Page 21 of The Quiet Wife
“No, I didn’t need to sit still for the sketches, but I will no doubt have to once he starts the portrait.”
“I hope he sketches us again,” Florence sighed. Florence was the quietest of her children and Frances was pleased to see her joining in the conversation instead of listening as usual.
“Did you like being drawn, darling?” she asked, eager to encourage her.
Florence nodded. “I like Mr Whistler.”
“He’s jolly good fun,” Freddie added. “Mr Rossetti too. Will he be visiting us again soon?”
“I dare say,” Frederick drained his cup, signalling he was about to leave. She was pleased he’d spent at least a little time with the children, even if it was only ten minutes.
“I must get on,” he announced, and Frances ignored how far the children’s faces fell at his departure, knowing they savoured the rare occasion when his foul temper was at bay.
“Bye bye, papa,” Elinor said with a sad little wave.
As ever, Frances made up for his lack of attention by indulging them for another hour and listening to all the trials and tribulations of youth with a glad ear and a smile.
Later that night, as Frances lay in her bed debating whether to read another chapter of her book or settle down to sleep, a sharp knock pre-empted her husband’s arrival in her room.
She was shocked. It was only a few weeks since Frederick had last sought her company and afterwards had seemed to find the experience less than satisfactory, so she hadn’t expected him to return anytime soon. She sat up and placed the book on the nightstand, trying not to look as anxious as she suddenly felt.
He removed his dressing gown and laid it neatly over the chair nearest the dresser. Frances swallowed, recognising the routine. She lay back against the pillow and waited, heart thumping.
He blew out all the candles, drew the curtains and it was so dark she could barely make him out. She felt the bed dip under his weight as he lifted the blankets and got in beside her, filling up all the space. Frances closed her eyes and steadied her heaving chest. She could feel the warmth of his body, hear him breathing heavily.
“Do you still want more children?” he startled her, his voice echoing in the darkness. He never spoke to her in bed. He came, did what he needed to, then disappeared.
She swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Do you?”
“I want another son. You know that.”
She wanted to point out that if he impregnated her again, there was no guarantee of a boy, but kept silent.
“As you wish,” she murmured. She was not averse to another child, just the method of obtaining one. She tried not to sigh or swallow noticeably.
He appeared to hesitate, then rolled on top of her, pushing up her nightgown as he did so, settling himself awkwardly. Frances turned her head away and closed her eyes. In her heart, she doubted she could bear more children. She’d had awful trouble birthing Elinor, and in the fourteen years since, even allowing for the infrequency of her husband’s visits, it was odd she hadn’t been with child again. She just wished her husband would realise it and stop trying.
She braced herself and screwed her eyes shut, hoping their encounter would be over quickly.
CHAPTER 9
Speke Hall - Liverpool
Whistler sat in the sunny grounds of Speke Hall. He held his sketch book out at arm’s length and tilted his head, squinting in the afternoon light.
“What do you think?” he showed it to Rossetti.
“Not bad, not bad at all.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Rossetti snorted. “Have you started on Leyland’s portrait?”
Whistler was getting the distinct impression that Rossetti’s nose was out of joint over the dual commission. After all, Rossetti had far more experience in portraiture and had painted Leyland and his wife before but had missed out as the recipient of this latest commission. Whistler was pleased, but he didn’t want it to come between their friendship.
“Frances Leyland is a beautiful woman,” Rossetti remarked.
Whistler returned to his sketch and added a few more strokes. “Very beautiful, gracious too.” He hesitated but ventured, “Seems an odd match.”
