The fact that it might involve breaking hearts along the way, did.
Chapter 16
A beautiful, sunny day meant that the washroom wasn’t the only alternative for creating a setting whereby Faith must recline amongst the water lilies.
At breakfast, when she went down and found Lady Vernon and Mr Westaway in the parlour, Faith was immediately besieged by conflicting suggestions. Lady Vernon thought the bath was the better alternative; Mr Westaway was keen on the lake.
Only the arrival of Lord Delmore stirred enough conviction one way or another.
“To the lake,” he announced, and Faith wasn’t unhappy about it. The surprisingly balmy feel in the air combined with her hopefulness was a good combination, so that she was unusually unconstrained and forthcoming as Lord Delmore quizzed her on her time in London during the walk through the gardens and along the lakeside, before they arrived at a small copse which Mr Westaway had spied out as a likely location.
The older gentleman seemed fascinated by Faith’s impressions on the capital. He asked her about her family and her father, and she answered truthfully, for even though they were lost to her, she could imbue the reality of a poverty-stricken cottager with the high hopes of an equally poverty-stricken, though fictional, family intent on bettering their most promising progeny.
Surprisingly, Faith found she suffered no pangs of guilt for lying, or even sadness for letting her family believe her dead. There simply had been too many of them and her father too brutal and economical with words for her to have understood him. She genuinely had no desire to ever see him again. The others, too, were so different in the way they thought of life or conducted themselves that she’d have been happy to have called herself an only child.
Her future was here. In her hands. In Mr Westaway’s hands. Meanwhile, Lord Delmore served a useful purpose in acting as a conduit for the questioning she’d have liked to have come from Mr Westaway, who appeared too absorbed in his painting to notice her or anyone else.
For the first half an hour, Mr Westaway occupied himself with setting up his easel, then sketching the backdrop so that Faith could enjoy being dry as she sat in one of the wicker chairs her host had a servant arrange for her, Lady Vernon, and Lord Delmore.
The last thing Faith felt like doing was going near water again but knew what was required. So, when Lord Delmore asked, “And does the idea of floating among the trailing water lilies horrify you, Miss Montague?” She just lifted one shoulder slightly and said, “This is a very pleasant country sojourn and being somewhat impecunious, which I’ve made no secret about, I shall pay my dues uncomplainingly when the time comes.”
He seemed to like her answer enormously for he laughingly responded, “Not so demure, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Montague. Most young ladies would not advertise such facts.”
“I would rather no potential suitor was under any illusions, Lord Delmore.” Faith decided she liked the candour in his twinkling blue eyes. He seemed far easier than the buttoned-up personages she was more likely to meet in London. And when he added, “I’ll have to introduce you to my daughter-in-law. She could take a leaf out of your book when it comes to being candid and not putting herself above others,” she decided he was quite fatherly in the kind of endearing way she liked to imagine her own father might have been had he not been cu
rsed with ten children, no money, and a drinking problem. All of which, she supposed, meant that there could never be two men more different than Lord Delmore and her own father.
“It’s time, I’m afraid.” Mr Westaway cleared his throat, and they all turned. He’d not said a word in a good twenty minutes.
Faith was sure he’d even blushed when he’d nodded a greeting, earlier, before quite studiously avoiding any further direct contact.
Was he regretting last night? She certainly wasn’t. An unbidden memory of the searing passion in that one short kiss sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was surprised that she’d blushed but also rather pleased that she’d managed it so artlessly. It served her purpose rather well.
Faith took a deep, audible breath, rose from her chair and glanced about at the company as she picked up her skirts and turned towards the water. Then she stopped and sat down again. “My shoes. I can’t go in wearing these, naturally.” She pressed her lips together and sent a rather imploring glance at Lady Vernon, who grunted as she moved forward in her chair before muttering, “I can’t take them off for you, my girl. Not with my arthritis. Gentlemen, would it be so shocking if one of you were to do the honours.” She put her nose in the air as if pretending great delicacy when Faith knew any pretence at anything remotely refined or delicate was a complete sham. “I’m sure you know that a lady is somewhat restricted when it comes to bending at the waist.”
They’d know it, of course. Lord Delmore was a widower, and Mr Westaway must have had some experience with women, surely, to know that they always put on their footwear before donning their corset. And Faith was wearing a corset today, as directed by Lady Vernon for just this reason.
The two men exchanged long looks. Faith could tell they both wanted to offer but were reluctant to be the first. Finally, Lord Delmore conceded to the younger man, saying, “I’m not as agile as I once was, either, Crispin. Miss Montague, apologies for embarrassing you like this.”
“I shall be more embarrassed when you see how poorly I manage in water. I presume you want me to float, but the truth is, I’ve never tried. I only know that if it can be learned, I’m sure I’ll learn quickly. I don’t want to delay you, Mr Westaway, when time is of the essence.”
Faith stretched out her leg and pointed her foot while Mr Westaway went down on bended knee on the grass and rested it in the palm of his hand. She liked his touch. He seemed gentle and respectful. Oh, but he was so unlike many of the gentlemen who came to Madame Chambon’s fuelled by rampant sexual desire.
But how surprising that she was enjoying her mission.
When Mr Westaway had removed her shoes, he took her hands and helped her to rise.
“Will you be all right getting to the water?”
“If I may lean upon your shoulder as I negotiate the mud. I’m not sure how deep it might be.” She made the most of the contact, and when they were at the water’s edge with the others a few yards behind them, he said, “I took unconscionable liberties, Miss Montague.”
“And I do not hold you to account for any of them.” She giggled happily. Silly, but it was no act. “It was too marvellously unexpected, Mr Westaway. And so comforting to know that I shall be able to enjoy these mysteries if I’m ever granted the opportunity.” She patted his shoulder. “Don’t trouble yourself anymore over it. It’s in the past. Now I just have to lie amongst the water lilies and stare vacantly at the sky. I can do that. I can do whatever is required. Oooh!” She gave a squeal as the water reached mid-calf and then, because she knew when the dramatic would serve her well, plunged headlong into the depths with an even greater cry.
“I did it!” she squealed, emerging a second later. At home, the boys had sometimes bathed in the river, but Faith had never been tempted by the discoloured water from the tannery upstream. Her mother had always come down hard upon the girls for trying to emulate the boys who were so carefree in their nakedness.
Faith couldn’t imagine what her mother would think of her daughter, now. But as Faith had never had the slightest respect for her mother, and truly felt her life was better for being free of her sanctimonious piety and propensity to lash out, like Faith’s father, the reflection did not dampen this morning’s proceedings.
All of which were progressing swimmingly if the admiration and mutual enjoyment on both Lord Delmore and Mr Westaway’s faces were anything to go by.