Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

With a slight shrug, she deferred to her chaperone. “I’m afraid that only Lady Vernon can make that decision. I know she’s set on the idea of returning to London on tomorrow’s early train, but if she can be persuaded, I don’t mind.”

I don’t mind.

Was that the right thing to say? Would her lack of enthusiasm strike the right note with both Lady Vernon and Mr Westaway? She had to appear pliable; a girl who knew her place. Not too eager yet also hint at a flicker of interest. To bolster this last, she fluttered her eyelashes and looked demurely at her hands as if suddenly shy. That should be a nice finish to the whole charade before Lady Vernon fixed the time for tomorrow.

Yet her intake of satisfaction was expelled on resignation. She didn’t feel true to herself to be taking manipulation to such extremes.

Still, she thought, the moment she had her cheque for five hundred pounds from Mrs Gedge she could do as she pleased. She’d never again have to worry about pretending or about what anyone else thought. How pleasing that would be.

“Tomorrow then. At ten o’ clock?” He smiled, and Faith thought what pleasant grey eyes he had. “In the garden where the light is good. It’ll be a fine day, I believe.”

He shouldn’t have asked her to come back. With sparkling morning light streaming from an azure blue sky imbuing the scene with a magical sense of hope and promise, it hadn’t taken more than ten minutes with brush and paints and the girl lying amidst the daisy-strewn grass before Crispin knew this.

Still, what was the harm in the simple pleasure of transferring her exceptional beauty onto the canvas in front of him? He hadn’t painted in two years, and there was fever in his fingers to create and do justice to his subject.

He felt alive.

That was all this feeling was. A desire to do his best work knowing that the girl in front of him offered him the means to do that.

“Would you put aside what you’re holding please, Miss Montague?” She’d broken the ennui of her dull, wearying task to make a daisy chain. Now he needed her to be still. “Sorry to sound like the grim voice of authority.” He tried to inject levity into his tone, though he was tense with the need to get his painting right. What was required to get the light in her eyes just so? He’d nearly had it yesterday. Now it eluded him. A pinprick of white, perhaps? “You’ll be comparing me to your pater in his grumpiest frame of mind,” he muttered, half attending to the need to put her at ease while he loaded his paintbrush.

“Oh, that tone is very mild compared with my father’s temper.” Obediently, she put down the daisy chain and stared up at the sky, and as he studied his work, pleased with the effect, he wondered for the first time about her large family.

“I’m sure he’s only concerned for the happiness of you all. That’s how my pater excuses his lapses of good humour.” Crispin smiled across at her, but instead of meeting happy collusion or agreement, her expression was closed. And dark.

Of course, it was no business of his to pry, but he suddenly wanted to get a sense of Miss Montague’s position in the world. Not that it would matter to him after today from a personal sense, but if he could aid her in any way in what he supposed was her primary duty, to succeed in the marital market, it would be helpful to know a little about her father.

“You have sisters, don’t you, Miss Montague?”

“Six, Mr Westaway, and only one married. We are a great trial to our father.”

“I’m sure if they’re all as lovely as you, it won’t be long before your father can bask in the collective success of his seven daughters who’ll have made his family so well connected. I presume your married sister is older?”

“Twelve months older than me and married to a man who is to turn sixty in a few months. Not a love match.”

That stopped him in his tracks. Crispin wasn?

?t easily shocked, but this didn’t reflect well on Mr Montague. He racked his brains to come up with what he knew of Miss Montague’s family and realised he knew nothing.

“So, Mr Westaway, are you pleased with your painting?” She was turning the topic to lighten the mood, for now she was all smiles as she raised herself onto her elbows. “I hope I’ve been a good subject. Despite what Lady Vernon told you, I do find it hard to stay still unless there is a great deal at stake.”

“My painting?” He felt ill at ease. Not only was there the self-imposed pressure of painting his best work, but that of producing a painting that promised this young woman a better future.

“Yes, I want you to recommend me to your artist friends as a model. My father knows nothing of what I’m doing here and would be shocked, but this is better than a great deal of other ways to save himself the expense of keeping me than the ones he has in mind.” She rose and came over to stand at his shoulder, her admiring gasp sending desire washing over him like a hot wave. He stepped back quickly, masking his awkwardness with a smile as he said, “I could never do justice to your beauty, Miss Montague, but I believe it is a fair likeness.”

Her surprise and admiration seemed genuine. “It’s…it’s truly brilliant! Oh, Mr Westaway, you’ll win the competition; indeed, you will! And you’ll show your father what talent you have, and he’ll let you do what you want to be happy. I’m so proud of you.”

“I only wish it were so simple.” He thought of his father’s fury should he learn that Crispin had been wasting his time on artistic pursuits, when he should be attending to the delicate strategic relations between England and her allies and potential enemies.

“But your talent is prodigious. It mustn’t be wasted. You must tell him it’s what you want.” She took his hand and squeezed it, her eyes shining. “I knew you were good, but I didn’t realise how good. You truly have made me the happiest girl.”

“You enjoy admiration? Well, you shall have it in spade loads.” I just can’t lavish it on you, personally, as I would wish. Gently, he disengaged his hands and sent a glance up at the house. “Lady Vernon was hoping to catch the morning train to London, and there’s still time, Miss Montague.” He swallowed down his disappointment that he could not respond to her as he wished, and gave her what he hoped was a paternal pat on her shoulder. “Now, let me walk you to the house. I’ll see you in London at the unveiling.”

Chapter 12

“Why so glum, Faith? I think it was a poor plan of Mrs Gedge’s to see you clothed like a parson’s daughter when you’re to be competing with duchesses.” Charity was curled up on Faith’s bed like a cat, her long hair undressed and pooling about her. She sent Faith a bolstering smile. “Don’t be afraid. Tonight, it will all work out.”

Faith nibbled her nail and nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to answer.