“No. We’ve known one another since we were children, and a match between us was once considered desirable by our parents. I’m sure she’s as relieved as I am that the idea has not been mentioned again.”
“So, there’ve been no other young ladies who’ve…entranced you?”
Crispin laughed and set her at arm’s length. “I suppose you need to get the full measure of me before you make your final commitment to becoming my wife. All right—the truth…” His expression was suddenly serious. It was as if all the joy had drained out of him.
“Oh Crispin, there has!” Faith cried, but he pulled her back into his arms, shaking his head, fiercely.
“There was a young lady with whom you might say I was unwillingly involved a few years ago.” He hesitated.
Lord, was he referring to Miss Gedge? Faith froze in his arms and willed him to go on without prompting questions that might seem odd to him.
But he seemed inclined to talk.
“She was a lovely girl. Bright, golden hair, a little like yours though she had not your serenity, your beauty. In fact, there was nothing serene about her. She was determined to make a catch, and she was…what is the term? Brash?”
“So, not a shy and sweet young thing from the provinces.”
“Oh no, she was an American heiress looking for a title. She could have done better than me. Her mother hoped she would. But she fell for me, and it took very little on my part to make her believe we were destined to be together forever.”
“So, you gave her hope?”
“Oh Faith, you know I’m not like that. I never believed I did at the time. But then she started writing me passionate love letters. I didn’t know what to do. I told her that I was going to marry my childhood sweetheart. That my father had arranged it years ago, and this is how matters went in our world. I tried to make it less wounding and put the blame on me, but she was persistent.”
Faith felt him shrinking away from her until he gently extricated himself from their embrace and went to the window. Softly, he said, “She killed herself because of me. You need to know that, Faith.”
Faith ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, more joyful than she could show, for she believed he was nothing but truthful in his portrayal of the affair with Miss Constancia Gedge. It all made complete sense, now.
“If it’s so painful to you, please, say nothing more, Crispin.” She squeezed him tight and Crispin kissed the top of her head, tilting up her face to say with concern, “You’re crying, Faith. What is it?”
“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Crispin, and if you truly love me enough to want to run away with me, then I need to tell you something.”
She felt him freeze, before the inevitable thaw, because of course he loved her, and that meant he trusted her…
Only, would he still love her when she had come to the end of her confession?
“What is it you want to tell me, Faith?”
The tone was encouraging, loving still, but for how much longer?
She took a breath, struggling for the truth she owed him. “I’m more than just a penniless debutante looking to make a good match.”
He registered this with a squeeze and a murmur. “No, you’re so much more than that, Faith. Of course, I know it.”
She heard the rattle of a wagon on the cobbled street below the window and waited for silence. “My family origins are obscure. Far more obscure than I’ve led you to believe. Yes, I have nine brothers and sisters, an
d parents who will indeed touch you for every penny you might have and that’s because they have nothing. They’re yeoman, country stock. Some would call them peasants, and I would be one of them had it not been for a rich benefactress who gave me an education when I was in service.”
She pulled away and looked at him, tortured by the extent of what she’d divulged to no one else. What would he think, not only in view of the fact he’d been lied to, but that she was so very humble?
He looked surprised. His frown and the way he was chewing his bottom lip were not signs she liked.
“You lied to me, Faith? About this? About your family?”
Faith twisted her hands together. Oh lord, if he were upset about her lying about this, how would he react to everything else?
Trying not to cry, she whispered, “When I got the opportunity to be your model; when Lady Vernon persuaded you to paint me, I never thought it would lead to this. I had the right credentials for that. For an artist’s model. I could be silent; I could be enigmatic. What did it matter what else I was or wasn’t? You’d made it so very clear that even if I’d had the slightly more elevated background I’d told you I had, I still could not be considered suitable in your father’s eyes, and therefore not in yours.” She pulled her cloak about her shoulders and began to pace. Would he send her away? She thought she’d die of a broken heart if he did. Quietly, she went on, “I didn’t trouble myself about telling you the truth, because I imagined that if I were to be given more work for other painters my real background would play against me. But then I fell in love with you, Crispin, and you loved me back. I pressed you into showing your real feelings, and then pressed you even more to run away with me.”
Leaning against the wall, she dropped her head. “I don’t expect that, now. I’m not here to beg you to run away with me because the truth changes everything. I’ve lied to you, and I am not the woman you thought me.”