Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Little wonder now that the sunshine had swept away two days of rain and the swathes of beautifully scythed lawn beckoned for a game of cricket.

“Is it teatime yet?” asked George, the eldest, sighing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“I want a butter sandwich,” said seven-year-old James, George’s younger brother by two years.

Faith pushed back her chair and stood up. She could hardly blame them. The weather was glorious, and the little boys had been angels. They were good children for the most part; sweet and obedient, and they loved her. It warmed her heart to know that.

Which surprised Faith for she was not used to being loved. Not in such an innocent, overt manner by two little boys who spontaneously hugged her and did not even have to be exhorted to say goodnight every evening at seven—whereupon she’d receive a freely given kiss on the cheek by each.

Even after all this time, it brought a lump to her throat for she hadn’t realised there were people in the world who did things for others without expecting payment of some kind.

She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Enough geography. Time to stretch your arms high, boys, and take deep breaths,” she said, leading the way. Like them, she didn’t want to think about the British Empire and have to trace the borders of Germany one more time today.

“Close your eyes. Arms up high.” She stood on tiptoe and thought, as she often did, of Crispin. He’d been one of these, of course. One might say he was the first of this rare breed who acted out of the pureness of his heart which might, perhaps, account for why she’d lost hers so thoroughly.

And why her heart remained ever loyal, for she understood that, in the end, there’d simply been too much evidence circulating to blacken her name in his eyes.

“Ah, Miss Montague, I wondered if you could ask Ellen to have George and James in their pyjamas a little earlier tonight.” Pretty Mrs Heathcote, the boys’ mother, stood in the doorway smiling fondly at her boys, both of whom showed more delight than was warranted when she asked them if they’d enjoyed their afternoon lessons.

Having a mother as kind and maternal and interested as Mrs Heathcote was a great part of why George and James had such open hearts, Faith surmised. Did kindness and thoughtfulness to others really breed a child who would in turn grow into a kind and thoughtful man or woman?

It didn’t necessarily follow, of course, that a child followed in their parents’ footsteps. Crispin’s father was cold and demanding, while he’d lost his mother young.

Yet he was sensitive, kind, artistic, thoughtful.

Faith liked to think she fell into the category of those who could change into someone better once they had good reason to, or were shown how.

“Of course, Mrs Heathcote.” Faith smiled back. It would mean she had an extra half an hour to herself this evening, too. Not that she had much with which to occupy herself. She’d have dinner with the rest of the servants, but she’d not stay to sew and talk beyond half an hour after that. While the servants were decent enough people, they liked their own chatter and Faith’s presence constrained them. She’d overheard the cook, once, saying something along those lines, and while Faith felt accepted as one of the household, and certainly suffered no unkindness at the hands of anyone, she simply wasn’t ‘one of them’. Not one of the family of four who lived upstairs in their very elegant country manor house, or one of seven servants who toiled below stairs.

Duly, at half past six, Faith had the boys ready for bed and brought them down to say goodnight to their parents, who were entertaining a small number of people for their regular Friday-to-Monday.

The party was assembled in the drawing room, the three gentlemen and Mrs Heathcote sitting in front of the fire, while one of the female guests sat at the piano and the other stood at her right-hand side, turning the pages and singing in a sweet soprano.

Faith stood in the doorway, holding the hand of each boy, and gazing at the companionable grouping while she waited for the women to finish providing the entertainment.

The two ladies, fashionably dressed in low-cut evening gowns with elaborate bustles, looked to be in their early thirties; their husbands, or so she could only assume, handsome men sporting impressive moustaches. Turning a little, she noticed a third gentleman she’d not seen before, half hidden behind a large urn. His face was turned, but what she could see of his expression bore the signs of a pleasant disposition and a fair amount of appreciation as he listened.

She was about to sweep forward with the boys, when the gentleman swung around to face her, and a shocked breath caught in her throat; just as her own recognition must have registered on her face, for he raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened.

Mrs Heathcote stood up in a rustle of silk, now that the music had just come to an end, and swept towards her children, saying over her shoulder, “Lord Delmore, here are the boys, come to say goodnight.”

The other two gentlemen were busily complimenting the ladies on their fine rendition, and Faith stood, frozen, barely able to force her mouth into the requisite smile, as Lord Delmore patted the boys on their heads and said he’d heard many good things about their attention to their studies.

Beyond a short, sharp look at Faith, and a murmured good evening, he said nothing, and after Faith had returned to her bedchamber, after handing George and James over to their nursemaid, she sat, trembling on her bed, and wondered how soon she would be exposed.

And yet, Lord Delmore had been a kind man she reflected, as she took a shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped herself in it to stave off the shaking. Would he really reveal her identity?

He might, if he believed she’d contaminate the children of his friends. A

whore could be accepted nowhere in society.

Only, she wasn’t a whore. She’d just happened to live amongst a house full of them.

She rose and went to the window, staring out at the moonlit lawns and neat gravelled pathways that wound amongst the trees.

A masculine cough sounded by the shrubbery beneath, and to Faith’s surprise, she saw that Lord Delmore had gone outside to smoke a pipe, and that he was walking very deliberately around the terrace, coughing at various intervals.

Several times he glanced up, but of course he’d be unable to see which was Faith’s room—Faith was certain he was trying to communicate with her—before he finally set off on the path towards the river.