Page 59 of The Quiet Wife
Frances breathed deeply as they walked back to the house. Jemie had been right. She needed to get outside and do something fun. She glanced at him as he walked by her side and had the strongest urge to take hold of his hand.
She’d never really had a man hold her hand whilst walking. Frederick had done it once or twice in the early days of their courtship, but she could tell he didn’t really enjoy it. Once they were married, he dispensed with such things forthwith.
She wondered what it might be like. Holding a man’s hand with no gloves between them, swinging hands as they walked in the grass, through the summer flowers waving in the breeze. Talking and laughing as they went, with an easy sense of freedom.
What it might be like to have him pull her in front of him, take both her hands in his, and kiss her again?
She was startled at the shiver that ran through her at the thought.
As if sensing this, Jemie turned and faced her. Those incomparable blue eyes were warm and when he winked at her, she flushed like a schoolgirl at his attentions.
She almost jumped out of her skin when he reached over and discreetly took her hand in his, as though reading her mind. He squeezed it, held it for a long moment, then released it before anyone saw.
Every inch of her skin tingled.
Lizzie turned back to ask her something, and Anna sought her son’s arm for the rest of the walk, separating them. Frances tried her best to appear as though nothing had happened. As though Jemie Whistler hadn’t just winked at her, held her hand, and made the day perfect.
She didn’t consider herself vain, but she knew men found her attractive. Men flirted with her all the time. But no-one hadlikedher enough to do something thoughtful. Something nice. Like taking her for a walk when she felt down. Like holding her hand and smiling at her. Like taking her to the theatre because he knew it was one of her passions.
She watched the back of Jemie’s head as he walked, admiring the set of his shoulders and his narrow hips. He wasn’t strikingly tall like Frederick, but he was compact and energetic.
A tiny voice in her head told her to stop daydreaming but her thoughts were consumed by him as they made their way back to the house.
***
Jemie continued with his sketches until the need to capture Frances in paint became too overwhelming to resist.
He also needed to tell her some things about him. He wasn’t sure why; he rarely shared details of his life. He just knew that he did. It seemed wrong not to, especially when she had confided in him. He just needed to work out how best to approach it.
Ever since the walk with the sandwiches and lemonade a few days earlier, she had regarded him differently. There was a quietness to the way she watched him. A gentle longing in her gaze when she thought no-one was looking. It seemed she was touched by small, thoughtful gestures like taking her to see a play she loved or taking her for a walk because she seemed downcast.
He prepared his paints and the easel, waiting anxiously for her to arrive.
Part of him wondered if he wouldn’t be better returning to London and finishing the portrait there to take Frances out of the scandal that was clearly brewing in Liverpool, thanks to her husband’s antics. Leave him to fight the battles that loomed before him. Let him ride like some kind of shipping Colossus over the businesses of Liverpool. At least in London, she would be away from his outbursts and could enjoy more freedom.
But he worried that would only make things worse.
Frances and Lizzie arrived like giggling schoolgirls and disappeared behind the screen. He tried as ever, in vain, not to imagine what she looked like beneath the garments that covered her so thoroughly and wondered why on earth he had chosen this particular kind of torture, having her undress mere inches from where he sat. He’d long since dispensed with leaving the room whilst she disrobed behind the screen, so he waited patiently.
When Lizzie emerged with Frances clad in the gown he’d designed, she gasped.
“An easel!” A smile lit her eyes. “You’re ready to paint me?”
He bowed. “I am.”
“This is awfully exciting,” Lizzie hugged her sister and shocked him by rushing back, throwing her arms around him, and hugging him too before she took her leave.
He cleared his throat and looked at Frances, astounded by Lizzie’s actions.
“Oh, Jemie, you should have seen your face,” she teased between gales of laughter.
“It was a shock. I’m not used to well-bred young ladies throwing themselves into my arms.”
“I should think not,” she tutted, then burst out laughing again and Jemie had to laugh with her, the sound of her happiness was so infectious.
“Come,” he said after a while. “Let’s get started.” He led her by the shoulders and positioned her where he wanted her. Through the fine fabric, he could feel the tender warmth of her body.
He tilted her head and lifted her chin with one finger. Neither of them were laughing any more. He wasn’t a great deal taller than she was, and their faces were close together. So close he could smell her delicate perfume, the subtle scent of her skin.He ached to stroke a finger down the softness of her cheek. He hesitated for a moment. A moment filled with such promise as though Frances was waiting for him to do something. Neither moved for a heartbeat.
