Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances

by Beverley Oakley

  “I won’t go without you, and I don’t think it’s wise for you to return after so short a period of time.”

  Hope regarded him seriously. For some months, she’d been assessing the right time to broach the subject. She took his hands and began to chafe them lovingly. “You were the one who endured so much during the trial. My identity was protected. You arranged everything, Felix. And it’s not as if you’re proposing to live there. I have no fear in going back if you can contrive to keep my presence secret as you managed so assiduously before.”

  He looked troubled. “That’s just it, Hope. I don’t want to keep your presence secret. I want the world to know you as my wife. I want your stepmother to accord you the respect you deserve and which she withheld, and which makes her an accessory in the terrible crimes against you.”

  Hope shook her head. “You want a true justice, my sweetheart, but that’s not possible. At least for another few years, it’s wisest for me not to be introduced as your lawful wedded wife”

  She was cut off by an announcement from the returning parlourmaid that they had an unexpected visitor who’d just arrived in the village and, learning that they were residents of the chateau on the hill, wished to pay his respects to Lord and Lady Lambton. “A gentleman by the name of Lord Farrow.”

  Hope gasped, and Felix looked discomposed before he said to the parlourmaid in German that he and his wife would be delighted to attend to Lord Farrow in the drawing room in five minutes.

  “I can’t possibly appear!” Hope whispered. Lord Farrow had been one of her greatest admirers when she’d worked at Madame Chambon’s.

  Felix only had to look at her panicked face to understand her. “If we’re to visit England, then consider this your first test.” He raised her hand and brought it to his lips. “Courage, darling. You’re not the one who deserves opprobrium. I’m right here with you. And are you not the most consummate actress in the world when you need to be? Why, there was a time when I was certain you cared nothing for me!”

  On Felix’s arm, Hope swept into the elegant vault-ceilinged withdrawing room of the chateau they’d leased since they’d fled to the German dominion following the trial that had exonerated Felix who had been found to have acted purely in self defence after Wilfred Hunt, horribly drunk, had tried to murder him with a fire iron.

  “Lord Farrow, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Hope murmured after Felix had introduced her. Madame Chambon’s training had been thorough, and there was no sign of the terror Hope felt at being recognised, even as his lordship sent her a long and scrutinising look after he’d failed to hide his surprise.

  “Is anything the matter, my Lord?” Felix enquired as he led them to a cluster of seats arranged around the fireplace.

  Lord Farrow appeared to collect himself. “No. Yes, that is, Mrs Durham—or should I say, Lady Lambton—looks familiar.”

  Hope feigned surprise as she exchanged looks with her husband. “Do you know, Felix, that’s the second time someone’s said that to me.” She laughed. “Another friend who came to visit Felix said exactly the same thing: that I bear a striking similarity to someone who was well known to them in England. When I quizzed him on who it was, his memory failed him.” She turned back to Lord Farrow. “Tell me, who is the lady you speak of whom I so closely resemble? It’s rather amusing to be mistaken for someone else.”

  Lord Farrow flushed hotly and shook his head. “I can’t quite recall and besides, you are far more beautiful than she, Lady Lambton, even if I can’t remember her name.” When it looked as if Hope might persist with her questioning, he went on in a rush, “And you’re even more beautiful than your sister whom I met some months ago with her husband at the theatre. I believe you’ve spent the last five years in Germany.”

  Hope seated herself and inclined her head. “That’s correct. Lord Lambton and I would very much like to return to England, though, if only to visit. Why, we were in fact discussing the possibility when you were announced.” Hope smiled warmly at her husband, the glint in his eye telling her she was doing well.

  Lord Farrow cleared his throat, dragging his admiring gaze from Hope’s face to his host’s. “In that case, perhaps you’d both be my guests for a little shooting party on my estate I’m organising next August—should you be there at that time. If you follow the Hunt, you’ll be in excellent company.”

  Hope and Felix exchanged looks, and Hope nodded slowly. “I believe that would fit in well with Felix’s itinerary. He’s been asked to address the London Literary Society,” she added proudly.

  “Splendid!” Lord Farrow clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad I looked in on you. You’ve garnered quite the notoriety, and I’ll confess my curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Notoriety?” Hope asked, cautiously.

  “Lord Lambton’s runaway success. His book!” Lord Farrow explained. “Perhaps you don’t know that everyone back home has been talking about it.” A shadow crossed his face, and he lowered his voice. “I hope you didn’t think I was referring to that…other matter.”

  Hope saw that Felix was looking warily at their visitor who went on, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension. “Hunt was despised, in the circles to which I belonged, at any rate. Although he was never called to account for it, he was a bounder. A thief and a liar. It came as little surprise to anyone that he could also be capable of violence and, my dear Lord Lambton, it was perfectly understandable in most people’s eyes that you, being a man of honour, did the only thing you could under the circumstances.”

  When Lord Farrow had gone, Hope exhaled in relief as Felix took her into his arms.

  “We’ve passed our first initiation,” Felix murmured into her hair. “And you were marvellous.”

  “But will I be so marvellous if Lord Farrow does invite us to his estate and suddenly I’m faced with so many of the men I once knew under…circumstances I’d care not to remember.” An unexpected sob rose in her throat. “Oh, Felix, surely an encounter like this—and every similar one to follow—will erode just that bit more of your respect for me?”

  He put her away from him, shaking his head as he smiled.

  “All that matters to me is what you are: a brave, clever woman whom I’m lucky enough to call my wife. And, if Lord Farrow invites us to his estate, and we join in the Hunt, it’s my intention to do what I failed to do all those years ago and which might have inexorably changed the future had I not lost my nerve but rather just kissed you as you lay on the soft earth, in that secluded clearing.”

  “Oh, Felix, I would like that very much,” Hope said upon a sigh, closing her eyes as she nestled against his chest, breathing in his wonderful, familiar, and comforting smell of fine wool and the sandalwood soap he used.

  And indeed, after Lord Farrow proved true to his word and Felix, Hope and their first child—a lusty son they named Benedict—were ensconced at Farrow House the following August, Hope and Felix did find an opportunity to peel off from the pack and discover the perfect grassy glade for Felix’s promised tryst.

  Furthermore, with Hope’s courage having been bolstered by Felix’s reassurances that she was equal to anything, Hope was warmly received by the other guests, the gentlemen having been warned the evening prior that Lady Lambton bore a “startling resemblance to their favourite of all Madame Chambon’s girls whose body had been tragically fished out of the Thames”.

  However, it was unanimously agreed that Lady Durham was even more lovely.

  THE END

  Keeping Faith

  Chapter 1

  “What did you learn last night?”

  “A gentleman must always believe he knows best.”

  Confident that her answer was pleasing, Faith reached across the table to help herself to a macaroon, but a sharp slap across the back of the hand stopped her progress by the silver teapot.

  Her smile of feigned contrition was rewarded with the briefest of nods from Madame Chambon. Not an invitation to partake of a macaroon though. The table la
den with eclairs and petit fours in Madame’s private sitting room was merely for show.

  “Greedy girl, Faith! You can eat at Claridges Hotel tomorrow, and I daresay you won’t even spare a thought for the other girls who are justified in being somewhat jealous of your cosseted life.”

  Madame sniffed as she patted one of the grizzled orange curls of her elaborate coiffure. Faith suspected a squirrel’s pelt had made its contribution. “I’m sure they wonder every day why you never have to stir yourself, or anyone else for that matter, to get your fine clothes or a roof over your head.” Madame Chambon piled three macaroons onto her already laden plate, before making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the furnishings of her surprisingly decorous private sitting room with its gold-tasselled, green-velvet curtains and flock wallpaper. “What have you told them, Faith? About why you are here, I mean.”

  Faith’s stomach rumbled as she gazed from the prints of the famous artists that lined the walls to the fine fare in front of her, ordered from Fortnum and Mason. These monthly sessions in table manners were supposed to give Faith the practise she needed to deport herself like a lady when eating in public, though, under Madame’s guardianship, Faith never actually got to try the specialties.

  “Answer me, Faith. In all the three years that you’ve been here, you’ve had to do precisely nothing to justify your existence. Surely the girls have questioned you? I have my own version of the truth for them, as you know, but I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.”

  Faith didn’t answer. She already knew how lucky she was, but Madame was not ready to drop the subject, despite having just crammed an entire chocolate éclair into her mouth. Faith just managed to make out the muffled words, “Every night you lie peacefully in your bed while the other girls have to earn their livings.”

  Lying peacefully in her bed was not how Faith would describe the restfulness of her slumber. She was kept awake every night by the grunts and cries of ecstasy that penetrated the thin walls of her attic chamber.

  Still, she’d finally learned when it was wise to respond meekly, so she bowed her head and stared at her neat kid gloves while dreaming of the delicacies Mrs Gedge would order for them when Faith really was dining with her at Claridges Hotel the following afternoon. The Sacher-torte Mrs Gedge had ummed and aahed over before finally choosing the baked Alaska from the sweets trolley last month still haunted her. However, since part of Faith’s tutoring included how to win over reluctant gentlemen ‘and make them wild with wanting’ which is how Madame phrased it, then surely Faith could persuade her American benefactress to order the Austrian chocolate specialty?

  She was so busy rehearsing her words for tomorrow that she almost missed Madame’s prophetic and appalling statement.

  “Well, Faith, the time has come for you to start earning your way now.”

  It seemed the ground fell away from under her as Faith gripped the table edge. For so long, she’d known the reckoning would come. Yes, and with three years preparing for it, she’d believed she could meet it head-on with the necessary fortitude.

  But there’d been no warning.

  She began to shake, biting into her bottom lip and clasping her hands beneath the table to try and keep secret the manifestations of her terror from Madame, who’d only be spurred into gloating and make her suffer even more.

  “Mrs Gedge reported last month that she wasn’t entirely happy you were ready for what she has in store for you when she took you to tea, Faith.” Madame chewed noisily, unperturbed, it seemed, by the crumbs that landed on her gaudy vermillion skirts.

  Faith didn’t suggest that Mrs Gedge’s dissatisfaction was perhaps the fault of Faith’s tutor, the one sitting in front of her, who knew nothing about deporting oneself as a lady.

  With a dainty gesture using only her forefingers, Madame Chambon raised her plate and licked at the crumbs that had not been dislodged by her fat fingers before saying, “Fortunately, Lady Vernon is recovered at last from her long indisposition and has agreed to forget your rudeness to her from six months ago. In fact, she’ll be here shortly. Yes, she’ll soon have you passing the scrutiny of the most discerning duchess.” Madame gobbled down another macaroon with as much finesse as the dogs Faith’s father used to goad into fighting each other for the scraps from the scrubbed wooden table at the farm. Not that there’d been many scraps with ten children to feed.

  “Should we not have waited for Lady Vernon?” Faith suggested, daringly. But she had to say something to stop herself from launching into a volley of querulous questions about exactly what form this ‘having to earn her own way’ might take.

  Madame Chambon pushed aside an untouched plate of bread and butter to reach for another chocolate éclair and sighed. “There was just so much food on the table it seemed unnecessary to wait if her ladyship was going to be late. Ah! And here she is.” Madame’s orange-painted mouth turned up at a knock on the door. “Shoulders back, Faith! And make sure you don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Since this was not a danger, Faith supposed there might be some compensation in having to face her former nemesis, who surely must subscribe to the belief that learning table manners required one having to eat.

  Madame threw her arms wide in a welcome as the door opened to admit the new arrival. “Good evening, Lady Vernon. We’re so glad you’ve recovered from your chest ailment,” she gushed. “A good rest has done you the world of good. Why, you look ten years younger. Just as you do every time I see you in fact. And we’re indeed humbled that you’ve consented to return.” Madame simpered at the elderly woman dressed all in black who looked, Faith thought, even more wraith-like than usual as she pinned up the veil of her bonnet and took the seat at the table proffered by Madame, who went on, “I’m sure you’ll feel even better once you’ve heard Faith’s heartfelt apology.”

  Faith blushed under the scrutiny of the two pairs of expectant, unforgiving eyes, and glanced longingly at the remaining macaroon.

  Yes, there were times when it was worth being abject. She mightn’t mean what she said, but if the last three years under Madame Chambon’s roof had taught her one thing, it was how to sound heartfelt and sincere when she felt anything but.

  “I’m sorry for my rude comments about…” Faith hesitated. Perhaps it was best not to stir up old memories. While it must be perfectly obvious to anyone who met Lady Vernon as to why an earl’s daughter could remain a spinster into her sixtieth year, it hadn’t been in anyone’s interest—Faith’s least of all, it turned out—for Faith to have gone into quite such specific and extensive detail regarding her thoughts on the likely reasons. “I behaved like a child, though it’s such a long time ago now, I can barely remember what was going through my head at the time. I was only seventeen and, in those days, prone to losing my temper, but now I’m eighteen and thanks to all your efforts in teaching me how to act like a lady, Lady Vernon, I’m so far from the rude and impulsive young thing I was before, you’d not recognise me today. Thanks to your thorough tutelage, I am determined that I will never speak out of turn to you, or anyone. Indeed, I have changed! I truly believe that confronted by a table of delicacies like this, for example, I would certainly not embarrass you or Mrs Gedge or any lovely young man or his mother who might take me out to tea by any show of greediness or lack of restraint.”

  Lady Vernon’s eyes remained fixed firmly on Faith for the duration of this speech with no indication of how forgiving, or otherwise, she might prove to be.

  After a long silence, she spoke. “Restraint?” She sniffed. “Restraint is the most important requirement of any young lady, Faith. I’ve told you this many times, so I’m glad it’s a lesson you claim to have finally learned.”

  Still with her eyes fixed on Faith, she reached towards the remaining macaroon that sat lonely on its plate just in front of them both, her long-fingered hand hovering just above. “Please pass that to me, Faith. I can’t seem to reach it.”

  Wordlessly, Faith complied, schooling her features into impa
ssivity while she railed inside, I hate you! I hate you! Outwardly, she gave nothing away as she watched Lady Vernon transport the coconut confection to her thin, bloodless lips.

  “Delicious,” murmured Lady Vernon. “In fact, I believe it is the best macaroon I have ever tasted. You must surely agree, Faith, since the plate is now empty.”

  She looked pointedly at the two remaining crumbs that clung to the edge, as if to imply that Faith had eaten the rest. Then she indicated the plate of bread and butter near Madame Chambon. “Please eat, Faith. Madame Chambon and I have a leisurely afternoon at our disposal. She and I will partake of the remaining chocolate eclairs…” Her pointed chin wobbled slightly, whether from the suppression of mirth, or the swallowing of bile, Faith could only guess, “while you make good work of the bread and butter with all the ladylike restraint you’re so anxious to prove.”

  Chapter 2

  Faith had learned to suffer in silence and to keep her thoughts to herself, long before she’d been brought to Madame Chambon’s. Madame might have been gloating the day before over her silly little bit of power play but in a few hours Faith would be sitting at a proper grand table laden with even nicer delicacies. Ones she could eat.

  Furthermore, she’d be free of Madame’s cloying presence for an afternoon, admired in public by women who would sweep past in fashionable gowns adorned with cascades of bows and swathes of silk and satin who would see that she was every bit their equal.

  Faith could barely suppress her excitement as Charity, from the room below hers, pinned up her hair the following afternoon.

  “I’ll bring a macaroon home for you, Charity,” Faith promised, sitting as still as she could while Charity arranged a small jewelled comb amongst Faith’s fair curls.

  “I doubt your Mrs Gedge would take kindly to that. Wouldn’t she call it stealing?”