Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Faith stood on the doorstep of Mr Westaway’s townhouse and plucked at the neckline of her blue cotton figure-hugging, but plainly adorned, polonaise, while she summoned the courage to do what Lady Vernon had insisted was their next step.

It was true that she was more than just a little excited to see Mr Westaway again, but she wished she could do so wearing a more lavishly embellished and modish gown. However, now that Mrs Gedge had endorsed Lady Vernon’s plan of offering up Faith as a charity case, Faith had no choice but to adopt the role assigned to her.

In the hall, she heard muted footsteps before the door was opened and the butler stared at her with astonishment.

“I am so terribly sorry to disturb you, but my companion in the park just across the road has succumbed to a dizzy spell and begs for a glass of water,” Faith preempted him to explain her unchaperoned state.

She was counting on the fact the butler would not leave her on the doorstep while he attended to her request so was relieved when he conducted her into the drawing room to wait.

Lady Vernon was indeed in the park, and Faith had a few moments to carry out the other woman’s plan for Mr Westaway had been seen entering the house some minutes before. To Faith’s intense relief, it was Mr Westaway who happened upon her before she’d been spurred into snooping about in the hopes of somehow stumbling upon him.

“Good heavens, Miss Montague!” he cried upon stepping into the drawing room, apparently deep in thought, before glancing up to see Faith gripping the back of the sofa.

Almost giddy with relief, she said, smiling, “You remembered my name, Mr Westaway. I am so very pleased, for you can’t imagine how ashamed I was to enter your house unaccompanied by Lady Vernon. She’s in the park and not well, and so I came here as I recognised the area we were in yesterday.”

Mr Westaway’s smile broadened before he quickly schooled his features into an expression more appropriate. “Your godmother is indisposed? I’m sorry to hear it. I passed my butler in the corridor who said he was fetching water for someone which I thought rather odd at the time. Now I understand. Please, take a seat while I go myself to ensure she’s all right.”

Faith moved forward as if to halt him then stopped. “There’s really no need to do that. Lady Vernon regularly has dizzy spells. She’ll be up to the mark as soon as she’s rested a little and had some water.” She heard the nervousness in her voice and counselled herself to be more contained. “The truth is, I wanted to speak to you, alone, Mr Westaway.”

He stopped and waited. He certainly didn’t seem as susceptible as she might have liked to the idea that she was alone in his home.

Yet.

Faith plucked at the fingers of one glove and avoided his eyes, before fixing him with a heartfelt look and launching into her hurried speech. “Please, Mr Westaway, are you certain you don’t want to enter the art competition? The prize money is unprecedented, and Sir Albion has proclaimed it a call to arms for the country’s greatest new generation of talents, of whom he numbers you amongst them. It’s true.” She tried for her most disarming smile, aware her mouth was trembling.

In the silence, she could hear the maids talking somewhere in the corridor and the ticking of the clock. Now she was truly nervous. So much hinged upon her success in making him yield. Mrs Gedge had thought it would be easy. Lady Vernon thought it was no contest at all, given that painting was all he’d ever wanted to do, apparently.

But now Faith’s future hinged upon Mr Westaway reneging.

She gave a little sob as she sank against the heavy curtains in the window embrasure. “Please consider taking up the painting challenge, though I now beg you for purely selfish reasons.” She put her hands to her eyes. “Everything Lady Vernon said yesterday is true. If I do not have a marriage offer by the end of July, I shall be sent to a remote household in Yorkshire against my will.”

“A marriage offer?” He raised one eyebrow, smiling as he repeated the words. “I take it you mean a marriage offer from some other gentleman who might be made…aware of you through the interest a painting by me of you will inevitably garner when it’s displayed amongst the competing entries at the Royal Society. An anonymously sponsored competition, which, I gather, has added to the sensation surrounding it.”

She could see him wavering. Was it because of her or that the thought of wielding a paintbrush was so enticing?

Faith was silent as she waited. He would have to make some kind of response, even if it were to regretfully inform her that her request was, after all, out of the question. But his silence did not mean she missed the way his eyes roamed over her.

His awareness of her was thrilling. This was power. Yes, her first experience of holding the interest of a man. She was beautiful. She’d been told that, and although she hadn’t actually met any of the clients of Madame Chambon, when she compared herself to the girls who were the paramours of dukes and princes, she knew she was every bit their equal.

What did it matter that Mrs Gedge was using her for some underhand purpose? That she called Faith her ‘beautiful revenge’? Faith’s greatest, perhaps only, power was in the allure she exerted over the male species, and now she was proving just how adept she was at her calling. Not her chosen calling but her calling by default. Succeeding in this arena was the only way she could survive, and the fact she liked this man gave her mission a life-and-death quality.

He gripped the back of the sofa too, his hands only inches from hers, his body angled half towards her. She could feel his tenseness; his desire. He was intrigued. Her beauty was a gift to the painter, her vulnerability hard to ignore. In a moment, he would waver. She could see it happening already. Mr Westaway would be all hers, and Faith would notch up her first conquest in the elaborate dance that would bind him to her and make him her slave, just as Mrs Gedge required.

“I believe my butler has taken your godmother a glass of water, Miss Montague.” His voice broke the spell, his body relaxing, the tension dissipating. With a polite indication of the door he said with genuine regret, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the truth is that as much as I would love nothing more than to idle away many pleasant hours doing justice to your beauty and wielding a paintbrush, I will be leaving the country in a couple of short months to take up a position in Germany. I have too much to learn about my duties there to be able to accede to your request.” His smile was kind. “As much as I would desire it.”

Her mouth dropped open. She suddenly felt a fool. This was not how it was supposed to go. Failure? On her first attempt? Faith took a step towards the door and straightened her shoulders with as much dignity as she could manage.

“I am familiar with the political situation that exists between the two countries,” she managed. “Great Britain and Germany. I could tell you about it while you painted me.”

He laughed outright at that and Faith stepped across the threshold, defeated. “I did not mean to amuse you, sir,” she said stiffly. “Thank you for considering it, nevertheless.”

“Please, Miss Montague, it was not my intention to embarrass you.” He extended his hand towards her, his kind eyes looking concerned, whereas she’d seen the amusement in his dismissiveness just before and it wounded her to the quick.

“Good day to you, Mr Westaway,” she said, ignoring his overtures. “I wish you well for your new posting.”

She avoided his attempt to stay her, gliding to the front door which the butler was holding open. Across the cobbled street, she could see the outline of Lady Vernon behind the railings of the park, no doubt congratulating herself prematurely on her success in sending Faith to personally petition for the dreams she was certain the young man would be unable to resist.

But Faith had failed.