Page 130 of The Quiet Wife
Two days after Christmas she received a letter from Frederick announcing his intention to visit.
“I should talk to him, shouldn’t I?” She was in the drawing room with the ladies, taking tea.
“He sounded as though he would give your request proper consideration after what he did,” Lizzie said. “Perhaps listen to him, and see?”
“I did push him very hard,” she conceded, remembering his face when she’d mentioned his father.
Aunt Agatha put down her cup with a clink. “Darling, please do not start making excuses for him. And don’t let him come in here and talk you into changing your mind. You did what you had to do. I know it all seems terrible now, but it will be worth it when you can live free of him.”
Frances nodded.
“What does Jemie think?” Edith ventured.
“I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to him or had word from him since I left London.”
Edith gave her an odd look. “You mean you’ve gone through all this, and you don’t know what he thinks?”
Frances put her cup down and thought for a moment. “This is not all about Jemie. I haven’t gone through all this just for him. I couldn’t live with Frederick a moment longer. If Jemie…” her voice caught. “If Jemie still wants me, then that would make me happy, but…” she shrugged, not able to explain just how she felt as it was too much. Too overwhelming.
They retired to the parlour and waited anxiously for her husband to arrive. William joined them, along with Alastair, Mr Carlisle, and Freddie. They sat with her like sentinels making it clear Frederick would not hurt her again.
When Frederick arrived, she sat up straight, hands in her lap. He walked into the parlour and eyed her companions with some disfavour.
“I should like to speak to my wife alone,” he demanded.
“I will be fine,” Frances turned to them. “Perhaps you would wait for me in the drawing room with Aunt Agatha and Miss Woodgrove?” She didn’t think he would do anything so foolish again, but at least he knew they were within earshot.
As the door closed behind them, she gestured for her husband to take a seat. Now it was just the two of them.
“I have come to you to apologise for my behaviour,” he said, his voice heavy with uncharacteristic formality.
“Thank you. I accept your apology.”
“Are you fully recovered?”
“I am making good progress.”
“No lasting damage?”
“Other than a lingering sore throat, nothing permanent. The doctor said I was lucky.”
He examined the floor and nodded. “I… have been under a significant amount of stress with the takeover and… everything.”
By everything, she wondered if he meant Rosa and the baby or her and Jemie. She surmised it was probably both.
“I understand.”
“That doesn’t excuse what I did to you.” He glanced up at her. “Do you really want to live apart? I thought we rubbed along together reasonably well. Have done for years.” He seemed genuinely baffled that she might not want to live with him.
“For the most part we do,” she agreed.
“Then what is it that makes you want to leave? Have I not given you everything you could want? We have the house here, we have the London houses, we have our children. I’ve given you clothes, jewels, status… What is it I have not given you?”
“You have given me all those things. If my life were all about… things and… and possessions, then I suppose I should be happy.”
“So, what is it?”
She took a breath to stem the tears that threatened, finally able to voice everything that she had been holding for all these years. “You have never listened to me. Not properly. This is the first time in more years than I can remember where you have sat down with me and really talked. You never give me, or the children, your time, your attention, your… interest. You have never given me an ounce of affection. I don’t think you even like me and everything I do is wrong. And,” she paused and swallowed.
