Keeping Faith

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Keeping Faith Page 16

by Beverley Oakley


  To be joined with him again was to reinforce their bond. Unbreakable. That’s what it would be. Faith had never loved before this. It’s how she knew what it was. She’d observed him with the same intensity he’d observed her. She knew his moods, understood what drove him, sympathised with the obstacles placed in his path.

  Well, there would be obstacles they both must face, but face them they must. If this truly were love, as each believed, then they would overcome.

  Arching her back, she guided his hand to her mound, as if by accident, gasping at the pressure so that he blinked in surprise for just a second before he did exactly as she’d hoped he would.

  Dear lord, but he was good. Her legs went slack, and now he was inside her, and she grasped his buttocks and moved with him in glorious harmony.

  Until both could take it no more and came together in a shuddering climax.

  “We shall marry as soon as possible,” he said urgently holding her close as they both regulated their breathing. “I can’t bear the thought of being parted from you.”

  “Your father will object. We need to be careful.” Except that it was Faith who needed to be careful. Mr Westaway’s father was less of a danger than Mrs Gedge.

  He seemed reluctant to accept this, and Faith was relieved when he finally agreed not to make any immediate announcement.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything until I say it’s all right, Crispin?” She needed this. Playing for time was of the essence. A few days in which to plan, to set in motion a means by which Faith could extricate herself from the tentacles with which Mrs Gedge would bind her.

  She did not feel she was abusing Crispin’s faith in her. If he loved her and could be confident the girl he wanted to make his wife was a virgin when he first made love to her, and if he still wanted to marry her, knowing she was penniless, and despite his father’s anticipated opposition, what did the rest matter?

  She put her finger to his lips. “Let this be our secret, Crispin, until the painting is finished.” She cuddled against him, relieved that he did not object. “Don’t signal to Lady Vernon your feelings just yet. Can you do that?” Thoughtfully, she added, “Though if you want to write me love letters to make up for what you don’t say to me in person, that would be very acceptable.”

  “My most beloved Faith,

  You are the moon, the sun, and the stars. When I conjure up your image, it’s imbued with a magical glow for you have lit up my life. In just a few days, I know that everything worth having is invested in you. I do not write these words lightly. I have lived, and I have loved, but I’ve never known what love was until I met you.”

  With hope and faith that you return the love I feel for you, and excitement for our future as husband and wife, I’ll end with a reminder that surely must not be necessary—only two more hours until we can meet again…no one but the two of us.”

  Faith kissed the envelope and leaned back on her window seat, gazing at the sky and the distant green verdant hills, bathed in evening light as if they were imbued with everything Crispin, she believed, seemed to feel right now—hope and…faith.

  Yes, he had faith in her and in a shared future. Life had never been so thrilling.

  She closed her eyes and hugged the envelope to her chest. Crispin had written words that had found their way right to her heart. He loved her with the intensity she loved him. He’d put into words the very feelings that she felt when she imagined him here with her and their life together.

  She’d have to make a copy of his words to keep. The letter itself would be her ticket to freedom in the eyes of Mrs Gedge. This would be proof Mr Westaway had lost his heart to her, and all Faith had to do in return was pretend to break his heart. Having spent the last three years of her life living a lie, it would be easy to execute this final, simple task.

  Faith was clever at the best of times. But when her heart was engaged, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

  Lord Delmore clearly could not keep away and had been reluctant to discharge the previous day’s business which had him visiting his solicitor rather than seated at Crispin’s right elbow and watching proceedings.

  A lot could happen in twenty-four hours, he discovered, as he said a touch wistfully to Crispin, elaborating only later that evening. And it was only when Crispin was cleaning his brushes, and Miss Montague had gone to her room to change into dry clothes, did he realise how transparent he was with his feelings. The revelation came as a surprise and an embarrassment for he truly had tried to keep them under wraps.

  And he a diplomat.

  “There’s no point in my making a visit to the capital before the end of the season,” Lord Delmore said as he sat in front of the fire with a replenished brandy glass as they waited for the return of the ladies.

  The edge in his friend’s tone had Crispin pricking up his ears. Already he feared what Lord Delmore was about to say.

  “It’s quite clear you’re as smitten with the young lady as she is with you.” Lord Delmore paused and looked long and hard into the fireplace, while Crispin waited for what would come next as clearly his lordship was pondering something deep and hard. Finally, he looked Crispin in the eye. “Your father won’t like it.”

  Crispin wasn’t sure how to take this. His friendship with Lord Delmore was not deep though it had grown over the years. The older man clearly lacked society since the loss of his wife after their two sons had gone to the colonies. Was Crispin being spoken to like an errant schoolboy for losing his heart unwisely?

  Carefully he said, “I am twenty-six years old—”

  “Oh, you have a wise head on young shoulders and I’m not about to persuade you out of your infatuation or your one true love. Just be sure you know what sacrifices you will have to make before you act too rashly.”

  Crispin was well aware of the obstacles ahead. His father would be intractable. In fact, he could possibly prove insurmountable, which was why Crispin had been toying with other measures to spirit Faith away—elopement being one.

  “Lord Delmore, I am not a greenhorn, and I have known Miss Montague for some time now.” He hoped the edge to his tone hadn’t been too noticeable.

  “Three weeks, I believe. I hope Miss Montague knows what she’s taking on. It won’t be easy for her, married to a man whose father exercises such fierce opposition as yours undoubtedly will.”

  Crispin felt the weight on his shoulders. If he’d had brothers, the burden of marrying well would have been shared. But Crispin was required to be everything to Lord Maxwell, and to fulfil his father’s expectations both in the diplomatic arena as well as the marital.

  “Initially, Miss Montague and I were very aware that a union between us would not be sanctioned by my father. We spoke about it openly at…the beginning.” He hesitated over this. The beginning was only a few days ago, and yet a meteoric shift had occurred within him. And her? She seemed prosaic about a match between them. She was husband hunting; she’d made no secret of that. But her feelings had undergone the same metamorphosis his had done. They must have, otherwise she’d not have given herself to him with the intensity she had. No well-brought-up young lady would take such risks unless their hearts were inflamed. For her, this truly had to be love. Passion. Crispin was an artist. He knew what fire in the veins made one do.

  “I cannot allow my father’s disappointment to stand in the way of my future.”

  “Happiness?” Lord Delmore asked at his hesitation, and Crispin said quickly, “My happiness is not the only factor here. I believe that I will make the kind of impression on the world and progress as my father desires far more effectively if I have by my side the woman I believe will complement me and make me proud.”

  For a long time, Lord Delmore considered him. Then he sighed and returned his gaze to the fire. “How can I offer an opinion when I’ve never known what you describe?” His shoulders slumped, and the sounds of crackling wood and the ticking clock were very loud. “My marriage was one of convenience. It brought me two fine, prosper
ous sons and a beautiful daughter, and I had every reason to admire my wife. I know nothing of the fires of which you speak.” He touched his heart briefly. “Though having observed Miss Montague these past few days I can understand a little of what you mean. But you must do what you will, my boy, and accept the consequences.”

  “Do I have your support?”

  Lord Delmore raised his eyebrows. “Of course! She is a fine young lady and you a fine young man. You are clearly an excellent pairing. Whatever support is required of me, I will offer it.”

  Crispin was relieved despite the faint acid in his lordship’s tone. So, he truly had believed in a future with Miss Montague, for himself. Well, didn’t that, in its own way, support the match. “Thank you, Lord Delmore. I’m much obliged. One request.” Crispin smiled. “Please don’t make this public before I do. Miss Montague is as aware as I am of the likely opposition. I will need to choose my moment carefully.”

  “Perhaps when you carry off the art prize of the decade. When the public sees for themselves the qualities, not least beauty, of your muse, it will be entirely understandable why you’ve let your impulses get the better of you.”

  “That is how it will be regarded? When the public cannot base their judgement on her fine intellect? Indeed, that is what swayed me. Her beauty attracted me, but her beauty alone was not, to my mind, sufficient for me to gainsay my father. I believe Miss Montague has a mind that will be an asset to both of us.”

  “I hope your father will be so forward thinking.” Grudgingly, Lord Delmore added, “Though truth be told, it was the same with me. She does have a remarkable mind and a sharp wit. An intoxicating combination.” He raised his glass. “I hear the ladies returning now. Good luck, old fellow. May you navigate the potential pitfalls ahead with the greatest of ease. She will win your father over; I have no doubt. And that’s all that you need to see this thing through as you would like.”

  Only one more day before they were to return to London. For nearly one whole blissful week Faith and Crispin had spent almost all day together and, latterly, much of the night.

  Her beloved worked at a feverish pace in front of his easel, sending her loving looks when he thought no one else was looking, and passing her notes and love gifts at every other opportunity. Faith had no shortage of tokens in both kind and in writing to attest to the intensity of Mr Westaway’s love. It thrilled her, and it filled her with a deep and satisfied sense of completeness. No one had loved her before. Not her mother or her father or any of the gentlemen she had ever met in any capacity.

  Crispin had his own reasons for keeping their relationship secret, and it suited Faith just fine. As she lay on the small iron bed they shared in the servant’s attic far from anyone else, she went over her best course of action. Crispin had briefly mentioned elopement. It was, in Faith’s mind, the best way forward. To be married in secret would guarantee her a passport to a trouble-free future. That she loved him with equal intensity was irrelevant in one respect; yet it was only for this reason she wanted to be certain of spending the rest of her life with him.

  Mrs Gedge wanted to ruin him. Wanted to see his heart broken. Well, what could she do after Faith was safely married to him?

  If she worried that Mrs Gedge would be vindictive, she tried to put those fears aside. Mrs Gedge had supported Faith for three years. Their monthly tea meetings had suggested a woman who was interested in furthering the prospects of her little protegee. Faith need only persuade Mrs Gedge that vengeance would hurt Faith in this regard more than it would Mr Westaway. Mrs Gedge had been a mother. She was a woman who knew how to love.

  She would understand.

  Now, as Faith sat at the dinner table opposite Crispin, Lady Vernon at her side, she couldn’t wait for the old woman to withdraw for the evening and so give the young people complete freedom. Faith didn’t care that the servants could not be unaware of what was happening. But this was a borrowed cottage. These were not Crispin’s servants.

  “I expect you are anxious for the next few days to be over.” Lady Vernon’s nasal tones cut into the silence as the parlourmaid removed the main course and brought in dessert. “What will you do with your winnings if you are indeed the chosen one, Mr Westaway?”

  “I dare not hope to think I will be.”

  “No need to be so modest. Everyone agreed that your skills were far superior to your two competitors. If you win, you will be a rich man.” She looked meaningfully between Faith and Crispin. “You will be free to do as you choose, surely?”

  Faith blushed at the lack of subtlety, and also the fact that Lady Vernon was fishing for words Faith did not wish Crispin to divulge. The last person she wanted to know that she already had a marriage offer was Lady Vernon.

  “My father is always my first consideration, Lady Vernon.”

  Faith let out a slow breath. That was the answer she’d hoped for.

  And she told him so when they met each other in their attic room.

  “We will get married in secret, darling,” she whispered. “Like you suggested. I don’t want my parents knowing beforehand and coming to you for handouts. They will, you know. Far better that we slip away quietly to Germany with no one the wiser. We can tell them when….”

  He tapped her on the nose, then kissed her on the lips as he held her against him in the centre of the small room.

  “I want my father to be there to bless us and to congratulate us with true joy,” said Crispin.

  Faith stepped out of his embrace and looked at him, puzzled. “You’ve changed your mind? Why?”

  The need for Crispin to proceed in secrecy struck her anew. She realised, now, that the love letters and the marriage proposal she had in writing must never fall into Mrs Gedge’s hands. Faith must appear to her to have failed. Lady Vernon had no idea to what extent it had progressed. She’d witnessed the occasional longing look, that was all.

  She tried not to appear as anxious as she was.

  Faith’s bargain was predicated on the exchange of such evidence for a fee of five hundred pounds. Well, she would forgo the money. Of course, she would have to if she were to gain the loving future that was more important now than anything.

  Crispin stroked her cheek. “My father’s approval is important to me. I want him to love you as I do.”

  Faith sent him a wry look and he smiled back, adding, “Perhaps not quite as I do, but I know he’ll appreciate the qualities I’ve recognised in you. I do believe he would come to see that your intelligence is an attribute that trumps the fact you have no dowry.”

  “Or illustrious connections. Your father will not want you allying yourself with a nobody, no matter how quick-witted she might be, or indeed how independent you might become through winning an illustrious art prize. No Crispin, there’s not enough time. Please, my darling. We must marry quickly. And in secret.”

  Still, he demurred. “Faith, sweeting, we can have it all—the society wedding that gives you the acceptance you need and deserve. I would far rather that than to have us sneaking away with whispers and innuendo.”

  “Oh Crispin, we may have to get married in a hurry.”

  Faith put a hand to her belly, though she was pretty certain the precautions she’d been taught precluded any possibility that she might have conceived during their week of passionate couplings. Ten times. And now she was about to initiate another. Her body was on fire, and although she was disquieted by his talk, she was also confident she could persuade him of what was required.

  She rested her cheek against his chest and raised her hand upwards to cup his cheek. “Tomorrow your painting will be delivered, and the following night it will be judged. You will win, Crispin, for it is a rare show of true talent. It’s not because I’m biased that I say it.”

  And it wasn’t. She truly was proud of his talent. He was a gifted painter, and it was wrong that his father didn’t recognise how far his son could go in this direction if he didn’t force Crispin to follow in his pater’s footsteps.

  But C
rispin wasn’t attending to any talk of talent. Understanding, and now full of remorse, he kissed her full on the mouth then regarded her with an intent look. “I’m a fool for not taking more account of the lack of time we may have,” he murmured. “I thought of it at the beginning when I was determined to marry you, and any consequence was a boon. But since your acceptance of my proposal, I’ve thought only of how to make this marriage one in which you are given the respect and public acknowledgement you deserve. An elopement is a shabby, shameful thing, and I’d do anything to prevent you enduring the disgrace of it.”

  “And I would do anything to be married to you at the earliest possibility. There’ll be a whole lifetime to prove the naysayers wrong.”

  He kissed her brow. “You want to make your family proud, I know you do, despite you warning me they’ll be at the gates looking for handouts. I want my father to be proud. Let me look after this, Faith.” He kissed her nose. “Trust me, Faith. I’ll make sure our future is wonderful; gilded with hope and possibility.”

  His words filled her with foreboding as his lips found hers, and when she shivered at the dangers he knew nothing about, he thought she was angling for a closer connection.

  So he whisked her into his arms and lay her on the bed, joining her there where they quickly divested each other of their clothes.

  And Faith put all thoughts of what might go wrong out of her mind, because for too long she’d been weighed down by fears of the future, and for just this once, she wanted to believe that the man who returned her love would be able to navigate the terrain.

  Of course, with the clear light of a new day, she was again mistress of her own destiny, and the only person who could possibly know the extent of the perils that lie ahead. Faith knew only one course was possible—elopement.

 

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