Keeping Faith

by Beverley Oakley

  “Yes, of course. But please let me go about this my own way. I assure you that you will get your money. That is, after all, what is important to you.” She hoped the reflection of her gimlet eye in the looking glass was as piercing as the older woman’s.

  “I think you’re in love with him.” Lady Vernon’s smile looked more like a grimace of satisfaction. “Don’t think you’ll marry him.” Her eyes narrowed, and in the gloom, she looked like a witch or a goblin. “You’re cleverer than to daydream that, Faith. He won’t marry you.” After a pause, she added, “Everyone in Mr Westaway’s orbit, and beyond, will ensure that he won’t.”

  Faith’s legs were still shaking after Lady Vernon had left and Faith was preparing for bed.

  Of course, there were. Faith had a mission to fulfil and too many people stood to gain something as a result of Faith’s success—herself included.

  Though her success might just come at a cost she’d not factored into the equation.

  She stepped out of her skirt and peeled off her cuirass-bodice. Why was she so affected by Lady Vernon’s unkind truth? It defied logic. Mr Westaway was a man who could do as he pleased and that alone put him out of her orbit. Faith was inured, so she thought, to entitled, self-absorbed gentlemen who took what they wanted and bargained for the rest.

  The trouble was, Mr Westaway wasn’t like that. If he were, her job would be so much easier.

  She touched her lips. They still tingled from the memory of Mr Westaway’s mouth, tender upon hers at first, before his hunger became so pronounced for that brief moment before he broke away. There really shouldn’t have been time to have decided anything much about the quality of it. And yet, it had lasted long enough for her to realise that she was changed. Affected.

  And that he had been, too.

  But he was a man. Rich, entitled. If he were affected, he’d have forgotten it by morning.

  She sat on the bed and rested her head in her hands, the silence of the room seeming to break into her thoughts.

  Who was she trying to fool? That was only if he were the kind of gentleman who frequented Madame Chambon’s. The kind who thought nothing of paying for their transitory pleasures.

  Mr Westaway was not like that.

  And Faith had been trained to entrap men like him. Good, decent men who, when embarking upon something like tonight’s kiss, thought they were attracted to a good, decent woman.

  She was the honey trap. His disappointed hopes and dreams would be all the more bitter for having realised the extent of his being duped.

  Except that Faith had no intention of it going so far, and nor did Madame Chambon. He would not know what Faith was because Faith came from Madame’s establishment and Madame Chambon’s was hallowed ground. Whatever devil’s agreement made between Madame Chambon, Lady Vernon, and Mrs Gedge would protect the reputation of the highly lucrative Soho purveyor of beautiful and expensive women. Gentlemen of discernment and fat pocketbooks must always know they would be safe when selecting a girl from London’s most highly regarded brothel.

  Faith crawled into bed.

  No, not a hint of scandal would link Faith with Madame Chambon’s though Faith had no doubt Lady Vernon was as ruthless as her cohorts. She had no love of Faith, but as long as Faith delivered what was promised, Faith would be free to make her own way in the world.

  Pulling the covers over her head, she thought of the days ahead—the escalation of searing passion, then a promise extracted from Mr Westaway so that the sting of rejection, timed just right, might be all the bitter.

  It seemed too simple but, of course, there must be more at play than that for Mrs Gedge to have spent three years grooming Faith to be the means of breaking this young man’s heart.

  Perhaps there’d been a failed love affair between herself and Lord Maxwell, Mr Westaway’s father?

  Or was Mrs Gedge avenging the death of her daughter. Had the girl died of a broken heart after he’d spurned her?

  Was money, not love, involved?

  There was no point in quizzing Lady Vernon or even digging for the truth in her most artful and subtle manner. Lady Vernon conversed with Faith only upon her conduct.

  And that conduct was required to become as scandalous as it was possible for a young, supposedly innocent virgin to be.

  The night pressed in on her, her mind churning with questions but knowing only one thing— that tomorrow or the next, she must do whatever possible to compromise Mr Westaway in order to extract an offer of marriage, or at least an ardent declaration of love.

  And, for the first time, the knowledge that this might mean sacrificing her virginity didn’t trouble her in the least.

  The fact that it might involve breaking hearts along the way, did.

  Chapter 16

  A beautiful, sunny day meant that the washroom wasn’t the only alternative for creating a setting whereby Faith must recline amongst the water lilies.

  At breakfast, when she went down and found Lady Vernon and Mr Westaway in the parlour, Faith was immediately besieged by conflicting suggestions. Lady Vernon thought the bath was the better alternative; Mr Westaway was keen on the lake.

  Only the arrival of Lord Delmore stirred enough conviction one way or another.

  “To the lake,” he announced, and Faith wasn’t unhappy about it. The surprisingly balmy feel in the air combined with her hopefulness was a good combination, so that she was unusually unconstrained and forthcoming as Lord Delmore quizzed her on her time in London during the walk through the gardens and along the lakeside, before they arrived at a small copse which Mr Westaway had spied out as a likely location.

  The older gentleman seemed fascinated by Faith’s impressions on the capital. He asked her about her family and her father, and she answered truthfully, for even though they were lost to her, she could imbue the reality of a poverty-stricken cottager with the high hopes of an equally poverty-stricken, though fictional, family intent on bettering their most promising progeny.

  Surprisingly, Faith found she suffered no pangs of guilt for lying, or even sadness for letting her family believe her dead. There simply had been too many of them and her father too brutal and economical with words for her to have understood him. She genuinely had no desire to ever see him again. The others, too, were so different in the way they thought of life or conducted themselves that she’d have been happy to have called herself an only child.

  Her future was here. In her hands. In Mr Westaway’s hands. Meanwhile, Lord Delmore served a useful purpose in acting as a conduit for the questioning she’d have liked to have come from Mr Westaway, who appeared too absorbed in his painting to notice her or anyone else.

  For the first half an hour, Mr Westaway occupied himself with setting up his easel, then sketching the backdrop so that Faith could enjoy being dry as she sat in one of the wicker chairs her host had a servant arrange for her, Lady Vernon, and Lord Delmore.

  The last thing Faith felt like doing was going near water again but knew what was required. So, when Lord Delmore asked, “And does the idea of floating among the trailing water lilies horrify you, Miss Montague?” She just lifted one shoulder slightly and said, “This is a very pleasant country sojourn and being somewhat impecunious, which I’ve made no secret about, I shall pay my dues uncomplainingly when the time comes.”

  He seemed to like her answer enormously for he laughingly responded, “Not so demure, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Montague. Most young ladies would not advertise such facts.”

  “I would rather no potential suitor was under any illusions, Lord Delmore.” Faith decided she liked the candour in his twinkling blue eyes. He seemed far easier than the buttoned-up personages she was more likely to meet in London. And when he added, “I’ll have to introduce you to my daughter-in-law. She could take a leaf out of your book when it comes to being candid and not putting herself above others,” she decided he was quite fatherly in the kind of endearing way she liked to imagine her own father might have been had he not been cu
rsed with ten children, no money, and a drinking problem. All of which, she supposed, meant that there could never be two men more different than Lord Delmore and her own father.

  “It’s time, I’m afraid.” Mr Westaway cleared his throat, and they all turned. He’d not said a word in a good twenty minutes.

  Faith was sure he’d even blushed when he’d nodded a greeting, earlier, before quite studiously avoiding any further direct contact.

  Was he regretting last night? She certainly wasn’t. An unbidden memory of the searing passion in that one short kiss sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was surprised that she’d blushed but also rather pleased that she’d managed it so artlessly. It served her purpose rather well.

  Faith took a deep, audible breath, rose from her chair and glanced about at the company as she picked up her skirts and turned towards the water. Then she stopped and sat down again. “My shoes. I can’t go in wearing these, naturally.” She pressed her lips together and sent a rather imploring glance at Lady Vernon, who grunted as she moved forward in her chair before muttering, “I can’t take them off for you, my girl. Not with my arthritis. Gentlemen, would it be so shocking if one of you were to do the honours.” She put her nose in the air as if pretending great delicacy when Faith knew any pretence at anything remotely refined or delicate was a complete sham. “I’m sure you know that a lady is somewhat restricted when it comes to bending at the waist.”

  They’d know it, of course. Lord Delmore was a widower, and Mr Westaway must have had some experience with women, surely, to know that they always put on their footwear before donning their corset. And Faith was wearing a corset today, as directed by Lady Vernon for just this reason.

  The two men exchanged long looks. Faith could tell they both wanted to offer but were reluctant to be the first. Finally, Lord Delmore conceded to the younger man, saying, “I’m not as agile as I once was, either, Crispin. Miss Montague, apologies for embarrassing you like this.”

  “I shall be more embarrassed when you see how poorly I manage in water. I presume you want me to float, but the truth is, I’ve never tried. I only know that if it can be learned, I’m sure I’ll learn quickly. I don’t want to delay you, Mr Westaway, when time is of the essence.”

  Faith stretched out her leg and pointed her foot while Mr Westaway went down on bended knee on the grass and rested it in the palm of his hand. She liked his touch. He seemed gentle and respectful. Oh, but he was so unlike many of the gentlemen who came to Madame Chambon’s fuelled by rampant sexual desire.

  But how surprising that she was enjoying her mission.

  When Mr Westaway had removed her shoes, he took her hands and helped her to rise.

  “Will you be all right getting to the water?”

  “If I may lean upon your shoulder as I negotiate the mud. I’m not sure how deep it might be.” She made the most of the contact, and when they were at the water’s edge with the others a few yards behind them, he said, “I took unconscionable liberties, Miss Montague.”

  “And I do not hold you to account for any of them.” She giggled happily. Silly, but it was no act. “It was too marvellously unexpected, Mr Westaway. And so comforting to know that I shall be able to enjoy these mysteries if I’m ever granted the opportunity.” She patted his shoulder. “Don’t trouble yourself anymore over it. It’s in the past. Now I just have to lie amongst the water lilies and stare vacantly at the sky. I can do that. I can do whatever is required. Oooh!” She gave a squeal as the water reached mid-calf and then, because she knew when the dramatic would serve her well, plunged headlong into the depths with an even greater cry.

  “I did it!” she squealed, emerging a second later. At home, the boys had sometimes bathed in the river, but Faith had never been tempted by the discoloured water from the tannery upstream. Her mother had always come down hard upon the girls for trying to emulate the boys who were so carefree in their nakedness.

  Faith couldn’t imagine what her mother would think of her daughter, now. But as Faith had never had the slightest respect for her mother, and truly felt her life was better for being free of her sanctimonious piety and propensity to lash out, like Faith’s father, the reflection did not dampen this morning’s proceedings.

  All of which were progressing swimmingly if the admiration and mutual enjoyment on both Lord Delmore and Mr Westaway’s faces were anything to go by.

  “Just be careful amongst the reeds,” Lord Delmore cautioned, “and keep well within your depth. This is a smart new set of clothes I’m wearing.”

  “You’d actually consider getting them wet and muddy on my account?” She sent him an impish smile. “I think that’s the most gallant thing a gentleman has ever said to me.” She could afford to feel lighthearted, for this morning was all about playacting, setting up the gentlemen to think of her as she wanted them to, not as she was.

  “I think you’d inspire such chivalry from anyone who met you, Miss Montague.”

  Faith caught the surprised look Lord Delmore’s words received from Mr Westaway and was emboldened. “What about you, Mr Westaway? I’ve heard that the focus of the true artist would not be torn away by anything.”

  “Except losing the very thing that keeps him focused.” He grinned as he looked up from the canvas. “I suppose I’d have no choice but to rescue you if I wanted to finish my painting.”

  “Well, I prefer Lord Delmore’s response, even though it’s a relief to know I’d be saved in both instances. Am I floating artistically enough?”

  Faith had adjusted to the water temperature and made sure her hair fanned out about her and the folds of her dress looked suitably artistic.

  “It’s perfect.” Mr Westaway nodded.

  “Will she have to go into the lake every day, Mr Westaway?” Lady Vernon asked. “There are logistical concerns with seeing her dress is dry when she puts it on each day only to then have to float in it for as long as it pleases you.”

  “Today will suffice, Lady Vernon.” Mr Westaway barely looked at the old woman, but he smiled at Faith. “I promise not to sacrifice you, Miss Montague, to my artistic pursuits. Today I only need to sketch in the background and get a general composition.”

  Faith, who’d been floating for as long as she could manage, stood up. The water reached mid-thigh, and as she glanced down, she could see the outline of her corset beneath the fabric of her gown. She decided to remain standing for a while and pretend to be unaware.

  “Perhaps she’ll need a new dress,” Lady Vernon went on. “Faith, get back in the water this instant!”

  “Only if Mr Westaway says I must,” Faith countered. “He’s the artist.”

  She saw the way his eyes lingered on her just a moment too long before he agreed with Lady Vernon, the pause and the obvious reluctance in his tone music to her ears.

  Faith lay back down in the water, but after another few minutes, her task really was becoming difficult. The chill was starting to seep into her bones.

  When she could take it no more, she rose suddenly, but her feet stuck fast in the mud and she stumbled and fell to her knees. Her hands went out in front of her, and now her knees were sinking in sludge while the water was too high for her head to remain above. Her corset cut into her, and she couldn’t move properly. Panic was swift. She truly was trapped. With her clothing too constricting, she could neither rise to her feet, yet nor was she agile enough to roll onto her back so that she was again floating with her face to the sky.

  By the time a pair of hands gripped her elbows and hauled her to her feet, she was choking on the water she’d taken in, shaking with nerves and on the edge of tears.

  “I have you, Miss Montague. A nasty fright, that’s all.” Lord Delmore led her to his chair, his tone fatherly, his concern making her want to cry even more. There’d been precious few people in her world that had ever spoken to her like that. “There, there, Miss Montague,” he soothed, patting her shoulder. “Open your eyes, here’s my handkerchief.”

  Mr Westaway had barely
registered until it was all over, it seemed, for he was blinking at her over the top of the easel, and she seethed inside at the injustice of losing such an opportunity to play to his concern.

  “I won’t cry,” she said between gritted teeth, and it was as if she were six years old again and her father was berating her for letting the cow run away, bringing the willow switch across her shoulders in a series of violent outbursts. Little matter that he had left the gate unlatched plenty of times and that the cow had always either returned home for milking or been brought back by one of the neighbours. “I won’t cry. I won’t cry.”

  She’d said those words so often as a child and she never did cry. Nor did she cry, now, but clearly the combination of hunched shoulders, stiff jaw, and defiant mantra was not the usual reaction of damsels in distress.

  “You’re very brave.” Mr Westaway was on one side and Lord Delmore, standing on her other, was wrapping a towel about her shoulders. Lady Vernon was blinking dispassionately at her, not having bothered to rise from her chair, but she didn’t count. Faith could bask in the attention from two handsome men and believe for a few minutes they genuinely did care she’d been frightened.

  She relaxed her shoulders and smiled suddenly. “I won’t do that again.” Mr Westaway’s brow was creased as if he didn’t know what to say, so she saved him the trouble. “I’m sorry I spoiled things, Mr Westaway. I hope I was there long enough for you to get the sketch you needed at least. But I’m ready to go back again, if you’d like.”

  “Of course not!” Lord Delmore was quite vocal in defence of Faith having a reprieve. “Ten minutes is more than enough time for a gently nurtured young lady to float in a swamp. I wouldn’t hear of it, and I’m sure Mr Westaway wouldn’t, either.”

  “Gad, but she’s a rare jewel,” Lord Delmore declared as he accepted the brandy Crispin handed him before taking a seat opposite him in the library. The long balmy evenings of sitting outside were gone since the summer days had given way to a dreary grey, with a decided chill in the air. “I wonder what her plans are when this is all over. Don’t suppose she has her eye on you, do you think?”