Page 50 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London - Kensington

Frances’ heart stopped. Jemie visibly stiffened, but just shrugged off Frederick’s denouncement, as though his words confirmed what Jemie had said about art being misunderstood. That Frederick didn’t have the artistic eye to appreciate it. They faced off against each other.

“Of course, it isn’t quite finished yet,” Frances said into the silence that ensued.

Frederick ignored her.

“Is it?” She appealed to Jemie.

He looked at her, and his eyes softened a fraction. “You are, of course, quite right. It is not finished.”

Frederick snorted.

Jemie’s eyes hardened again, and it seemed like he might say something. She needed to get him away from Frederick before things really went awry.

“Perhaps I can fetch us some refreshments. Frederick, my dear, should we repair to the drawing room?”

Frederick’s expression was contemptuous. “You can repair where the hell you want. I’m going out.”

He yanked the door open and stormed off. Frances wilted with relief, but it was short lived. Jemie hadn’t quite finished. He followed him.

“You know, I’d always credited you with an astonishingly good eye and exceptional taste. Was I wrong?” he called to Frederick’s retreating back.

Frederick paused but then stalked out.

Jemie was livid. She could see it in his eyes, in his entire demeanour and she could hardly blame him at being accosted by Frederick in such an appalling way.

“You shouldn’t take any notice of him,” she said. “He’s in a mood. When he’s like this, there is no talking to him. I’m sure he’ll come around about the artwork when it’s completed.”

Jemie just regarded her steadily. He seemed to choose his words carefully. “He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

“What? Like what?” she asked, bewildered.

“Like you’re his servant? Less than his servant? Completely beneath his regard? How dare he address you thus?”

She pressed her fingers to her head, completely unsure of how to reply. It took her a moment to gather herself.

“Are you… are you angry because he didn’t like the room or… or because he was rude to me?”

Jemie’s eyes widened. “He can think what he likes about the room. It’s done now and if he doesn’t have the style or artistic taste to appreciate it, that’s his problem. I’m angry about how he treats you. To behave like that is bad enough, but to do it in front of me is beyond all reason.”

She drew a breath that was more of a wobbly hiccup. “Thank you.”

Some of the bluster went out of him. He came to her and pulled her into his embrace and held her. She sank into him for a moment, but then reluctantly broke away in case Frederick unexpectedly returned. He let her go, but not before he’d pressed a kiss to her temple.

“He can be very unkind and very cruel.” She said it with a note of warning. “He’s also vindictive and can bear a grudge for years on end. I’ve always found it best not to react.”

Jemie cupped her chin. “He’s like this all the time with you, isn’t he?”

Frances nodded.

“If I could take you away from him, I would. You know that don’t you?” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them softly.

“I know you would.”

“Would you come? If I asked, would you come?”

Frances’ throat closed.

He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Would you run away with me?”

“If I could, I would,” she faltered.

He wore a look of sad resignation. “But you can’t?”

She shook her head as tears filled her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured.

“Our time together here…” she choked at the realisation.

He ushered her into his arms again. “Hush now. It’s not over. He will disappear into his work again soon and we will be together again. This is not the end, it’s the beginning.” He promised her. Frances wished she could share his optimism, but she knew her husband too well.

***

The family retreated to the Queen’s Gate house leaving Jemie at the new house to continue his work.

The wrench of parting was awful. She missed him so much it was a physical ache.

She had grown accustomed to all but living with him like man and wife and to have that snatched away was heartbreaking.

Her husband appeared to have calmed down, but as she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in almost a week, she couldn’t be certain.

She was deliberating over what to do next when Lizzie joined her in the parlour.

“How are you holding up?” She kissed Frances’ cheek before heading for the tea tray.

“Well enough. Have you seen your fiancé recently?”

Lizzie tsked. “Not since your husband returned and was rude about his artwork.”

“Me either. I think it’s time we paid the Prince’s Gate house a visit.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “My, that’s… decisive.”

“If I cower away it seems as though there was something to hide. We have been visiting Prince’s Gate since we arrived in London. I’m going to continue.”

“Bravo!” Lizzie said and hugged her. “Good for you. Let’s send word to Edith and William. Alastair too if he’s not busy.”

“That would be perfect.”

They arrived at the Prince’s Gate house later that morning alongside Edith and William, just as the heavens opened. They dashed in amid much laughter as they shook themselves off.

The footmen took their damp outer clothes, and as they stripped off wet gloves, Jemie came into the grand hallway wearing a smock daubed with paint, carrying a paintbrush.

“I thought I recognised those voices,” he grinned.

“We just wanted to say hello,” Lizzie kissed him on the cheek chastely.

“Tea?” Frances offered, a little too loudly.

They retired to the morning room and once the footman had left and they were settled with tea and cake, Edith looked at Frances.

“Am I missing something?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Frances regarded her with an expression of innocence.

Before Edith could pursue the point, Jemie arrived looking slightly less dishevelled, but still with a smudge of green paint on his forehead. He settled himself next to Lizzie and smiled at them all.

“What?” he hesitated when everyone stared at him. “Do I still have paint on my face?”

“You do, my dear, but I’d just asked what I was missing,” Edith said with a pointed look.

“I don’t think you are missing anything,” Jemie swept his hair back. “Leyland arrived the other day and announced he didn’t like the work I’ve done in the dining room, but apart from that, all is well.”

“Didn’t like it?” William said, aghast.

Jemie’s grin was wry. “No. I believe his exact words were, it was vainglorious.”

“Lord,” Edith gasped.

“Well, I think it’s remarkable,” William said.

“Stunningly modern,” Edith declared. “As do most of the artists and connoisseurs who have been in the house to see it.”

Jemie bowed his head, seeming to appreciate the praise. “Thank you. I’m sure he will review his opinion and realise he is completely and utterly wrong.”

He said it with such a straight face. Edith and William exchanged glances and burst out laughing. The mirth subsided, and they talked of more mundane things for a little while until Jemie spoke directly to her.

“Actually, as you’re here, might I beg a moment of your time?” he asked Frances. “I would value your opinion on something. I wouldn’t want to annoy your husband any more than I already have.”

He glanced at the others. “If I might steal your hostess?”

They all murmured their agreement, and Frances left the room with him. She followed him to the dining room, where he shut the door behind them and locked it.

He turned to her and they watched each other for a long moment. This time it was she who opened her arms, and he walked into them. They held each other. Tightly.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured softly into her hair.

“And I you. It’s been terrible without you.”

Jemie kissed her temple. “Has he been awful?”

“I’ve barely seen him. I’ve no idea if he’s still in London, but I doubt it’s the end of things. Frederick likes to make people suffer.”

Jemie nodded. “I will do all I can to remain on terms with him for your sake if nothing else. You have my word on that.”

Jemie stroked her cheek, then kissed her tenderly.

She leaned into him and kissed him back with all the love in her heart.

It remained tender for a moment, but the passion they had discovered reared its head and within seconds, they were devouring each other with wide, aching kisses that were nowhere near enough.

Jemie pulled back, gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead against hers as they tried to regain control over their breathing.

“What are we going to do?” Frances whispered, their future now feeling so terribly uncertain.