Page 84 of The Quiet Wife
“What I want? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He towed him unceremoniously away from a group of people drifting in their direction.
“I’m quite happy to follow your guidance,” Jemie said, twisting his arm out of Leyland’s grip again. “No need to drag me.”
Leyland frowned.
“I want to change the colour?”
Leyland looked exasperated. “What?”
“I will need to change the colour. It needs to be verdigris. Verdigris and gold.”
Leyland shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Whatever you feel is right. Whatever you see fit, just get it done. I want to entertain in there. I have some exceptionally important meetings coming up, and I want toimpress.”
Jemie bowed. “Your wish is my command.”
“Excellent. I’m glad we have an understanding.”
Not a word of thanks, Jemie noted, but that wasn’t surprising. “You’re welcome.”
Leyland looked momentarily baffled, and then headed back to his wife. Jemie caught Frances’ anxious glance. He smiled and winked to assure her everything was well.
***
The next afternoon, Frances stood behind the screen as Lizzie helped her into the dress, and she listened to Jemie setting up his paints. She was used to the smell of the oil paint now, and the fluids he used to clean his brushes, and the oils he mixed with the paints, linseed, if she recalled rightly. She would forever associate the smells of an oil painting with peace and harmony, she was sure.
She shimmied into the gown and allowed Lizzie to fasten all the buttons, then placed the train for her.
Lizzie left, and Frances assumed her position but held her hand to her mouth to hide a yawn. She was tired. She wished they were back at Speke. Her and Lizzie, Anna and Jemie, and the children. That would be perfect, and she sighed at the thought.
“You look tired,” he remarked as he dabbed at blobs of paint on his palette.
“I am. I was just wishing we were back at Speke.”
He nodded. “I miss Speke.” He held up the brush, regarded her, and then disappeared into the painting in the way he always did.
She let him paint for a while before speaking again.
“How is it you’ve never married and had a family?” she asked him. It was something she’d wondered for a while. “I can see from how you are with my children that you would make a lovely papa.”
He froze, stared at her and, to her astonishment, a dull flush spread across his cheeks. “Um… well… I… um.”
She laughed awkwardly. “I beg your pardon. That was terribly rude. I clearly shouldn’t have asked that.”
He put the brush down. “No, I’m… I will tell you. I would have told you, but I… I didn’t want to lose your good opinion. Idon’twant to lose your good opinion, and… well… it’s never come up before.”
A chill trickled down her spine, and her smile faded. “Are you married?” She hesitated, unsure she wanted to acknowledge why that might be important, but he answered immediately.
“No! Of course not. I’m not married. I never have been.”
He cleared his throat and focused on the paints on the table as he dabbed his brush absently, staring at it, before taking a breath and meeting her inquisitive gaze.
“But I am a papa.”
CHAPTER 27
London – Kensington
