Page 6 of The Quiet Wife
A smaller man, younger than Rossetti, and whom one might label as slight, observed her with interest. However, despite his lack of inches, made noticeable by her husband’s own length of leg, he was not the kind of man one ignored or overlooked.With wildly curling dark hair, fiercely intense blue eyes that were disconcertingly intelligent and searching, and lips that were… well… Frances blinked and waited for an introduction, noting a smile hovering about his eyes that suggested he didn’t take himself entirely too seriously. It was all she could do not to stare.
“Allow me to introduce Mr James McNeill Whistler, my dear,” Frederick said with a note of reverence in his voice. “You may recall I mentioned him?”
Frances nodded and curtseyed politely.
“Whistler, may I present my wife?”
Mr Whistler’s gaze caught hers for a second before he bowed low over her hand. “The pleasure is entirely mine,” he murmured in an interesting accent. Frances’ heart fluttered a little as she regarded her husband’s latest artistic obsession.
CHAPTER 3
Speke Hall - Liverpool
“How was your journey, Mr Whistler?” Frances managed once she’d composed herself.
“Very comfortable, thank you. I visited Liverpool as a boy, so it’s rather exciting to be back here.”
“You did?” her husband interrupted.
“Indeed, on our way back from Russia, I stayed with family on my mother’s side, in Preston. Dr Matthew Thwaites and his wife, my aunt Sarah. We visited Liverpool several times. It’s a fine place.”
Whistler looked about the room. “You have a beautiful home.” He gave Frederick a knowing smile. “I can certainly see your influence, Leyland.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Frederick puffed up then launched into one of his favourite subjects, listing the work he’d done on Speke Hall for them to live there, but Frances was more interested in listening to Mr Whistler’s voice. Was he American? She wanted to ask, given she was not quite able to place it, but doubted her husband would appreciate her interrupting, so remained silent and filed that point away for later.
She left her husband regaling Mr Whistler and Mr Rossetti with details of all his most recent collections and excused herself to greet more of their guests, conscious that she needed to play the part of the good hostess that Frederick expected. As people milled around the drawing room, she couldn’t help but glance back at Mr Whistler. He seemed a little out of place. Although very relaxed he seemed to have an air of casual disregard for what anyone might think of him. He was either very self-assured, or simply didn’t understand the intricacies of social etiquette. She wasn’t sure which it was, but as someone who had spent much of her adult life trying to master the detail of social interaction with the upper classes at her husband’s request, she had to admire his confidence and aplomb.
She’d met no-one quite like him, even from among Frederick’s artistic protégés. She watched Mr Whistler flirt openly and outrageously with the gathered ladies. His manner was terribly forward. That said, he was impossible to ignore because her eyes kept returning to him, and she had an odd, tingling sense of knowing just where he was as the party wore on.
When her sister Lizzie greeted her with a broad smile, taking both her hands and kissing her on each cheek, Frances heaved a sigh of relief. Her younger sister was always a welcome distraction at these kinds of social events. Tall, slender and with a confidence and sense of pragmatism that belied her years, she was truly enchanting. Having steadfastly refused multiple offers of marriage, and now moving far enough into her twenties to fall happily between all society’s expectations, she seemed supremely content. She confused people no end and loved being neither debutante and ingénue, nor old maid. Frances wished she had half of her sister’s courage and fortitude.
Where Frances’ hair was a deep dark auburn, Lizzie’s hair was a riotous mop of strawberry blonde curls matched only by the freckles that covered every inch of her body. She’d been staying with friends for a few days and Frances had missed her terribly. She’d come to live with her and Frederick after the death of their beautiful mother almost three years ago, and Frances wasn’t afraid to admit she relied on her heavily.
“Darling, I’m so, so glad you’re here. It is wonderful to have a friendly face,” Frances whispered.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lizzie squeezed her tightly. “How are you faring? I see Fred has invited some of his arty chums,” she said, releasing her from the embrace and giving her a good look over, as though searching for any evidence that all might not be well, as she always strongly suspected it was not, despite Frances’ protests to the contrary.
Frances laughed and shushed her sister. “For heaven’s sake, don’t let him hear you!”
“It might do him good to unbend a little.” Lizzie giggled.
“Unbending is not a word my husband is familiar with, as well you know. Have you come with Edith and William?”
“Of course. They wouldn’t have missed his intriguing artists. It makes a change from the stuffy business types,” Lizzie said, casting a glance at two sombre gentlemen from Bibby Shipping with their wives standing by the window.
“Here they come,” Lizzie accepted a glass of wine from the passing footman.
Frances clapped her hands as her dear friends Edith and William Bartlett appeared. She greeted them with her arms outstretched. As they hugged and kissed, Frances glanced over at Frederick in time to catch his look of disapproval.
“Do come and say hello to my husband,” she set off with her friends and presented them to Frederick with a smile. His bow to Edith and Lizzie perfunctory,and his handshake with William, brief. William, a strapping six-footer, with a glorious chestnut moustache, took Frederick’s cool demeanour in his stride, as he always did.
“How’s business, Leyland?” William enquired.
“Excellent, thank you. If you’d excuse me?” With that, he walked away, leaving Frances feeling mortified by his rudeness. They’d known William and Edith for a long time. Long enough for Frederick to be at least sociable. Sometimes he was just downright bad-mannered when someone wasn’t of use to him.
“I’m so sorry,” she recovered herself. “He’s been awfully busy lately. He’s a little out of sorts.”
Edith sighed and gave Frances a sympathetic look while William rolled his eyes.
