Page 55 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

Speke Hall – Liverpool

They arrived at Speke Hall tired and bitterly cold from the chill in the mid-December air.

Frances had thought of nothing but the proposal during the entire journey, and she had a headache.

If she was going to do it, time was running out because once the Bibby deal was done, she would lose the upper hand.

Did she have the courage? And what of Jemie?

They had parted on an acrimonious note, and she had not had any opportunity to even speak with him.

The staff had fires lit, bedrooms aired, and refreshments ready and waiting for them, so they all sat down for tea in the parlour. That was, all of them except Frederick, who immediately disappeared into his study.

That time truly was running out for her hit hard later that day when she realised that all the Turner paintings in her husband’s collection were missing. Had he already packed them to be transported to Woolton?

He was in his study, so she tentatively knocked on the open door. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry to intrude, my dear, but I’ve noticed that the Turner paintings have all gone. Are you preparing them to be sent to Woolton Hall?”

He shook his head and picked up his pen. “I’ve sold them.”

Frances wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I see.”

He wrote something on the paper in front of him. “Was that all?”

“Might I ask why?” she ventured. She knew it didn’t matter to him, but they were her favourites.

“I needed the money.”

She was stunned. “Frederick, if we are short of money, should we be buying Woolton Hall at all? I’m sure we could manage…”

“Dear God, woman, don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped and slammed down his pen. “I needed to raise capital for Bibby. Once this is over, I’ll buy them back.” He glared at her, spitting his next words. “Is that all?”

***

Once the flurry of unpacking was done, and everyone was settled back in, the next couple of days dragged unbearably.

Christmas was almost upon them, but Frances couldn’t bear to think about it.

She needed to speak to Jemie so badly there was a permanent ache in her chest. Any decisions would have to be hers and hers alone, which was terrifying.

She went over in her head a million possible ways she could broach the subject with her husband and tried to anticipate what his response might be.

She was worried that he might actually hurt her this time.

He’d grabbed her and bruised her often enough, but what might this wild proposal precipitate.

It came as no real surprise things would come to a crisis sooner rather than later.

They always did with Frederick. They had planned to entertain several guests for dinner, including Edith and William.

Alastair was to attend with Mr Carlisle, but it was Lizzie who upset the apple cart with the artfully innocent suggestion that her betrothed should join them.

Predictably, Frederick was furious and demanded to know when the wedding would occur so he could be rid of them both.

When Lizzie suggested that Jemie’s financial situation was such that they might have to move in with them, Frances thought her husband might have apoplexy.

He was yelling at Lizzie when the children walked in, which was an awful sight for them to behold.

To cap it all, Freddie returned home, and thus he and Frederick began circling each other like stags.

“I despair,” Frances said to Lizzie late that day as they sat quietly in the library.

“I’m sorry I set him off. Have you thought more about what we discussed?”

Frances sighed. “I’ve thought of little else. I… I…”

She was trying to think of how to explain her feelings when an almighty cacophony set up from the direction of the great hall.

“What on earth…” Lizzie jumped up and darted to the door. Frances could hear her husband bellowing in the hall and her son’s increasingly angry tones.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, flying down the corridor.

They were toe to toe, shouting and gesticulating when, just as before, Freddie remarked something particularly contentious, and Frederick backhanded him, making Freddie stagger back. Frances cried out in alarm.

She ran to her son, but this time, he was still on his feet.

He was almost as tall as his father now, and with shoulders broadening by the month, he looked more man than boy.

He glared at his father, who was watching him with a satisfied smirk.

With no warning at all, Freddie punched his father square in the mouth, sending him flailing backwards, clutching his jaw.

Everyone froze.

Frances put herself between the two men and prayed that Frederick would not harm her in front of his son.

“I think we should all retire,” she said, as calmly as she could.

“Mama…” Freddie protested, but Frances held up a hand.

“Not now, darling. For now, please retire to your room.”

Freddie looked at his father with disgust and flounced away, much as he used to as a child.

“He will regret that,” her husband snarled, blood dripping from his mouth as he swiped at it with the back of his hand.

“I’m sure he will. Do you need help with that?”

He fetched a handkerchief from his breast pocket and applied it to his lip. “I will not have that boy in my house.”

“I think we should talk about it when we are calmer.”

Frederick sneered at her. “Calm? You don’t think I’m calm? I know exactly what I’m saying and that boy…” He eyed her with malevolence and shrugged.

Frances felt sick as he stormed away. This simply could not go on. She felt Lizzie’s arm about her shoulder as she guided her to the stairs.