Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“But part of the challenge is that the painting must be completed in one.” She looked triumphant, as did the two gentlemen flanking her. As did Lady Vernon, who’d not had to utter one word to see the progression of Mrs Gedge’s plan.

“It’s not only that the prize itself is considerable, unusually and surprisingly so, but the recognition would be invaluable.”

“Excuse me, but who is sponsoring the prize?”

Everyone turned, surprised, to Faith. “Are they known in art circles? A great artist, themselves, perhaps?” She needed to draw out what public knowledge there might be about Mrs Gedge, the kind of person she was and, perhaps even her motives.

“A wealthy American woman who wishes to remain anonymous,” said Mr Cannington. “A woman who selected these three paintings herself,” he indicated the three canvases with a flourish, “and who’d be exceedingly disappointed if one of her selections did not pursue the challenge into the final round. Now, please reconsider, Mr Westaway. All that’s required is seven days in a pursuit that you have already admitted would give you great satisfaction. Surely there is no obstacle other than your reluctance to apprise your father that you are engaged in activities that do not actively further your imminent career posting.” He checked himself. “I take it the young lady is available to sit for the painting? It is one of the stipulations that the original muse is to be featured in the second painting.”

Faith nodded.

“Is it indeed, and is that the only stipulation?” Mr Westaway raised his eyebrows.

Mrs Cannington simpered. “Our American benefactress has a playful turn of mind. Indeed, at ten o’clock on the morning of the first day when painting is to begin, a messenger will arrive with the canvas, paints, and a bag of props, together with additional stipulations. Each of the three painters will receive exactly the same props and instructions and must complete the work by ten o’clock on the morning of the seventh day, at which time the messenger will arrive to collect the painting and take it back here for judging.”

Her husband pulled at his whiskers and looked anxiously at Mr Westaway. “Seven days, Mr Westaway. What is seven days in a lifetime? Seven days which, in fact, may change your life infinitely for the better?”

Chapter 13

Change his life but not for the better. Faith was uncomfortably aware of this, sitting opposite Lady Vernon as the train pulled into the small country station and she saw Mr Westaway on the platform, scanning the opening carriage doors.

He’d invited them to be his guests and stay in his house rather than at the inn so that was some small victory.

When he recognised Faith he looked pleased, which gave her a small jolt of pleasure that was quickly replaced by dread. What must she do? Seven days in which to turn Mr Westaway into putty. Why should Mrs Gedge hate him so much she’d go to such lengths to play this game?

And why should it worry her? Faith had hardly been nurtured during her lifetime while Mr Westaway had been born with a silver spoon. The transaction between her and this man would be brief—not enough time to do too much damage, surely. Once she’d generated sufficient intensity in their dealings with one another to pass Lady Vernon’s scrutiny, Faith could collect on her transaction, buy her little cottage in the country, and put all of this behind her.

Still, she couldn’t help asking as the train slowed, “Does Mr Westaway genuinely deserve what we are going to do to him?”

“Mrs Gedge is a mother avenging her daughter who was led to believe by Mr Westaway that holy matrimony would be forthcoming.”

“Then why didn’t the girl simply sue him for breach of promise? That would have embarrassed the family.”

Instead, it was Lady Vernon who looked embarrassed. “Matters didn’t proceed down that avenue.”

“He seduced her?” Faith shrugged. And if he had? But then, it seemed out of character for the man she’d come to know, unless he’d already learned his lesson, in which case, Faith was going to have to work extra hard.

She sighed and slumped back into her seat muttering, “I really don’t want to do this.”

Lady Vernon’s tone was snide. “Madame Chambon will be pleased. I hear she is eager to continue to further your career and to accommodate you in her comfortable Soho lodgings free of charge as she has done these past three years.” She opened the reticule on her lap and pulled out a letter which she handed to Faith. “Mrs Gedge’s contract, though if you’d rather we returned to London…”

Faith took the envelope, unsettled by Lady Vernon’s words as a horrifying image of Lord Harkom seared her mind. The only person invested in Faith’s future, and safety, was herself. She needed to play her cards right with Mr Westaway.

“Miss Montague, I do appreciate you coming back at such short notice.”

Mr Westaway was standing before the open door, his hand extended to help her out of the carriage while someone else attended to her bags.

Faith smiled as she took his hand. It was large and firm and felt surprisingly dependable. Surprising because she hadn’t considered that about him. He was an artist, and they were notoriously unreliable, weren’t they? She also wasn’t used to the feel of a man’s hand—not since the clouts she used to receive when her father returned home, drunk and peevish.

“If I’m to be honest, this is quite an adventure for me,” she told him as they started to walk towards his waiting carriage, Lady Vernon bringing up the rear. “My surroundings tend to lack variety, though it’ll be an adventure going so far north when the season comes to an end.”

“North?”

“Yorkshire. Remember I told you that I’m to take up a post as a governess there when the season comes to an end?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Yes, of course. But there are still some weeks until that time, and I feel sure that…other options may present themselves in the meantime.”

“You mean that your painting will make me the toast of the town?” Faith shrugged. “I hope that will be the case. Sadly, I’m no different from most young women in London for these few months, though I suppose it’s vulgar to say so.” She laughed when she saw him colour up. “But it’s true, Mr Westaway. Oh, don’t worry, you’ve made your position very clear, and I hope that we can be good friends. But I won’t deny that if a suitable match presents itself, possibly on account of your efforts with a paintbrush, I will consider my time these few weeks very well spent. There are better ways to while away a lifetime than teaching recalcitrant children or serving ungrateful relatives.”