Page 5 of The Quiet Wife
“How do you find Leyland?” Rossetti asked as they crunched their way across the gravel.
“Bit of an odd fish. Cold most of the time, but he warms up a bit when he talks about art and his houses.”
“He certainly has an eye for business,” Rossetti remarked.
Whistler grinned. “I heard he had an eye for the ladies, too?”
Rossetti smirked.
“Any other gossip I should know about? Don’t want to put my foot in it.”
Rossetti smiled. “Not really, he’s a self-made man and he and his wife have climbed the social ladder reasonably well, but…”Rossetti paused to consider. “They will always be trade, no matter how rich he is and no matter how he tries to insert himself into society.”
“And the wife?”
“Perfectly charming,” Rossetti murmured with an arched eyebrow.
“But trade?”
Rossetti shrugged. “Sad, but true.”
Before they could indulge in any further scurrilous gossip about their host, the door was opened by the butler who welcomed them into a grand hall. Footmen arrived to take hats and gloves as Whistler took in the high-ceilinged grandeur of oak-panelled walls, carvings, extravagant wrought-iron chandeliers overhead, beautiful glass panels on the windows and a truly magnificent fireplace that would have seen animals roasting on a huge spit in the past, of that, he was certain.
He could see people through the window in what looked like a courtyard, and there was a gentle hum of voices about the place that mingled with the soft scent of old wood and lemon polish.
Leyland strode towards them, hand outstretched in greeting.
Rossetti shook, then Whistler followed suit.
“Good to see you. Glad you could make it. Would you like refreshment, or to go to your rooms to rest?”
“I can always be persuaded to a little… ah, refreshment,” Rossetti said, and Leyland quirked an eyebrow and almost smiled.
“Then come with me and it shall be done.” He waved them through a corridor and then into another formal-looking oak panelled room filled with people.
“Whistler, I don’t think you’ve met my wife?” he turned back.
He dipped his head briefly and smiled politely. “I’m afraid I’ve not yet had the honour.”
“Then I will introduce you.” He glanced around the room. “Or at least I will when I can find her,” he grunted, sounding none too pleased that his wife wasn’t waiting to greet them.
“I shall look forward to it,” Whistler accepted a glass of wine from a passing footman. He took a sip and sighed happily. Leyland clearly had exceedingly good taste in wine as well as in art.
***
“There you are,” her husband pounced on her the moment Frances came in the door. “I want you to meet my guests. Where were you?” he hissed.
“Sorry, I was just in the courtyard with the Robinsons,” she said calmly. “I hadn’t realised you were looking for me.”
“Well, I expected you to be in the drawing room. Come.”
She followed Frederick and immediately recognised Mr Rossetti, but he was with another gentleman. His back was turned to her, but he was talking an animated way, arms gesticulating this way and that.
Mr Rossetti lifted a hand with a broad smile when he saw them approaching. When Frances stood before him, he bowed low over her hand.
“My dearest Mrs Leyland. How wonderful to see you and may I say how radiant you are looking.”
She smiled at his flattery and turned to look at his companion, wondering if he was the fabled Mr Whistler. Her heart leaped in a most disconcerting fashion as he turned to greet them.
