Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Not that that was of any interest when the lovely creature in her shadow was materialising upon the threshold.

Attempting to mask his delight, Crispin directed them to take a seat on the Chesterfield sofa positioned at right angles to the fire.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, as he lowered himself into a leather wingback chair opposite.

Lady Vernon clasped her black-gloved hands in her lap with the look of someone who has something very particular to say.

Crispin glanced from her bony fingers to the interested expression on the face of the girl on the sofa beside her, and felt the heat rise in his cheeks and his body respond. He leaned forward and looked at the pair expectantly as Lady Vernon cleared her throat.

“My charge, Miss Montague, is well practised at achieving the utmost stillness required of an artist’s model, though naturally I would be in attendance at all times, Mr Westaway.” She cleared her throat again. “That is, if you believe she is suitable.”

Crispin drew back in surprise, but even before Lady Vernon finished, he was conjuring up exactly what hue he would pick to achieve the soft peach colour of the girl’s cheeks and the red of her Cupid’s bow. Her hair was an altogether thrilling proposition.

Then common sense returned. In the next day or so he’d be heading for the French Riviera. After that, he’d be heading for Germany where he’d take up the life of diplomacy just as his father had done and his grandfather before that.

Regretfully he said, “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding, Lady Vernon. I no longer paint, and I don’t know who gave you the impression that I would consider a painting commission.”

The pucker between the old woman’s grey, bristly eyebrows indicated the disappointment he was at pains to hide.

Crispin leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I am preparing to take up a posting as British Third Secretary to the British Ambassador to Germany. My intended departure is a little over a month from now.”

“I saw the portrait of Madame Lascelles. A beautiful and faithful rendition so true to life, for I know the young lady. You painted that, Mr Westaway.” There was the hint of aggression in her tone.

“I did, but that was two years ago, and my career was not decided then. I was following my inclinations only.”

“You wanted to be a great artist, I heard, Mr Westaway, and there were many who believed you could be. Sir Albion considered you the finest talent of your generation.”

The jolt Crispin felt was not altogether pleasant. Sir Albion had found plenty to criticise in Crispin’s efforts. He was not a man to praise lightly. And yet he had always been encouraging. Crispin wondered with the vaguest tinge of regret, whether a more pointed word from the Patron of the Royal Society of Artists might have swayed him when his father was so intent that Crispin turn his back on his art in order to pursue a more serious path.

He was about to respond when Lady Vernon went on, “It is why I assumed you’d be looking for a model when I learned of this newly announced and extremely prestigious art prize under the auspices of the Society. I hoped, in turn, that a painting by you might improve the marital prospects of my goddaughter, Miss Montague.”

Crispin directed a surprised stare at the young lady whose cheeks were a far rosier hue than they had been. She’d not said a word, but she clearly was invested in the conversation.

Lady Vernon’s crisp tones reverberated through the silence. “I want Faith to be noticed, Mr Westaway, and I thought that through your talents, she would be.”

Crispin refrained from saying that he thought she needed no one’s talents to be noticed. Miss Montague was one of the most exquisite-looking young women he had ever encountered.

“Mr Westaway, I have taken it upon myself to do what I can for dear Faith. It may well be a futile and thankless task for she is the youngest of ten with nothing to offer anyone except a pliant nature.”

“And her beauty.” He swallowed. Had he actually said that?

“Precisely. Some gentlemen would overlook her lack of dowry because of her beauty, which is why I want you to paint her and show her to society. To the world. It is the only plan I have. Otherwise, she must return to her disappointed family in a few weeks, before taking up a position as governess to a family in Yorkshire that has evinced interest in Faith’s keen grasp of politics and her interest in philosophy.”

Crispin looked at the girl with even greater interest. “You have an interest in politics?”

She nodded as she dropped her gaze from his. She seemed nervous, and suddenly he wanted to reassure her. He smiled encouragingly, and she murmured, “The young boy whom I shall tutor has a desire to become a diplomat. It was after I was engaged in conversation with his father that I was provisionally employed…” She hesitated before saying with what Crispin perceived as a touch of embarrassment. “That is, if my London debut is not a success.”

“How can it not be, Miss Montague?” Crispin smiled warmly at her and was delighted at the reappearance of the rosy hue in her cheeks. “I predict you will take society by storm entirely through your own talents. You need no help from me.”

He offered them tea and carefully steered the talk to other matters after they declined and he led them to the door.

He said how deeply di

sappointed he was that he could not humour Lady Vernon, and refrained from saying that he was even more disappointed he’d see no more of Miss Montague.

But he knew that with his departure so imminent, he could afford no distractions. Succumbing to his desire to paint would be dangerous.

Succumbing to his desire to further his acquaintance with Miss Montague could prove fatal.