Page 103 of The Quiet Wife
“Don’t you want to know who the recipient of his attention is?”
“Of course.” She swallowed, trying to compose herself, even though her heart raced.
“Our own dearest Lizzie!” Edith said with a flourish.
Relief washed over her so hard she struggled to breathe for a moment and when Lizzie leaped in with laughter and protests, she embraced the moment to gather herself enough to speak.
Frances managed a smile. “Well, of course. Who wouldn’t fall in love with Lizzie?”
“He isn’t in love with me, you goose,” Lizzie rolled her eyes.
“And here comes the gentleman himself,” Edith said as the footman announced Jemie and his mother. Edith caught Frances’ eye and winked. “And I have a rather marvellous idea…” Frances wasn’t sure she could deal with any more revelations. She rubbed at her forehead with two fingers and waited for what would come next.
***
Lizzie thought the whole thing was an absolutely capital idea. But then Lizzie would.
“Are you sure we should do this?” Frances said to Jemie as she sat for him later in the day.
He frowned at the painting and dabbed, then wiped at something with a paint covered finger before returning his attention to her.
“I do. I want no shadow cast over you. None. If my attendance on you and Lizzie is occasioning comment, then this will put paid to all that and all will be well.”
“But there is nothing between us,” Frances protested but she knew it was a lie.
Jemie glanced up at that. “If you believe that, you’ve bats in your attic, as my dear mother would say.”
She sighed.
“If Lizzie and I become betrothed, it will silence the gossips, delight your husband, and we can carry on being…” he pondered for a moment, then gave her a wry grin, “slightly more than good friends.”
Frances groaned. “And how long do you propose continuing with this charade? How long can you be betrothed without actually getting married?”
He shrugged and dabbed at the painting again. “As long as we like. It suits Lizzie too; in case you were wondering.” He beamed. “We intend to have averylong engagement.”
Frances pinched the bridge of her nose. “And when it’s over?”
“She can jilt me with as much drama as she might wish for. Can you stop doing that with your fingers?” He waved a brush at her.
Frances let go of her nose, fidgeted, and twitched at the dress, before sitting silently as Jemie continued painting.
“Are you tired?” Jemie asked when she fidgeted for the third time.
“I… I need to talk to you about Frederick,” she told him.
Jemie paused, paintbrush in the air. “What has he done now?”
She drew in a bated breath. “I hardly know where to start.”
Jemie put down his brush, wiped his hands free of paint, and came over to her. He moved them to the sofa by the fireplace and sat down, intertwining her fingers with his.
“Tell me.”
She ached to lean into him, but she sat up straight. “Frederick was with Rosa the night we sent for him when Elinor was ill.”
She watched as muscles twitched in his cheek. “Miserable swine,” he muttered.
“And now Rosa is having his baby. She can’t pass it as her husband’s because they have not had relations in the past six months.”
