Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“I had access to a much faster vessel than the one Lord Harkom enlisted to take you away,” she said with a smile as she helped Faith across the deck and to the railing, where a sleek schooner was moored beside the leaky tub they inhabited.

“It’s my father’s. He’s sailing around the world and happened to have come into port just two days ago, so was available to take us on this little jaunt when I woke him last night having enlisted Lord Delmore’s help.” Her smile broadened as she released her grip on Faith’s arm so that Faith could take the hand offered by a waiting crewman who stood on the rocking deck of the Clever Amy. “Yes, I do want to make it as a newspaper reporter and a woman on my own terms, but it does help to have well-placed connections; I admit it.”

“Your father?” Faith gaped as she took in Miss Eaves’s words before a strident American voice made her turn, and she was confronted by a tall blonde man in a cream suit built like a wrestler. He was shouting orders to the crew to bring the wounded and the bound Lord Harkom down the ladder, but at the same time there was an air of life about him that suggested he was enjoying himself enormously.

“Miss Montague?” Coming out of a barked command to one of his crewmen, he offered Faith a deep bow. “I’m Ellison Eaves; pleased to meet you. My daughter didn’t do you justice when she described you, my dear girl. What an ordeal you’ve been through! Amy gave me the barest of details so you’ll have to fill me in on the return journey. I look forward to it, though I promise you, it’ll take half the time that old leaky sieve took to get you this far.”

Faith was saved having to answer by the arrival of the captain of their vessel with whom Mr Eaves dealt very cordially, before Amy’s father pulled out a fist full of notes, which he proffered to the captain with the instruction that if he were called upon to supply further details, he’d be sure to remember who the real villain of the piece was, indicating pointedly the form of Lord Harkom who was being carried, groaning, along the gangplank.

Faith stood forlornly at the railing, as she watched Crispin being carried with a great deal more tenderness than his lordship, out of the cabin and across the deck. Gripping his hand as he passed, she was relieved to feel the gentle pressure in return, and she released it to follow the group into one of the commodious cabins where, to her surprise, Miss Eaves appeared, saying, “Stay here with him, if you like. We’re about to set course for England, so make your appearance whenever you’re ready. There’ll be a good meal laid on, and I’m sure you could do with a fortifying brandy.” She ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “I certainly do after the events of tonight, though I’ll have to keep a clear head in order to write my story.” She pumped Faith’s hand energetically. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Montague, for providing me with the copy I need to keep my name front and centre. This time, though, I hope I can go some way towards making up for the last article.”

Faith clenched her jaw. “I really don’t care what you print, Miss Eaves. All I care about is Crispin.” Despite starting so strong, her voice dissolved as she added, “I don’t think I could bear to lose him a second time.”

“Nor will you!” came Ellis Eaves’s robust tones as he appeared behind his daughter like a well-dressed hulking giant. “Can’t you tell the difference between a mortal wound to the heart and when a feller’s only been winged? Sure, there’s lots of blood to make the women squeal and despair, but it’s hardly mortal. Lord Harkom, though. Well, it’s touch and go with him, I’d say.”

“And Lady Vernon?” Faith swung around and searched for her amongst those milling about the deck of both boats. She’d not seen her since glimpsing her through the doorway after Crispin had hurtled in and torn her from Harkom’s suffocating onslaught.

“Lady who? Lady Vernon? Ah yes, I remember the name, but can’t say I’ve seen other ladies about the place other than you and Amy.”

“A deep breath for courage…all right, Faith?” In the corridor outside his father’s study, Crispin took Faith’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Remember, nothing he says can make a jot of difference to the fact that you and I are going to be married.”

He’d thoug

ht he’d suffer nerves in the lead-up to this historic confrontation, but for the first time, he felt a lightness of being he’d never experienced before.

And when his father issued the command to enter in his usual stentorian tones, he did not quake or wish himself a hundred miles away. Instead, he sauntered in and said, “Father, I want you to meet my future wife, Miss Faith Montague. We’re getting married at St Margaret’s on Saturday next and hope you’ll do us the honour of attending with your blessing.”

“Miss Montague…” He drew out the pause. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Lord Maxwell had risen from his chair at his desk and now indicated the cluster of seats by the fireplace. “You seem to enjoy the bright lights though I can see they might seek you out.”

Crispin was surprised to see the flare of admiration in his father’s eye.

“You and your compatriots made quite a sensation in bringing to justice one of London’s most surprising villains. Yes, involved in a grubby scheme we shall not mention for delicacy’s sake.”

“Faith’s actions were heroic.”

“I heard yours were too, Crispin. But I wonder…” He began to pace, and although he smiled at Faith, the furrow between his eyes didn’t augur well. “Have you truly considered the ramifications of this hasty marriage? Marrying between the stations, no matter how distinguished the behaviour of each party, is bound to lead to unhappiness.”

“If one’s status is determined by origins, then I understand that mine are just as lowly as Faith’s.” Crispin watched his father, closely. “Lord Harkom received a letter from an innkeeper’s daughter purporting to be my real mother.” Lord Maxwell blanched then tried to collect himself as Crispin went on, “Or do you think it’s the learned behaviour and ability to conduct oneself appropriately in the social sphere to which one is to be elevated?” He chuckled. The pain and initial shock had long been replaced by acceptance.

“For if that’s the case, then Faith and I were made for each other. Don’t you see, Father. Each of us has been elevated from our humble origins and has been taught how to behave in the sphere to which our benefactors aspired—as one of the top ten thousand.”

Lord Maxwell rose and began to pace, his hands behind his back.

“You’ve proved yourself a finer diplomat that anyone expected.” His voice was gruff. “You need a wife who can adapt to the restrictions and the expectations…the loneliness of being in a foreign country, even. I see that. I see how loneliness for you, my boy, can be a danger.”

“So, this is the basis on which you would sanction my marriage to Faith?” Crispin was careful to spell it out. “Because she knows how to behave, she’s decorative, she’ll keep me occupied and, in Germany, she’ll be out of the glare of inevitable interest.”

Lord Maxwell turned and inclined his head. “These are not inconsequential considerations.”

“But you are not disposed towards withdrawing your endorsement?”

“I am not…on condition you continue in your current position.”

“You know of my love of painting.”

“Of course, I do, boy, but there’s a time for everything. You need to put food on the table. So, have your wedding, leave the country and, in a year or so, if you still wish to paint, then I shall give you my support.”

This was more than Crispin had expected. But would Faith understand just how momentous this was?