Page 28 of The Quiet Wife
“Is it going to be another study of black and grey? Like the picture of your mother? Is that it? The study wasn’t right?” she ventured, trying to understand.
He blinked. Several times, then cleared his throat before nodding.
“That’s exactly it. Thank you.”
“There’s no need for thanks,” she told him although Frances felt inordinately pleased.
“There is,” he smiled. “Most people don’t understand.”
She looked away, feeling suddenly shy. “Well, I try. It helps that you explain things to me to allow me to… well, to make up my own mind. I rather like that,” she added softly.
They regarded each other intensely for a moment. Jemie was the first to break the spell.
“We should think about your portrait,” Jemie said, his voice husky.
“We should?”
Jemie nodded.
“Frederick thought if I was to wear black, the two portraits would look well side by side. I thought perhaps black velvet?” She rarely agreed with her husband, but on this occasion, she rather liked the idea of being painted in a severe black gown. It would give her a sense of gravity befitting a portrait.
Jemie’s eyes widened. “Black? Lord no!”
“No?”
He moved to stand before her, and for a moment, she thought he might reach for her. He hesitated, licked his lips, and when he spoke, his voice was husky once more. “You shall be pinks, creams, light, and shade.” His gaze roamed over her from head to foot. “I want you in a fabulous gown but not one of those pinched in affairs with bustles and all that nonsense, I want something flowing, more like you, something with grace, and elegance, but with a shade of daring, a smidgeon of suggestion…” He stopped, and Frances felt heat prickling the nape of her neck with his eyes still settled upon her.
“Daring?” she hesitated.
“I don’t mean daring as in…daring.”He gestured awkwardly.
“So, you’re not going to paint me naked?” She shocked herself at the bluntness, but it seemed to shock Jemie even more. His pink cheeks reddened, and she wondered for an uncomfortable moment if he was imagining this scenario.
Jemie was open mouthed for a second, and then laughed clumsily. “Much as I might like to do that, alas your portrait will contain clothes.”
They looked at each other a little longer before bursting into laughter and at once, the mood lifted.
“You’re a wretch, do you know that?” Jemie said after a while.
“As are you,” Frances returned, and they both sat down on chairs either side of the fireplace. Frances marvelled at how he never made her feel stupid. He never laughedather. He made her feel light and as though her opinion mattered.
“Do you want to look at my wardrobe to see if I have a suitable garment, or do I need to purchase something?” Frances leaned towards him.
“I’d be delighted to look at your garments,” he raised his eyebrows in a way that made Frances smile. “But I think I might want to design something.”
“Your talents extend to dressmaking as well as painting?”
“I’ll need some help with the actual stitching, but I enjoy designing garments. I’m developing a very clear idea of how you should look,” he conceded.
“I see.”
“Perhaps when we go to London, we can explore some possibilities. Examine fabrics.”
“We are going to London?” She paused, this being the first she’d heard of it.
Jemie appeared surprised and a little uncomfortable before scratching his head. “Well, we are according to your husband.”
CHAPTER 11
