Page 4 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

Speke Hall - Liverpool

“How was your journey, Mr Whistler?” Frances managed once she’d composed herself.

“Very comfortable, thank you. I visited Liverpool as a boy, so it’s rather exciting to be back here.”

“You did?” her husband interrupted.

“Indeed, on our way back from Russia, I stayed with family on my mother’s side, in Preston. Dr Matthew Thwaites and his wife, my aunt Sarah. We visited Liverpool several times. It’s a fine place.”

Whistler looked about the room. “You have a beautiful home.” He gave Frederick a knowing smile. “I can certainly see your influence, Leyland.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.” Frederick puffed up then launched into one of his favourite subjects, listing the work he’d done on Speke Hall for them to live there, but Frances was more interested in listening to Mr Whistler’s voice.

Was he American? She wanted to ask, given she was not quite able to place it, but doubted her husband would appreciate her interrupting, so remained silent and filed that point away for later.

She left her husband regaling Mr Whistler and Mr Rossetti with details of all his most recent collections and excused herself to greet more of their guests, conscious that she needed to play the part of the good hostess that Frederick expected.

As people milled around the drawing room, she couldn’t help but glance back at Mr Whistler.

He seemed a little out of place. Although very relaxed he seemed to have an air of casual disregard for what anyone might think of him.

He was either very self-assured, or simply didn’t understand the intricacies of social etiquette.

She wasn’t sure which it was, but as someone who had spent much of her adult life trying to master the detail of social interaction with the upper classes at her husband’s request, she had to admire his confidence and aplomb.

She’d met no-one quite like him, even from among Frederick’s artistic protégés.

She watched Mr Whistler flirt openly and outrageously with the gathered ladies.

His manner was terribly forward. That said, he was impossible to ignore because her eyes kept returning to him, and she had an odd, tingling sense of knowing just where he was as the party wore on.

When her sister Lizzie greeted her with a broad smile, taking both her hands and kissing her on each cheek, Frances heaved a sigh of relief.

Her younger sister was always a welcome distraction at these kinds of social events.

Tall, slender and with a confidence and sense of pragmatism that belied her years, she was truly enchanting.

Having steadfastly refused multiple offers of marriage, and now moving far enough into her twenties to fall happily between all society’s expectations, she seemed supremely content.

She confused people no end and loved being neither debutante and ingénue, nor old maid.

Frances wished she had half of her sister’s courage and fortitude.

Where Frances’ hair was a deep dark auburn, Lizzie’s hair was a riotous mop of strawberry blonde curls matched only by the freckles that covered every inch of her body.

She’d been staying with friends for a few days and Frances had missed her terribly.

She’d come to live with her and Frederick after the death of their beautiful mother almost three years ago, and Frances wasn’t afraid to admit she relied on her heavily.

“Darling, I’m so, so glad you’re here. It is wonderful to have a friendly face,” Frances whispered.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lizzie squeezed her tightly.

“How are you faring? I see Fred has invited some of his arty chums,” she said, releasing her from the embrace and giving her a good look over, as though searching for any evidence that all might not be well, as she always strongly suspected it was not, despite Frances’ protests to the contrary.

Frances laughed and shushed her sister. “For heaven’s sake, don’t let him hear you!”

“It might do him good to unbend a little.” Lizzie giggled.

“Unbending is not a word my husband is familiar with, as well you know. Have you come with Edith and William?”

“Of course. They wouldn’t have missed his intriguing artists. It makes a change from the stuffy business types,” Lizzie said, casting a glance at two sombre gentlemen from Bibby Shipping with their wives standing by the window.

“Here they come,” Lizzie accepted a glass of wine from the passing footman.

Frances clapped her hands as her dear friends Edith and William Bartlett appeared. She greeted them with her arms outstretched. As they hugged and kissed, Frances glanced over at Frederick in time to catch his look of disapproval.

“Do come and say hello to my husband,” she set off with her friends and presented them to Frederick with a smile.

His bow to Edith and Lizzie perfunctory, and his handshake with William, brief.

William, a strapping six-footer, with a glorious chestnut moustache, took Frederick’s cool demeanour in his stride, as he always did.

“How’s business, Leyland?” William enquired.

“Excellent, thank you. If you’d excuse me?

” With that, he walked away, leaving Frances feeling mortified by his rudeness.

They’d known William and Edith for a long time.

Long enough for Frederick to be at least sociable.

Sometimes he was just downright bad-mannered when someone wasn’t of use to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she recovered herself. “He’s been awfully busy lately. He’s a little out of sorts.”

Edith sighed and gave Frances a sympathetic look while William rolled his eyes.

“Darling, you really don’t have to pretend,” Edith said, squeezing Frances’ hand. “He’s a grump, and that’s all there is to it. He needs to stop being so stuffy. Take a leaf out of his beloved artist’s book.”

Edith’s petite frame with fair hair and wide blue eyes belied an intellect that was formidable. She always saw the truth of a scenario.

William took it with good nature. “No need to apologise, dear. I think he’s just getting worse with age. I imagine he has a lot on his plate now. I understand he’s going after ownership of the company?”

Frances shrugged delicately. Her husband told her nothing of his business dealings himself, but it was clear from what people said that Frederick was working towards obtaining the majority share in the company he’d worked for since he was a boy.

Bibby Shipping Line was his entire life.

That’s all there was to it. If only he’d spent a fraction of the time with his family that he had lavished on his business dealings for Bibby & Sons, both their marriage and life together might have been a happier affair.

“He’s been working awfully long hours lately,” was all Frances said diplomatically. He had, and it left him tired and irascible when he bothered to return to the family. Thankfully, most of the time, he stayed in the flat that he owned in Liverpool, and she was grateful for his absence.

Business, as he frequently told her, was not for women.

That might be so, but it might be nice, useful even, to know how things were progressing, so she could answer questions without sounding like a complete pudding head and hear information about her own husband before it was relayed back to her by their friends.

She used to think that she might offer at least an ear for him when times were hard or difficult, but it was not to be.

He’d talked to her in the early days of their marriage, but as he’d risen the ranks within the company and become increasingly important, his confidences had ceased.

William gave her a gentle smile. “I hear things are progressing well. It’s all highly secret, of course, but I imagine he’ll tell you when there is something to tell.”

“Of course,” Frances said, although she very much doubted that he would.

“Who’s the new chap?” William gestured to where Mr Rossetti stood in animated conversation with Mr Whistler whilst Frederick listened intently, a small frown of concentration on his face. “He looks even more artistically dandified than the rest.”

Frances had to smile at that and was thankful William had changed the subject. “It’s a Mr James McNeill Whistler. I believe he’s very well regarded. I have a suspicion that he might be American.”

Her companions looked most interested in that snippet of information.

Mr Whistler gesticulated as he made some sort of explanation, his voice rising.

It was quite high pitched with a nasal tone and…

well, flamboyant. Almost as though he were addressing the whole room and not just her husband.

He was certainly turning heads. Under normal circumstances, she was sure Frederick would frown at someone attracting such attention.

Instead, he appeared to be taking in everything the man said with genuine interest.

“Whatever his reasoning, at least we get to enjoy a jolly fun few days,” Edith sipped another glass of champagne, and winked knowingly at Frances.

“Absolutely. After all these years, I’ve given up trying to understand him. I’m so pleased you are all here. The children are very excited to see you.”

They chatted until Frances felt guilty that she was neglecting her other guests, so moved away to circulate.

She was moving to the next group when Mr Whistler stopped her and bowed again.

Somehow, his hair looked even more artfully rumpled than when they’d first been introduced.

He ran a hand through it, revealing why it was so disordered and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Very kind of you to extend an invitation, Mrs Leyland.” He appeared a little distracted, but his intense blue gaze was fixed on her unwaveringly.

“Not at all. My husband and I are delighted that you could join us.”

He blinked, then shook his head, seeming a little dazed.

“You have extraordinarily beautiful hair.” His voice was soft, much quieter than when he’d spoken to her husband and the guests.