A way for Faith to gain her independence and be free of Mrs Gedge and Madame Chambon.
And that detestable cockroach, Lady Vernon.
“The blue, I think.”
She could hear Lady Vernon muttering under her breath as if the decision were of the utmost importance. “The colour of forget-me-nots. An innocent colour; a simple yet alluring gown. Ah, my dear, he won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”
This brought Faith’s head up with a jerk. When Lady Vernon turned back to her, her minder was all innocence herself, as if she’d never spoken of Faith in such terms.
“Are you ready? No, ten minutes longer, I think. We need to keep him waiting. Increase his impatience because you need to trade on every advantage. You are the supplicant, after all. The penniless creature who needs his good offices, yet you need to shore up your power. Impatience is the way to play the game, my dear, though I’ve no doubt Madame Chambon has taught you all the tricks of the trade.”
Faith stretched and put her feet on the floor but made no answer. The less she told Lady Vernon the better, and besides, she was hardly about to divulge such matters of a personal nature. That yes, for years Madame Chambon had included Faith in the regular sessions that acquainted her girls with a myriad of ways to whip up a man’s desire. Innocent things like the feather-light touch of fingertips grazing exposed flesh, a flare of promise at odds with demurely lowered lashes.
Once, Faith had been required to sit in on a lecture-like session involving a handsome, well-built young man, who’d reclined on a bed and exhibited to the newest and most innocent of Madame Chambon’s recruits the astonishing ways in which a man’s body reacted to certain stimuli.
Intrigued and horrified in equal measure, Faith, fortunately, never had to return to a similar lesson after she’d communicated her disgust to Mrs Gedge one afternoon tea at the Dorchester. Clearly, Mrs Gedge considered she was behaving with proper moral rectitude by simply housing Faith without requiring her to be a participant in the less savoury dealings of the household.
Mrs Gedge was biding her time for when she needed Faith and Faith’s pristine innocence to do her bidding.
Finally, it was time to go, Faith feeling like an obedient little lapdog, beautifully brushed and prepared for her afternoon encounter.
They found Mr Westaway in the garden, all impatience as he grasped his paintbrush and paced back and forth by the rhododendron bushes staring at the sky.
“Lady Vernon, Miss Montague.” He swept them a bow and then led Faith to an arbour amidst the trees and bushes where he invited her to sit. She could sense his urgency for something which he believed was purer than it was. She saw, also, Lady Vernon’s secret smile of satisfaction, but all Faith could recognise in Mr Westaway’s manner was his desire to fulfil an artistic challenge. Nothing more.
Concerning. She’d have to use everything she had at her disposal to change that.
“I’ve laid out a blanket and a cushion for your comfort though I’ll paint them out in the final rendition.”
Faith shrugged. “I don’t mind doing without such comforts if it’ll make your life easier.” Easy to please. She’d start with that.
“You may need to remain still for up to three hours.” His brows arched as if surprised by a thought that hadn’t occurred to him. “I’ve been told you’re practised at keeping still for long periods of time, Miss Montague?”
“Three hours is a trifle,” she assured him though secretly horrified at the prospect. But if this was necessary to please Mr Westaway, she’d gladly start with three hours of boredom.
Except that it wasn’t the kind of boredom or discomfort she’d expected. Yes, bees buzzed a little too close sometimes, and the odd beetle crossed her flesh and made her cry out in surpr
ise, but that just lightened the mood unexpectedly. And soon she and Mr Westaway were laughing companionably as Lady Vernon snored gently in a chair beneath the overhanging branches of an ancient elm tree.
“Stay! Just like that!” The sudden imperative was out of keeping with the earlier tone, but Faith recognised artistic passion when she heard it. She also proved adept at complying just as her benefactor had obviously wished judging by the gleam in his eye. Faith lay prone, relaxed upon the grass, her head resting on her arm and supported by her elbow, her expression enigmatic. Yes, enigmatic was what he wanted and apparently Faith did it well.
“Keep looking like that,” he murmured, moving away from his easel and kneeling at her side to tweak a fold of her forget-me-not skirts that the breeze had moved slightly. His expression was intense, his frown of concentration when he got closer suggesting that what he was about to do was of the greatest import.
To touch a fold of forget-me-not cotton twill?
A surge of pique made her shift position though she hid her frown.
He was not looking at her. She was an object. Not an object of lustful desire as Mrs Gedge would have her but upholding the same degree of value to him as if she were inanimate. A Sèvres vase, perhaps?
She was more discomposed by the realisation than she’d expected. After all, it wasn’t as if she desired to be desired. She didn’t. Yet, nor could she fail at her task.
Her task to make him fall in love with her.
But there was nothing in his eyes to suggest she might even come close.
As his fingers smoothed a fold of her skirt, she gasped, as if stung, and rolled onto her back and away from his hand while he blinked in surprise and said, “I suppose I should have warned you I was going to touch you.” He reddened. “I mean, touch your dress. Make it look exactly as it did before the breeze disturbed it. I beg your pardon, Miss Montague. I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken,” she murmured, reddening also. How interesting that she could simulate these innocent responses when she didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. Merely a little frustrated that she was taking so long to elicit from him any kind of interest. She pressed her lips together. He was still on his knees beside her as he tried to explain. “I truly am sorry. Something happens to me when I paint. And it’s been so long I’d forgotten how intense I can be.”