Page 56 of The Quiet Wife
“You are serene and beautiful, but you have a… pensive, thoughtful look sometimes and that is particularly beautiful,” he told her.
“I do?” Frances cleared her throat. It was a lovely compliment, but then it wasn’t really a compliment. This was an observation from Jemie the artist who was studying her. It was simply what he thought aesthetically and somehow that was much more precious. She gathered those comments to her heart because when he said she was lovely, she felt it. When he said she was beautiful, she felt radiant.
“You do,” he murmured as he resumed drawing.
She relaxed and let her thoughts wander.
“What were you like as a child?” he asked her.
She hesitated. Her childhood was something that she never talked about. Frederick wouldn’t hear anything from the past, and no-one else was interested. She avoided discussing her childhood with the children simply because she didn’t want them to say something to upset Frederick, who could be irritable at best.
Jemie noticed her hesitation. “If you’d rather not…”
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t often have chance to.”
He gave her a wide smile. “Then regale me with all your best tales.”
Thinking about those early years with her mother and father, with Lizzie, in Northumberland made her smile. So, she talked freely and Jemie painted while he listened to her tales of growing up poor but happy, and he nodded as though he understood. As though it explained things to him. And as he drew, he talked of his own childhood and then he wasn’t drawing, they were just talking. They spoke for a long time and Frances never wanted it to end.
***
Dinner that evening was to be another grand affair. Frederick had invited the great and the good from Bibby & Co to impress them, no doubt, and get them onside with his plans.
Grace, her maid, was putting the finishing touches to Frances’ toilette when Frederick gave a peremptory knock and then walked in. He’d told her in no uncertain terms exactly how he expected her to dress for the gathering. After his performance over the green gown, she had been more than careful in her choices and so far, had managed to satisfy him. This time, it was a highly fashionable garment with swathes of lace on elbow-length sleeves, layers of lace in the skirt draped with a dark blue satin. It was beautiful, and most importantly, the cuirass bodice with its square neckline,again adorned with lace, could not be construed by anyone as daring.
“Are you ready?” he demanded. “Let me see.” He motioned for her to twirl around so he could see the dress from all angles.
His face was unimpressed. “Is that fashionable?”
Frances didn’t quite stifle her sigh and he flashed her a sharp look at her insolence. “Yes. It is, my dear. Extremely.” Considering how tenaciously he held on to the lace on his shirt fronts, despite it being a disappearing fashion, she’d hoped that he might at least like the lace.
“Do you like it?”
“Not really, but it will do,” he hesitated. “We have had some people cancel tonight.”
“Really? Who?” That was most unusual.
“Some of the people from Bibby. We will be short by six.”
Frances stared at him. Six was… worrying. “I see. I’ll notify the staff. I’m… sorry to hear that. Is anything wrong?”
Frederick scowled. “Of course not.” He stalked off leaving her trailing in his wake. They arrived in the drawing room with the rest of the family and waited for their guests to arrive. Frances surveyed the ladies. There were all in beautiful jewel tones. Lizzie resplendent in emerald-green, Aunt Agatha in purple with flashes of lilac, and Anna in rose. She felt a little sad for the men in their unrelieved black. Jemie would have suited the velvet and lace of years ago. He must have felt her gaze as he looked over and dropped a discrete smile.
Guests arrived, but as the room filled, it was clear that there was more than a little coolness in relations from the guests to their hosts. Frederick seemed oblivious, but then he would be.
CHAPTER 19
Speke Hall – Liverpool
Lizzie perched on the edge of Frances’ bed in her nightdress and gown later that evening.
“What a strangely miserable gathering,” Frances remarked, running the long plait that hung over her shoulder through her fingers.
“It was rather grim.” Lizzie agreed.
“It was downright frosty, and Frederick was awful.” Frances sighed and Lizzie propped herself against the pillows.
“Well, there’s no doubt all the rumours are true now, is there.”
