She closed her eyes and hugged the envelope to her chest. Crispin had written words that had found their way right to her heart. He loved her with the intensity she loved him. He’d put into words the very feelings that she felt when she imagined him here with her and their life together.
She’d have to make a copy of his words to keep. The letter itself would be her ticket to freedom in the eyes of Mrs Gedge. This would be proof Mr Westaway had lost his heart to her, and all Faith had to do in return was pretend to break his heart. Having spent the last three years of her life living a lie, it would be easy to execute this final, simple task.
Faith was clever at the best of times. But when her heart was engaged, there was nothing she couldn’t do.
Lord Delmore clearly could not keep away and had been reluctant to discharge the previous day’s business which had him visiting his solicitor rather than seated at Crispin’s right elbow and watching proceedings.
A lot could happen in twenty-four hours, he discovered, as he said a touch wistfully to Crispin, elaborating only later that evening. And it was only when Crispin was cleaning his brushes, and Miss Montague had gone to her room to change into dry clothes, did he realise how transparent he was with his feelings. The revelation came as a surprise and an embarrassment for he truly had tried to keep them under wraps.
And he a diplomat.
“There’s no point in my making a visit to the capital before the end of the season,” Lord Delmore said as he sat in front of the fire with a replenished brandy glass as they waited for the return of the ladies.
The edge in his friend’s tone had Crispin pricking up his ears. Already he feared what Lord Delmore was about to say.
“It’s quite clear you’re as smitten with the young lady as she is with you.” Lord Delmore paused and looked long and hard into the fireplace, while Crispin waited for what would come next as clearly his lordship was pondering something deep and hard. Finally, he looked Crispin in the eye. “Your father won’t like it.”
Crispin wasn’t sure how to take this. His friendship with Lord Delmore was not deep though it had grown over the years. The older man clearly lacked society since the loss of his wife after their two sons had gone to the colonies. Was Crispin being spoken to like an errant schoolboy for losing his heart unwisely?
Carefully he said, “I am twenty-six years old—”
“Oh, you have a wise head on young shoulders and I’m not about to persuade you out of your infatuation or your one true love. Just be sure you know what sacrifices you will have to make before you act too rashly.”
Crispin was well aware of the obstacles ahead. His father would be intractable. In fact, he could possibly prove insurmountable, which was why Crispin had been toying with other measures to spirit Faith away—elopement being one.
“Lord Delmore, I am not a greenhorn, and I have known Miss Montague for some time now.” He hoped the edge to his tone hadn’t been too noticeable.
“Three weeks, I believe. I hope Miss Montague knows what she’s taking on. It won’t be easy for her, married to a man whose father exercises such fierce opposition as yours undoubtedly will.”
Crispin felt the weight on his shoulders. If he’d had brothers, the burden of marrying well would have been shared. But Crispin was required to be everything to Lord Maxwell, and to fulfil his father’s expectations both in the diplomatic arena as well as the marital.
“Initially, Miss Montague and I were very aware that a union between us would not be sanctioned by my father. We spoke about it openly at…the beginning.” He hesitated over this. The beginning was only a few days ago, and yet a meteoric shift had occurred within him. And her? She seemed prosaic about a match between them. She was husband hunting; she’d made no secret of that. But her feelings had undergone the same metamorphosis his had done. They must have, otherwise she’d not have given herself to him with the intensity she had. No well-brought-up young lady would take such risks unless their hearts were inflamed. For her, this truly had to be love. Passion. Crispin was an artist. He knew what fire in the veins made one do.
“I cannot allow my father’s disappointment to stand in the way of my future.”
“Happiness?” Lord Delmore asked at his hesitation, and Crispin said quickly, “My happiness is not the only factor here. I believe that I will make the kind of impression on the world and progress as my father desires far more effectively if I have by my side the woman I believe will complement me and make me proud.”
For a long time, Lord Delmore considered him. Then he sighed and returned his gaze to the fire. “How can I offer an opinion when I’ve never known what you describe?” His shoulders slumped, and the sounds of crackling wood and the ticking clock were very loud. “My marriage was one of convenience. It brought me two fine, prosper
ous sons and a beautiful daughter, and I had every reason to admire my wife. I know nothing of the fires of which you speak.” He touched his heart briefly. “Though having observed Miss Montague these past few days I can understand a little of what you mean. But you must do what you will, my boy, and accept the consequences.”
“Do I have your support?”
Lord Delmore raised his eyebrows. “Of course! She is a fine young lady and you a fine young man. You are clearly an excellent pairing. Whatever support is required of me, I will offer it.”
Crispin was relieved despite the faint acid in his lordship’s tone. So, he truly had believed in a future with Miss Montague, for himself. Well, didn’t that, in its own way, support the match. “Thank you, Lord Delmore. I’m much obliged. One request.” Crispin smiled. “Please don’t make this public before I do. Miss Montague is as aware as I am of the likely opposition. I will need to choose my moment carefully.”
“Perhaps when you carry off the art prize of the decade. When the public sees for themselves the qualities, not least beauty, of your muse, it will be entirely understandable why you’ve let your impulses get the better of you.”
“That is how it will be regarded? When the public cannot base their judgement on her fine intellect? Indeed, that is what swayed me. Her beauty attracted me, but her beauty alone was not, to my mind, sufficient for me to gainsay my father. I believe Miss Montague has a mind that will be an asset to both of us.”
“I hope your father will be so forward thinking.” Grudgingly, Lord Delmore added, “Though truth be told, it was the same with me. She does have a remarkable mind and a sharp wit. An intoxicating combination.” He raised his glass. “I hear the ladies returning now. Good luck, old fellow. May you navigate the potential pitfalls ahead with the greatest of ease. She will win your father over; I have no doubt. And that’s all that you need to see this thing through as you would like.”
Only one more day before they were to return to London. For nearly one whole blissful week Faith and Crispin had spent almost all day together and, latterly, much of the night.
Her beloved worked at a feverish pace in front of his easel, sending her loving looks when he thought no one else was looking, and passing her notes and love gifts at every other opportunity. Faith had no shortage of tokens in both kind and in writing to attest to the intensity of Mr Westaway’s love. It thrilled her, and it filled her with a deep and satisfied sense of completeness. No one had loved her before. Not her mother or her father or any of the gentlemen she had ever met in any capacity.
Crispin had his own reasons for keeping their relationship secret, and it suited Faith just fine. As she lay on the small iron bed they shared in the servant’s attic far from anyone else, she went over her best course of action. Crispin had briefly mentioned elopement. It was, in Faith’s mind, the best way forward. To be married in secret would guarantee her a passport to a trouble-free future. That she loved him with equal intensity was irrelevant in one respect; yet it was only for this reason she wanted to be certain of spending the rest of her life with him.