Page 50 of The Quiet Wife
“I would die for some tea. Cake would be marvellous too.”
The butler set off to bring refreshment, leaving Rossetti to pour generous amounts of Leyland’s exceptionally good brandy into fine crystal.
He was listening to Frances arguing with her sister about a particular point in the play in eloquent terms when Leyland entered the room. He didn’t appear overly pleased to see them.
“I see you’re back.”
“Hope you don’t mind, old chap, but we raided your stocks.” Rossetti raised his glass.
Leyland shook his head. “Help yourself. Did you have an enjoyable evening?” He poured himself a drink.
Jemie watched as Frances quietly closed up. The glittering excitement, the witty, intelligent observations all fell away, leaving her smiling with serene politeness. He’d wager most wouldn’t really notice it. She did it so seamlessly. The warm, passionate woman he’d held in his arms was nowhere to be seen.
“It was lovely and very kind of the gentlemen to chaperone us,” she said.
The tea tray arrived, and she poured for herself and her sister and as she did so, Leyland shifted the conversation to the art he had planned for the new house. Jemie glanced at Frances. Leyland was turned away from them, listening to Rossetti, so when she looked at him, he winked. Her eyes sparkled for a moment and his heart did something peculiar in his chest.
***
After a miserably sleepless night, Jemie paid the Leylands a call early the following morning. He was relieved to find that Frances was alone in the house. The butler showed him to the drawing room, and she received him graciously. Once the door was safely closed, she stood up, her pale features and drawn demeanour leading him to suspect she’d had no more sleep than he had.
“Thank you for calling.”
He had no idea what to say. The distance that gaped between them had never been there before.
“I… Frances… I…”
She moved a step closer. “We can’t do this.”
He held out a hand then dropped it. “We can’t.” They were the hardest words he’d ever spoken. He wanted… it didn’t matter what he wanted.
“Can we still be friends?” she asked him with sad resolute that made his heart ache.
“Oh, Frances, of course. Of course. I willalwaysbe your friend.” His voice was hoarse, and she looked like she might crumble at any minute.
“The children. Your career… we couldn’t jeopardise those.”
His career hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shook his head, knowing she could never leave her children. She was a wonderful, remarkable mother. It made him realise there was much she needed to discover about him.
“I should never have kissed you.” He stared at the carpet, unsure where to place himself. He was usually reasonably skilled with women. Knew what to say, knew what to do. But with Frances, he was clueless and left floundering.
“Oh, you should. You most certainly should.”
He blinked and then regarded her with hopeful curiosity. “I should?”
“Or I would never have known.”
“Known what?” He was lost. He wanted to take her in his arms. Hold her tight, kiss her and never stop. He wanted to make the worldrightfor her.
“What a kiss should be,” she nodded. “But…” her voiced wavered. “We cannot do it again. We cannot.” She was firm on this.
It was a moment before he could speak. “I know. I know.”
He wanted to say something reassuring, something charming, funny… anything. There were things he needed to tell her. Things about him she should know. All he could do was bow his head and even that threatened to undo his composure.
CHAPTER 17
Speke Hall – Liverpool
