Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances

by Beverley Oakley

  When he didn’t speak, she rose. “Well, perhaps you and Madame Chambon should speak together right now, Lord Harkom.” She sent him another sweet smile and offered him her hand before indicating the door with a nod of her head. “Lady Chambon’s office is just down the corridor, as I’m sure you know. Meanwhile, I need to change into something a little more…appropriate.” She glanced down at her gown then moved towards the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. “When an arrangement is in writing, you know where to find me.”

  He did not stop her. Clearly, he took her at her word and would, most likely, follow through with a meeting with Madame Chambon to nut out the details, knowing, as Madame Chambon had probably told him, that she had nowhere in the world to go.

  For she didn’t.

  Unless…

  It was a forlorn hope but there had been someone who had treated Faith kindly.

  The street was deserted when Faith arrived at the small cottage by the river where she’d been conveyed so many times during the past three years. She’d been utterly terrified going by foot, carrying a carpetbag with one simple, old gown she’d snatched from her wardrobe together with the few possessions she had that might be worth anything.

  It took several bouts of knocking before there was any response, and she nearly wept with relief when it was opened by a frightened-looking scullery maid.

  “Mary, can you tell your master that he has a visitor,” Faith exhorted her as she pushed her way past the child and into the familiar space.

  The girl blinked open sleep-laden eyes. Faith suspected she’d been sleeping in front of the kitchen fire. Indeed, that’s exactly where Faith hoped she might find some rest for the few hours that remained of tonight.

  “Master’s been long abed,” the girl protested mildly though she didn’t look as if she’d outright deny Faith. She was too young for that. And not as desperate as Faith to have her way, for the master was not an unkind man.

  Faith waited nervously in the small back parlour where she’d spent so many hours at her lessons during the past three years.

  Her first thought was that Professor Monk must receive her. Well, she was certain of that, at least. But what if he was part of Madame Chambon and Mrs Gedge’s evil plan?

  No, surely not. Not the kindly professor who took such pride in Faith’s intelligent answers when he quizzed her on world diplomacy and the historical relations between countries.

  But if he was not part of the evil plan, he must surely know what had happened to her since all of London could talk about nothing else, it would seem.

  What would he say when she told him she had nowhere to go? That it was her own fault she’d fallen the way she had? Would he say that he was a man of learning and moral rectitude and their past association meant nothing to him?

  Everyone else in Faith’s life had forsaken her. The few friends she had were in no position to help her. Professor Monk would be like the rest of them—filled with moral outrage that would require her to pay for her sins.

  Instead, his greeting was fatherly, and his first words suggested he’d not even heard what all London had been talking about.

  “My dear Faith! Has your carriage broken down? Is Lady Vernon injured? Oh, dear me, I can’t think why else you’d be on my doorstep all alone at this hour of the evening.”

  He was such an innocent guileless old man Faith knew he honestly did believe only the options that would put her in the most favourable light. Being faced with kindness and concern was so at odds with everything else she’d encountered this last terrible day, that she let out a great sob.

  “My poor girl, come closer to the fire. You’re in shock, surely? Oh, I do hope nothing terrible has happened. Truly, I wouldn’t know what to do. Indeed, all I can think to do right now is to offer you some brandy.”

  “And a bed for the night?” Faith looked up at him, pleadingly, warmed by the light pressure of his hand on her shoulder. So different from the menace communicated by both Madame Chambon and Lord Harkom.

  He blinked in surprise as he turned back from ushering Mary out of the room to fetch Faith a small draft of something “strong and medicinal”.

  “Please, Professor. I’ve been turned out of the house where I lodge. There was…an argument.”

  His kind eyes grew a little sterner, but before he could say anything Faith hurried on, “I was pressured to…accept the offer of a man whom I know to be unkind and…bad. Yes, bad.”

  “Forced to wed against your will?”

  Faith nodded as she covered up the lie with the words, “I was told I had to accept this man’s offer, or I would have nowhere else to go.”

  “What man? What man would force you into such a bargain, Faith?” The professor looked truly concerned, and with a sigh, Faith whispered, “Lord Harkom.” For if she offered part of the truth, it was something, surely.

  To Faith’s surprise, the professor’s eyebrows shot up. “Dear me, Faith. Was Lord Harkom proposing marriage or…” He stopped abruptly.”

  Sadly, Faith shook her head. “No, Professor, that’s why I came here. When I refused him, I had nowhere else to go.”

  “You have a benefactress who has paid my fees for three years, and yet I’ve never met her. Would she not offer you lodging?”

  “Mrs Gedge.” Faith shook her head. “No, I cannot go there either, for she too was insistent that I…” She finished on a sob.

  “What about your chaperone? I briefly met Lady Vernon on one or two occasions. Why are you not staying with her?”

  “I told you. They wanted me to accept an offer from Lord Harkom.” She hung her head. “I’m not that sort of girl.”

  He blinked, owlishly, and stared at her as if she were suddenly a different creature.

  Faith stood up. “Please don’t condemn me for what has been out of my control. I want only to do what’s right, but I have nowhere to go. No one to turn to. I only wanted shelter for the next few hours until the dawn. That’s all I ask of you. Please, Professor. I’ll sleep in the kitchen and leave before light. Just let me stay here where it’s safe. Just for tonight.”

  “What then, Faith? What will you do then?”

  “I’ll find work. Anything. I’ll be a servant. I could work for you, Professor. Could I?”

  She stared hopefully at him, but he shook his head. “You can’t waste your talents, my girl, and I won’t employ you to scrub floors when I cannot have you under my roof in any other capacity. Let me think.”

  He rose and began to pace, scratching his whiskered chin as he began to mutter, for he always did this when deep in thought. As if he had to verbalise every possibility.

  “You say you have been used, girl. Educated to be the intellectual match of any man when it comes to diplomacy, strategy. For that’s what I did when I was instructed to give you a rudimentary understanding of the relations of the world stage. To make that the key focus of what I taught you. Why, I find this very difficult to understand.”

  “It was not because of Lord Harkom but an enemy of his. A man who is going to be British Envoy in Germany. I was used to make him look a fool, and then suddenly Lord Harkom was paying his addresses in a most alarming manner, and I had to escape. Perhaps…perhaps you know of a position where I could go. A place I could act as governess?”

  “It was the very line of thought I was following.” He gave a decisive nod. “But where? What family do I know?”

  “I don’t care. Any will do. Anywhere I can do an honest day’s work and have food and a roof over my head. I don’t require much. I just have to get away from London.”

  “My poor Faith.” He regarded her sadly. “I never expected this when I agreed to teach you all those years ago. You are my most gifted student. A great beauty, indeed, now that I perceive you in a better light. And I fear a great evil has been perpetrated against you, though I cannot begin to fathom why. Of course, I will help you. Mary will make up a bed in the spare room, and tomorrow I will send you on your way, but not alone and friendless
. I promise I will do what I can to help you, little though it may be.”

  Chapter 24

  One Year Later

  “And all that pink means it belongs to the British Empire.” Faith put her finger on the map on the table in front of them and traced the borders, while her two charges stared dutifully with downcast heads, though their eyes kept straying to the trees and sunshine outside the schoolroom window.

  Little wonder now that the sunshine had swept away two days of rain and the swathes of beautifully scythed lawn beckoned for a game of cricket.

  “Is it teatime yet?” asked George, the eldest, sighing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

  “I want a butter sandwich,” said seven-year-old James, George’s younger brother by two years.

  Faith pushed back her chair and stood up. She could hardly blame them. The weather was glorious, and the little boys had been angels. They were good children for the most part; sweet and obedient, and they loved her. It warmed her heart to know that.

  Which surprised Faith for she was not used to being loved. Not in such an innocent, overt manner by two little boys who spontaneously hugged her and did not even have to be exhorted to say goodnight every evening at seven—whereupon she’d receive a freely given kiss on the cheek by each.

  Even after all this time, it brought a lump to her throat for she hadn’t realised there were people in the world who did things for others without expecting payment of some kind.

  Faith patted each boy on the head. “Enough geography. Time to stretch your arms high, boys, and take deep breaths,” she said, leading the way. Like them, she didn’t want to think about the British Empire and have to trace the borders of Germany one more time today.

  “Close your eyes. Arms up high.” She stood on tiptoe and thought, as she often did, of Crispin. He’d been one of these types of children once. A rare breed who acted out of the pureness of his heart which might, perhaps, account for why she’d lost hers so thoroughly.

  And why her heart remained ever loyal, for she understood that, in the end, there’d simply been too much evidence circulating to blacken her name in his eyes.

  “Ah, Miss Montague, I wondered if you could ask Ellen to have George and James in their pyjamas a little earlier tonight.” Pretty Mrs Heathcote, the boys’ mother, stood in the doorway smiling fondly at her boys, both of whom showed more delight than was warranted when she asked them if they’d enjoyed their afternoon lessons.

  Having a mother as kind and maternal and interested as Mrs Heathcote was a great part of why George and James had such open hearts, Faith surmised. Did kindness and thoughtfulness to others really breed a child who would in turn grow into a kind and thoughtful man or woman?

  It didn’t necessarily follow, of course, that a child followed in their parents’ footsteps. Crispin’s father was cold and demanding, while he’d lost his mother young.

  Yet he was sensitive, kind, artistic, thoughtful.

  Faith liked to think she fell into the category of those who could change into someone better once they had good reason to, or were shown how.

  “Of course, Mrs Heathcote.” Faith smiled back. It would mean she had an extra half an hour to herself this evening, too. Not that she had much with which to occupy herself. She’d have dinner with the rest of the servants, but she’d not stay to sew and talk beyond half an hour after that. While the servants were decent enough people, they liked their own chatter and Faith’s presence constrained them. She’d overheard the cook, once, saying something along those lines, and while Faith felt accepted as one of the household, and certainly suffered no unkindness at the hands of anyone, she simply wasn’t ‘one of them’. Not one of the family of four who lived upstairs in their very elegant country manor house, or one of the seven servants who toiled below stairs.

  Duly, at half past six, Faith had the boys ready for bed and brought them down to say goodnight to their parents, who were entertaining a small number of people for their regular Friday-to-Monday.

  The party was assembled in the drawing room, the three gentlemen and Mrs Heathcote sitting in front of the fire, while one of the female guests sat at the piano and the other stood at her right-hand side, turning the pages and singing in a sweet soprano.

  Faith stood in the doorway, holding the hand of each boy, and gazing at the companionable grouping while she waited for the women to finish providing the entertainment.

  The two ladies, fashionably dressed in low-cut evening gowns with elaborate bustles, looked to be in their early thirties; their husbands, or so she could only assume, handsome men sporting impressive moustaches. Turning a little, she noticed a third gentleman she’d not seen before, half hidden behind a large urn. His face was turned, but what she could see of his expression bore the signs of a pleasant disposition and a fair amount of appreciation as he listened.

  She was about to sweep forward with the boys, when the gentleman swung around to face her, and a shocked breath caught in her throat; just as her own recognition must have registered on her face, for he raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened.

  Mrs Heathcote stood up in a rustle of silk, now that the music had just come to an end, and swept towards her children, saying over her shoulder, “Lord Delmore, here are the boys, come to say goodnight.”

  The other two gentlemen were busily complimenting the ladies on their fine rendition, and Faith stood, frozen, barely able to force her mouth into the requisite smile, as Lord Delmore patted the boys on their heads and said he’d heard many good things about their attention to their studies.

  Beyond a short, sharp look at Faith, and a murmured good evening, he said nothing, and after Faith had returned to her bedchamber, after handing George and James over to their nursemaid, she sat, trembling on her bed, and wondered how soon she would be exposed.

  And yet, Lord Delmore had been a kind man she reflected, as she took a shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped herself in it to stave off the shaking. Would he really reveal her identity?

  He might, if he believed she’d contaminate the children of his friends. A whore could be accepted nowhere in society.

  Only, she wasn’t a whore. She’d just happened to live amongst a house full of them.

  She rose and went to the window, staring out at the moonlit lawns and neat gravelled pathways that wound amongst the trees.

  A masculine cough sounded by the shrubbery beneath, and to Faith’s surprise, she saw that Lord Delmore had gone outside to smoke a pipe, and that he was walking very deliberately around the terrace, coughing at various intervals.

  Several times he glanced up, but of course he’d be unable to see which was Faith’s room—Faith was certain he was trying to communicate with her—before he finally set off on the path towards the river.

  Faith ran to her wardrobe and put on her one dark, serviceable coat, which might be considered acceptable wear for a walk in the gardens on a moonlit night without occasioning comment.

  There was no question about the fact that she needed to be able to speak to him in private. She needed to find out what Lord Delmore intended to tell the Heathcotes. He might condemn her and expose her, but she suspected he’d tell her, first.

  The light crunch of gravel beneath her hasty footsteps made her arrival to within his orbit known.

  “Rather a surprise to see you here, Miss Montague.” He didn’t turn from his contemplation of a curious nodule on a trunk of willow tree when she came up to him by a small inlet half hidden by bulrushes, out of sight of the house.

  Her insides quivered as she waited tensely for his next words. They would reveal something of his intentions, surely. Just running the short distance between the house and the river, Faith had thought only of how important it was for her to keep this job.

  If she were dismissed, she’d have to return to Madame Chambon’s.

  And if she had to return to Madame Chambon’s, she’d rather die. Yes, death would be preferable than having to give herself to a man, or men, in a transaction that
took no account of the heart.

  “Your name was on everyone’s lips a year ago, Miss Montague…and then you disappeared.”

  Faith shifted position as she stared at his back before he turned to face her. “My old tutor arranged for me to work for the Heathcotes when I had nowhere else to go.” She swallowed. “If you tell them what the newspapers printed about me, I’ll lose my job.”

  “And do you like working here? Looking after two little boys? I imagine it’s very different from what you are used to.”

  Faith shrugged. “I had nine brothers and sisters growing up. That was not a lie. And then I was strenuously educated for three years. So, what I do now is not so different from my realm of experience. Loving what I do is what’s different.”

  “Ah, Miss Montague.” He shook his head, his look sorrowful. “I am placed in a difficult position. My loyalty is towards the Heathcotes. They are old friends of mine. Good people.”

  “And I am not?” Faith bristled. “But of course, that’s what the papers printed, isn’t it? And there was a photograph.”

  “Of you and Lord Harkom, yes; a man who is no friend to Mr Westaway.” Lord Delmore took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He looked a little older, but his eyes were still kind beneath their bushy brows. “I’m sorry, Faith. I want to believe that you’ve been ill done by and indeed, I do see that you have taken the path of redemption. Otherwise, no doubt, you’d still be…”

  He hesitated, awkward suddenly, and Faith ground out, “Not with Lord Harkom! I’ve met him only twice, and that was two times more than I would have liked. He is not a good man. I never had any association with him other than accidental. It’s nothing like the newspapers printed.”

  Lord Delmore frowned. “Yet you have a letter from him. Did you know that? Yes, it was delivered to my house after one of your…friends…came in search of you and found the residence where you’d spent last summer empty.”