, unsure she wanted to acknowledge why that might be important, but he answered immediately.

“No! Of course not. I’m not married. I never have been.”

He cleared his throat and focused on the paints on the table as he dabbed his brush absently, staring at it, before taking a breath and meeting her inquisitive gaze.

“But I am a papa.”