Keeping Faith

by Beverley Oakley

  A knock on the door interrupted his angry tirade, and Carter put his head around the door.

  “Young lady here to see you, Mr Westaway.”

  “Unaccompanied?” Lord Maxwell barked before throwing back his head with a laugh. “My, my, what a brazen little piece your jezebel is. Persistent, too.”

  “Please leave, Father.”

  “Certainly not! I shall stay quietly here in this chair in the shadows by the window, and you can introduce me when it’s timely. Carter, bring the young lady in.”

  Before Crispin could move out into the passage, Carter was ushering Faith through the door, and Crispin’s heart was in a tumult he could not begin to explain. He’d thought rage and disappointment would be his chief emotions, but longing trumped them all.

  A waft of lavender heralded her entrance, and he longed to clasp her to him.

  “Crispin, I’m so sorry! Not everything is the way it’s been portrayed in the newspapers!” She hurried forward like a breath of spring sunshine and gripped his hands, and he couldn’t help holding them as he ground out, “Faith, how can you refute the fact that you lied? You targeted me in order to set me up. Isn’t that the truth?”

  Tears glistened on the edge of her lashes as she tipped her face up to his.

  “I lied to you at first, but I confessed. Crispin, I never meant to hurt you. I certainly never meant to humiliate you or damage your career.”

  “But that’s what you’ve done.” He dropped her hands and turned his head away, acutely conscious of his father in the corner whose expression communicated his disgust. Faith, who had her back to him and so had not noticed they were not alone, went on, “Crispin, I have never been one of Madame Chambon’s ‘girls’ as the newspaper claims. Nor have I ever been…kept! Not by Lord Harkom, not by any man! I was a…a virgin when I gave myself to you.”

  Perhaps she could see that he was not as moved as she’d wish. As he might have been had his father not been present.

  Her voice took on a greater note of desperation. “Crispin, you must at least believe the truth of that! Why, the evidence was there. Whatever my sins might be, the fact is that I swore I would never give myself to a man I did not love. And then I met you. Yes, I fell in love with you, even though it was against my better judgement. Even though it was not as others would have wished it. I would confess all, if you would only say you still love me. That you want to still love me. I can prove the lies that are in that newspaper. Please, Crispin!”

  There was nothing Crispin wanted more than to hold Faith against his chest and at least hear what she had to say. But a movement from his father suggested this would not be wise. Lord Maxwell would make the situation so much nastier if he made his presence known and Crispin had to protect Faith from that, at least. He’d hear her out when they were alone.

  But for now, he’d have to show his father that he was not susceptible to her pleas. Perhaps there really was some explanation that could paint her in a less damning light, though, God help him, the picture of her in Harkom’s arms surrounded by a group of harlots could hardly be explained away.

  Still, she deserved an audience.

  Alone.

  “Faith, you’ve said all you need to.” Putting his hand upon her shoulders, he turned her towards the door, careful to block any view she might have of his father. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his eyes, careful not to look at her trembling mouth for fear he might lose control and just kiss her with all the disappointed passion that still burned within him. “Goodnight, my dear. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I wish you well for your future.”

  A soft chuckle from Lord Maxwell was his reward when the door had closed behind Miss Faith Montague—the only woman he’d ever loved.

  “Hardly masterful, my boy, but I’m glad to see you’re not a complete slave to that soft heart of yours, which was always going to be your downfall.” He rose and pointed to the desk with its pile of papers. “Now, read this latest report on the situation in the Black Forest. Meanwhile, I shall go and see what I can do to minimise the damage your foolish exploits have done to your reputation.”

  “No passionate leave taking? Or did you decide not to stay with Mr Westaway, after all.? Why Faith, it’s barely eleven o’clock.” Madame Chambon was waiting in the shadows when Faith returned to the house in Soho. She couldn’t look at the woman; her defeat was so enormous. A great sob threatened to reduce her to a quivering wreck at Madame Chambon’s feet, unless she could make her escape and throw herself onto her bed in the privacy of her room.

  Her old, hated iron bed with its aged, dusty quilt. It represented so much that was wrong with her life, but right now, she had nowhere else to go. Lady Vernon would not be welcoming her back in a hurry. No, Faith had outlived her usefulness to the old termagant; Madame Chambon had made that clear.

  She was about to pass Madame Chambon on her way to the stairs when she hesitated. It had taken her a long time to untangle the few facts she could about her altered situation.

  “Mrs Gedge didn’t hate Crispin Westaway as much as she hated me, did she?” She swallowed painfully. “Why? I never hurt her? I never stole from her? And yet…yet everything she’s orchestrated has resulted in my ruin. Granted, Mr Westaway’s reputation has suffered, but I…I have been ruined.”

  Madame Chambon put her hand on Faith’s shoulder and walked her to the bottom of the stairs. For just a moment, she sounded as if she sympathised.

  “There’s no room for sentiment in this business, Faith,” she said. “Money is the only currency, and everyone has to pay their way. I don’t think Mrs Gedge set out to destroy you, Faith.” She brightened. “And, when all is said and done, she has endowed you with so much you would never have had as an ignorant servant.”

  “As I stand, I am in her debt.” Faith began to tremble. “But after tonight? What happens to me then? Would…would she take me back as a servant? Would that satisfy her? For I would do anything rather than stay here with all that entails.”

  The pressure of Madame Chambon’s fingers increased, and her smile became cloying as she steered Faith along the corridor. “I suspect Mrs Gedge would be unmoved by your loyalty, Faith. To have you under her roof would only remind her of everything she has lost. Do you not think that, perhaps, her feelings for you changed as she saw you grow into the beauty you have become…while her daughter lies mouldering in her grave?”

  Faith suddenly understood. Jerking herself from Madame Chambon’s grasp, she picked up her skirts and was about to take to the stairs, when a masculine chuckle by the door of the drawing room made her whip her head around.

  “It’s been too long, Miss Montague.” Faith recognised the voice before the face. Panicked, she searched for escape, but Madame effectively blocked her way to the stairs or the door to the street.

  “Come, Faith, no need to be churlish.” Madame’s fingers dug into her arm as she propelled her towards one of the private entertaining rooms.

  Now, Faith was standing opposite Lord Harkom, who’d just turned the key in the lock and stood facing Faith, arms akimbo, a speculative smile upon his thin lips.

  “Let’s get down to business, Miss Montague. My intelligence has it that you’re all alone without husband or protector.” He closed the distance between them and took both her hands in his, raising them to his lips. “So, I am here to offer you a solution.”

  Faith felt like a trapped canary. No one would come running to her aid if she screamed, but violence might be the result if she offered resistance.

  Forcing herself not to reveal her terror or revulsion, she regarded him steadily.

  “It is true; you have caught me at a disadvantage,” she admitted, gently extracting her hands and making her way leisurely to the sofa in front of the fire. “Perhaps you’d pour us both a drink,” she suggested, indicating the decanter on the sideboard as she sank against the cushions. “I do not come cheaply.”

  “You are not actually in a position to make too many demands, my dear,” he reminded her as
he poured them both a brandy before seating himself beside her, so close that his thigh was pressed against hers.

  Faith managed not to flinch. “Thank you, Lord Harkom,” she murmured, taking the brandy from him while she sought desperately for a means to play her cards so that she was not his victim—his plaything. At his mercy in any way. “Mr Westaway knows that to his cost.”

  Lord Harkom let out a bark of laughter. “Who played who for a fool? No, don’t even try to make me think that you ever had the upper hand in that little affair, Miss Montague. Faith.” He stilled and, with his eyes fixed on her face, ran the forefinger of his right hand gently around the edge of her décolletage. It was such a bold, proprietorial, and insulting action but Faith dared not move. She could not risk insulting him when she had no idea how to play this game. Lord Harkom was dangerous. One misstep on her part and he’d tumble her here and now. He’d force himself on her, and not a single person would come to her aid. Not only that; the whole world would consider she deserved it. That was perhaps the most painful reflection of all. She had not a single person she could depend upon. No friend. No lover. No family. No one would defend her honour. Everyone believed she was a liar and a whore.

  “Mr Westaway paid a high price to enjoy me.” She stared back at him, steadily, trying to still her breathing and keep her bosom from rising against his wandering fingers. “What price are you offering me, Lord Harkom? I do not work on a one-night, rotational basis. And while I have always brought value, I don’t come cheaply. As I said.”

  Two small lines appeared between his eyes as he seemed to weigh up her words. Perhaps see her in a new light? As less of the victim than he’d come here believing?

  “I don’t know what Madame Chambon has told you, but this plan to humiliate Mr Westaway has been three years in the making. Do you know what care and consideration goes into achieving such a public fall from grace? Yes, two days ago he was society’s darling for the talent that saw him carrying off the greatest prize money ever offered in an art competition. Now it’s been revealed he was set up from the start. Brought down by the beautiful muse he fell in love with and was going to run away with. And that the art competition was rigged!” A tremor of self-disgust ran through her to even utter the words, but he seemed to be paying attention.

  Good. She needed him to redress the power balance, even just a little. She needed all her wiles and cunning; all that intelligence about strategy and human behaviour that she’d honed over the past three years, to come to her aid.

  “Why are you here, Lord Harkom? Surely not for a quick rutting to enjoy the spoils for just one night only. I thought you were playing the longer game. Given the enmity between your two families, I thought you’d come here to offer me something that I would consider attractive, and that would strike at the heart of Mr Westaway and his father’s ability to enjoy peaceful nights.”

  Oh, Faith was sure Lord Harkom had considered both and that the longer-term proposition would follow naturally upon the immediate gratification of his carnal desires right here and now. But Faith had to show herself as a woman of business.

  She drew her shoulders back and increased the space between them, just a little. Thank God he’d removed his hand as he clearly contemplated what she was saying.

  She smiled at him, her confidence growing. “Have you made an agreement with Madame Chambon? I need it in writing, Lord Harkom. A six-month contract with an exclusive residence for me. If I am to be kept, it will be by a rich man who does not stint when it comes to showering largesse upon his most treasured possession—the woman who brought down his enemy.”

  Yes, she’d sown the seed. He’d probably had something in mind that would involve keeping her as his mistress in order to rub the noses of Crispin and his father more thoroughly into how they’d been played. But Faith’s plan suggested she’d come more willingly, and play her part more convincingly, if he met her part way. And that could only be to his benefit.

  When he didn’t speak, she rose. “Well, perhaps you and Madame Chambon should speak together right now, Lord Harkom.” She smiled sweetly at him and offered him her hand before indicating the door with a nod of her head. “Lady Chambon’s office is just down the corridor, as I’m sure you know. Meanwhile, I need to change into something a little more…appropriate.” She glanced down at her gown then moved towards the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. “When an arrangement is in writing, you know where to find me.”

  He did not stop her. Clearly, he took her at her word and would, most likely, follow through with a meeting with Madame Chambon to nut out the details, knowing, as Madame Chambon had probably told him, that she had nowhere in the world to go.

  For she didn’t.

  The street was deserted when Faith arrived at the small cottage by the river where she’d been conveyed so many times during the past three years. She’d been utterly terrified going by foot, carrying a carpetbag with one simple, old gown she’d snatched from her wardrobe together with the few possessions she had that might be worth anything.

  It took several bouts of knocking before there was any response, and she nearly wept with relief when it was opened by a frightened-looking scullery maid.

  “Mary, can you tell your master that he has a visitor,” Faith exhorted her as she pushed her way past the child and into the familiar space.

  The girl blinked open sleep-laden eyes. Faith suspected she’d been sleeping in front of the kitchen fire. Indeed, that’s exactly where Faith hoped she might find some rest for the few hours that remained of tonight.

  “Master’s been long abed,” the girl protested mildly though she didn’t look as if she’d outright deny Faith. She was too young for that. And not as desperate as Faith to have her way, for the master was not an unkind man.

  Faith waited nervously in the small back parlour where she’d spent so many hours at her lessons during the past three years.

  Her first thought was that Professor Monk must receive her. Well, she was certain of that, at least. But what if he was part of Madame Chambon and Mrs Gedge’s evil plan?

  No, surely not. Not the kindly professor who took such pride in Faith’s intelligent answers when he quizzed her on world diplomacy and the historical relations between countries.

  But if he was not part of the evil plan, he must surely know what had happened to her since all of London could talk about nothing else, it would seem.

  What would he say when she told him she had nowhere to go? That it was her own fault she’d fallen the way she had? That he was a man of learning and moral rectitude and their past association meant nothing to him?

  Everyone else in Faith’s life had forsaken her. The few friends she had were in no position to help her. Professor Monk would be like the rest of them—filled with moral outrage that would require her to pay for her sins.

  Instead, his greeting was fatherly, and his first words suggested he’d not even heard what all London had been talking about.

  “My dear Faith! Has your carriage broken down? Is Lady Vernon injured? Oh, dear me, I can’t think why else you’d be on my doorstep all alone at this hour of the evening.”

  He was such an innocent guileless old man Faith knew he honestly did believe only the options that would put her in the most favourable light. Being faced with kindness and concern was so at odds with everything else she’d encountered this last terrible day, that she let out a great sob.

  “My poor girl, come closer to the fire. You’re in shock, surely? Oh, I do hope nothing terrible has happened. Truly, I wouldn’t know what to do. Indeed, all I can think to do right now is to offer you some brandy.”

  “And a bed for the night?” Faith looked up at him, pleadingly, warmed by the light pressure of his hand on her shoulder. So different from the menace communicated by both Madame Chambon and Lord Harkom.

  He blinked in surprise as he turned back from ushering Mary out of the room to fetch Faith a small draft of something “strong and medicinal”.

  “Pleas
e, Professor. I’ve been turned out of the house where I lodge. There was…an argument.”

  His kind eyes grew a little sterner, but before he could say anything Faith hurried on, “I was pressured to…accept the offer of a man whom I know to be unkind and…bad. Yes, bad.”

  “Forced to wed against your will?”

  Faith nodded as she covered up the lie with the words, “I was told I had to accept this man’s offer, or I would have nowhere else to go.”

  “What man? What man would force you into such a bargain, Faith?” The professor looked truly concerned, and with a sigh, Faith whispered, “Lord Harkom.” For if she offered part of the truth, it was something, surely.

  To Faith’s surprise, the professor’s eyebrows shot up. “Dear me, Faith. Was Lord Harkom proposing marriage or…” He stopped abruptly.”

  Sadly, Faith shook her head. “No, Professor, that’s why I came here. When I refused him, I had nowhere else to go.”

  “You have a benefactress who has paid my fees for three years, and yet I’ve never met her. Would she not offer you lodging?”

  “Mrs Gedge.” Faith shook her head. “No, I cannot go there either, for she too was insistent that I…” She finished on a sob.

  “What about your chaperone? I briefly met Lady Vernon on one or two occasions. Why are you not staying with her?”

  “I told you. They wanted me to accept an offer from Lord Harkom.” She hung her head. “I’m not that sort of girl.”

  He blinked, owlishly, and stared at her as if she were suddenly a different creature.

  Faith stood up. “Please don’t condemn me for what has been out of my control. I want only to do what’s right, but I have nowhere to go. No one to turn to. I only wanted shelter for the next few hours until the dawn. That’s all I ask of you. Please, Professor. I’ll sleep in the kitchen and leave before light. Just let me stay here where it’s safe. Just for tonight.”