Page 52 of The Quiet Wife
Frances raised her eyebrow. “From the rear?”
“I think I might want you to look over one shoulder. I want to…” he gestured vaguely, and Frances had no idea at all what he meant.
“Come.” He waved her to the wall. “Stand there and look at the wall.”
Frances did as he bid her.
“Now look at me over your shoulder.”
She turned and looked at him. He held up a hand as if measuring something. He surprised her when he came and moved her.
“Like that,” he murmured, his hands warm on her arms and so close she could smell his familiar cologne. She tried to breathe evenly as he positioned her, ignoring the jolts darting through her, then tilted her head gently.
“That’s it.”
She swallowed and she heard his sharp intake of breath. “What shall I do with my hands? Should I leave them by my sides?”
Jemie stepped back and considered her question. “Perhaps. I’ll decide later. Do you want to see the dress?”
Frances couldn’t help but smile. “I hope it’s decent.”
“It’s gorgeous…”
He walked over to what appeared to be a tall piece of furniture with a cloth thrown over it. He hesitated, then whipped away the cloth with a flourish.
“What do you think?” he asked, a little too brightly.
Frances came forward to examine the creation on the mannequin.
It was a tea dress, just as he had said. It was a stunning design of cream with a cascade of material down the back like a waterfall that fell into a short train. Embroidered flowers adorned the edge near the bottom, and voluminous, sheer sleeves completed the vision.
“Goodness,” she breathed, walking forward, and reaching out to touch it.
“Is it decent enough for you?”
She read the worry in Jemie’s eyes, and smiled.
“Well, I doubt I’ll be wearing it to dinner, but it’s beautiful, very ethereal.”
“What do you think your husband will feel about it?”
She cast her eyes downwards. “I’m not sure.” It was the truth.
“Might he disapprove?”
“He might. He sometimes has strong opinions on what I should wear,” Frances admitted awkwardly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain why I felt that this was the garment that would do you justice.”
Frances raised her eyebrows, but Jemie smiled at her reassuringly. “As long as you like it?”
“I do,” Frances looked at the gown again. “I really do.”
They stood side by side for a moment, each lost in thought, until Frances moved.
“I’ll have a screen brought in so that I can change in here,” she decided before reaching forward to touch the gauze sleeve and then one of the silk flowers. “That way, I won’t be traipsing about the house in it. I wouldn’t want to occasion comment, and I don’t think people should see it until it’s ready. That’s what Frederick said about his portrait, wasn’t it?”
“It was, and I think you’d be right to take the same approach.”
