Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Lord Delmore straightened his tie as he smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve mentioned his name. I wasn’t sure if you ever spared our talented painter, or should I say, diplomat, a thought.”

Faith stared at the man before her and shook her head, unable to fathom the insinuation that Faith felt so little for him. “My lord, he is all I ever think about. That is, when I choose to dwell on the few good things in my life.”

“And what does the letter say about Lord Harkom? What does your friend know that the rest of society does not? Oh, Faith.” He looked profoundly saddened. “What got you into such a calling? Perhaps I should never have given you a letter if it re-establishes your connection to this dreadful life you once lived.”

Faith knew she couldn’t expect him to understand. Defending herself would be beyond useless, also. “My lord, we all have to survive, somehow.” She glanced behind her. George was calling her, and he was too close to the river to make her easy. She began to walk towards the boy, saying over her shoulder, “And sometimes we don’t have very many choices. But what we choose to believe about other people—provided we have done our due diligence—certainly is up to us.”

The letter had been profoundly disturbing. Charity had spoken of vague ramblings and claims Lord Harkom had made after he’d consumed a great deal of whisky and was sufficiently pleased with the way Charity had performed in bed.

Faith wondered whom Charity had corralled to write such things, for although Charity was inte

lligent, she’d never been able to form her letters in the right order to make into words anyone could understand.

Clearly, Charity had been sufficiently alarmed by Lord Harkom’s claims to want to tell Faith, even though she did not know the specific nature of the correspondence Lord Harkom claimed had unexpectedly come into his hands, and that would ruin Crispin Westaway if it were made public.

The letter, Charity was certain, was contained in an unlocked chest in his bedchamber, but Charity had had no opportunity to look for herself. She’d simply been told the litany that Mr Westaway would never continue in his current diplomatic role after this letter was made public, and all that stood between Westaway and ruin was Lord Harkom’s good nature.

Charity wrote that his mood had turned ugly, and he’d told her that if she knew where Faith was, she should pass on the message that Crispin Westaway’s future was entirely in her hands. Yes, Lord Harkom demanded a warm welcome from the woman who’d shown so little gratitude towards him for his generosity the last time they’d met; that Faith had an opportunity to rewrite their history, and in return, Lord Harkom would ensure Westaway’s dark and ruinous secret never came to light.

Of course, Faith had followed Crispin’s progress like the girl in love she was. It delighted her when she heard news that he’d impressed his superiors. When the newspapers had finally stopped making reference of his humiliation over the art prize that had been shown to be a ruse in order to entrap him with a common prostitute, a great weight had fallen from her shoulders. At last that was considered old news, and now, both of them had new lives to forge.

Except that Crispin’s was filled with promise, while Faith felt that hers was like a dull continuum, punctuated by terror that she’d lose even that through exposure.

All she wanted was security, food, and shelter without having to sell her soul for it.

She hoped to remain with the Heathcotes until George went to school at Eton, like his father, after which Faith would find another position. Indeed, that was the best a governess in her position could hope for.

And Faith no longer had high hopes for anything.

But the letter had jarred her out of the quiet life of acceptance she’d been living. It reintroduced danger into her life, and reminded her painfully of the future she’d thought was within reach. The one that had been based on honesty and trust and hope.

In her bedchamber, she scoured every line for a hint from Charity as to what she thought Faith should do. Did Charity believe Lord Harkom? It would be easy to manufacture falsehoods in order to lure Faith back to him.

Yet, why would Charity go to the extremes of travelling hours into the country, if she didn’t think Lord Harkom really did possess dangerous information that he’d not scruple to use against Crispin? Perhaps his information was not dangerous to Crispin, personally, but the policies Crispin endorsed. The policies that ensured Britain keep the peace amidst the turbulence of world politics.

Just a few words were all it had taken, but Charity apparently knew when a boast contained more than the kernel of truth that threatened to blow up a man’s career like a powder keg.

Pillow talk. How many men had been brought undone by pillow talk? Perhaps without even knowing it, for they were all too liable to underrate the intelligence of the females they used for their pleasure.

Nervously, Faith addressed Mrs Heathcote after the boys had had their breakfast the next morning. The guests had left, and her mistress seemed in a particularly satisfied mood for all had gone well and now peace reigned again.

“My poor Faith. I’m so sorry to hear your mother is dangerously ill. Yes, of course you must go to her.” The young matron looked up from the bench where she was making preserves with one of the maids in a small dark room in the back of the house. Her expression was genuinely sympathetic, and Faith wished she’d not had to lie in order to gain a few days. Yet what could she do if Crispin were in danger? If she could have avoided ever seeing Lord Harkom again, she would have.

“I’m sure we’ll manage for five days without you. My mother can pay us a visit and spend all the time she wants to with the boys without worrying that she’s interrupting their education. There! The matter is settled, and you must think only of what you can do for your family. Family is everything, I know.”

Mrs Heathcote looked so pretty and so innocent as she stood above the marble countertop, spouting what she knew based on her own fortunate experience of life.

Faith bobbed a curtsey and thanked her, relieved to have got over the first hurdle so easily.

What followed surely had the potential to be diabolical.

Chapter 23

The road outside Madame Chambon’s house was painfully familiar, but Faith wasn’t going to step across the threshold, even via the kitchen, so she waited nervously in the narrow side lane. Fortunately, Charity was soon out to greet her, having been sent a message by the bootboy.

“Faith! I never expected to see you again! You got my letter, didn’t you? I hope I didn’t alarm you, only I thought you might find it important considering what Mr Westaway was to you.” Charity looked striking in crimson, her red-gold hair gleaming as it rippled down her back. Her evening gown was of the finest silk. Yes, Charity had become the reigning favourite during the year Faith had been away, and Madame Chambon saw the advantages in dealing well by those who brought in the greatest names, titles, and, of course, money.

“I’m so glad I was free to come,” she went on, after a quick hug and a nervous look over her shoulder. “Though I have to meet Lord Stanford in five minutes.” Her mouth curved up and Faith stared, incredulous as she asked, “You don’t mind?”