Page 121 of The Quiet Wife
That night Frances lay in bed and shivered despite the roaring fire. In her hands she held a copy of Charles Dickens’Oliver Twist. Jemie had sent it for her through Lizzie and said she simply must read it. She closed her eyes on the wave of emotion that swamped her and held the book close to her heart. If Fannie and Florence made matches in the spring during their first season they would marry and leave. Freddie would leave too and then Elinor. She dreaded the thought of what life would be like with only her husband for company, and he already spent much time away so she would be completely alone.
She took several deep breaths, opened her eyes, pulled her shawl around her shoulders, and began reading.
A sharp rap on the door startled her, but not as much as Frederick appearing. He came into the room, and she jumped so much the book dropped from her hand.
“Frederick.”
He walked in and went to blow out the candles.
“Wait!” she shrieked.
He paused and left the candle, but pulled back the coverlet to get in as he always did.
“Wait!” She scrambled out of the bed on the opposite side and stood in the firelight in her nightgown and watched him warily. Dear God, surely not? She had to put up with this too. How on earth could she ever manage.
He scowled at her. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“Do… do we really need to do this anymore?” Her voice cracked.
His eyebrows lifted so high it was almost comical.
“Ibegyour pardon?”
“I mean, we have our family. You have your mistresses. Perhaps… we should dispense… I…”
She swallowed at the look on his face, terrified he would insist and then not knowing what she would do if he did.
“I want another boy. I told you that.”
“We have Freddie.”
“And if aught should happen to him, then we have no-one. I need a spare.”
He talked like he was royalty. “Of course, of course. That’s fine, then. Yes. Only, only, I’m feeling quite ill at the moment.” She floundered.
“You don’t look ill.”
“My stomach is severely disordered, and I fear any…” she cleared her throat. “Any vigorous… activity may induce me to… to vomit.”
“I am your husband. I have every right to come to your bed. You do understand that?”
“Of course I do, but I wouldn’t want to…” she gestured vaguely.
“For God’s sake, get in,” he said, throwing back the coverlet.
“Frederick, please. I don’t think I can. I’m sorry, but I really don’t.”
He looked utterly baffled. She’d never turned him down before. Ever.
“Get in.”
“No,” she told him, her voice firmer.
“Frances…”
She clapped a hand to her mouth and pretended to heave.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He threw the coverlet back and climbed out of the bed, appearing disgusted by her. He stalked to the door and moments later, she heard the slam of the door to his own room. She slumped onto the bed, face in her hands, and wondered how long she could hold him off. She could endure a lot, but not being forced to lay with him.
