Page 91 of The Quiet Wife
He snarled something unintelligible and grabbed her wrists, but Rosa threw herself into his arms and held fast. As Frederick grappled with her, Frances turned and headed for the door.
“I will be with your guests. I suggest you join us as soon as you have… finished, lest you are both missed.”
With that, she closed the door behind her and walked along the corridor on legs that shook and felt weak.
She stumbled into her own chamber to splash her face with cold water and press her fingers to her cheeks for a moment or two before taking a deep breath. She doubted the sight of Frederick naked, yelling at her, would ever leave her. She felt as though she should be heartbroken at his infidelity, his betrayal, particularly as it was discovered in the most humiliating way. But all she wanted to do was laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She supposed the shock would set in later. What hurt most abominably was that Rosa had betrayed her so utterly and comprehensively. All the time she had spent befriending her, listening to her, laughing with her, and sharing intimacies, and it was all a pretence to be closer to Frederick. It had all been a lie. An elaborate lie. Frances pressed a hand to her chest as tears pooled in her eyes. She felt such a fool. Such a gullible idiot. She sucked in a breath and steadied herself. It would not do to go back downstairs with red eyes and cheeks.She was not the party at fault here.
***
“Are you quite well?” Jemie asked quietly when she returned.
“Very. Absolutely. Thank you.”
“You’re not, are you.” His voice was soft, clearly not fooled.
She hesitated. “Do I appear as though something is amiss?”
He shook his head. “Not in the general way of things, but to me, you look a trifle dazed, not to say more than a little pale. It made me wonder if anything has happened to upset you.”
“That’s a good way of wording it.” She wondered if she could confide in him. Wondered if, as Frederick had abandoned his wedding vows, she could too. She looked at Jemie and his glorious eyes and realised that if she was ever to commit adultery, it would be with Jemie.
She shook herself to regain her senses.
Frederick slunk back into the room behaving as though nothing had happened and sat himself with the gentlemen at the card table, including Mr Caldicott, as though he hadn’t only moments before been caught being intimate with the man’s wife. It made her wonder if men worked on a different moral code of behaviour to women, but when Rosa reappeared as though nothing had happened too, she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps they were well matched after all.
“Would you like to come and sit with me?”
Frances released a large and decisive sigh. “Jemie, I would love nothing more than to sit with you, but I feel it would be prudent for me to sit with the ladies.”
“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” he asked, worry in his voice.
“It has. I may talk about it later, but save to say, I don’t want to give my husband any cause to think I am gossiping, or spending time with a gentleman.”
Jemie let out a soft groan and moved closer, but she backed away.
“Don’t worry, please. I am perfectly fine.”
“Perhaps we can find time to talk later. Failing that, we have a sitting booked in for tomorrow.” He smiled, and she loved the way the skin around his eyes crinkled softly. Loved the way his eyes shone with concern. Loved the way his head tilted ever so slightly to look at her. He didn’t look at anyone else like that.
“That we do,” she murmured, casting him a smile that she was afraid would tell anyone who cared to glance over just how she felt about Jemie Whistler.
“Until later,” he murmured and let his little finger graze hers, sending a shiver up her arm straight to her heart.
“Until later.”
CHAPTER 30
London - Kensington
The door closed softly behind her maid, but not before Grace cast a concerned look at her. When she was safely alone, Frances slumped and buried her face in her hands. What an evening. It had taken an age to get rid of the guests when she had just wanted to retire to bed.
She scrubbed her face with her hands and observed herself in the mirror. Frederick didn’t deserve her. His behaviour was utterly beyond the pale, and he must surely know it. Not just his affair with Rosa, but his treatment of Freddie, the girls, her… Anger bubbled up inside. She wanted to throw things. To scream. Shout. She flounced off the stool, stalked to the bed and threw the pillow with a shriek, then crumpled onto the mattress with a sob. She couldn’t even throw a decent tantrum. This was what Frederick had reduced her to.
She ran the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed in a most unladylike fashion then returned to the mirror. She lifted her chin and undid the plait that Grace had weaved her hair into. She shook her head, ran her fingers through the strands until it fell in waves almost to her waist, then dragged a brush through it leaving it in gleaming waves. She grabbed a handkerchief,dabbed, and tidied her face before grasping every last shred of resolution she had, tightening the belt of her dressing gown, and leaving the room. She walked down the corridor and stopped at Jemie’s door. She rapped on it before her courage could desert her and waited. What was good for the goose…
She waited, heart in mouth. What to say? What to… the door swung open, and Frances found herself confronted by the second bare masculine chest that evening, but this time her mouth went completely dry. Jemie wore nothing but trousers. His hair was awry, and he had one hand thrust in it as he glared out of the door, standing in bare feet like a prize-fighter.
“What?” he demanded half asleep, then gaped at her.
