"Have you ever watched a leaf leave a tree? It falls upward first, and then it drifts toward the ground, just as I find myself drifting towards you." Beth Kephart, Undercover

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Chapter Eight

The carriage came to a stop outside Cassian's bank. He suddenly wished he did not have a list of banal errands to run. He really wanted to ask Faith about the scar on her hairline.

A dozen different scenarios had crossed his mind since he had noticed it. All of them worse than the last. But was it not rude to comment on a woman's appearance in a negative way?

"What business do you have here?" asked Faith as she looked up at the bank from the window.

"I just need to authorise payment to a wheel manufacturer," replied Cassian. "I have ordered half a dozen of them for my factories in the north."

"What do they do?" asked Faith.

"They help to blow away the excess cotton so that the workers do not inhale it. It is a health risk, you see. Cotton clogs the lungs." And even though these wheels were costing him a fortune, life was far more precious.

Faith smiled. "Take as long as you need."

"Do you want to come inside?" Cassian asked. What a glorious outing it would be. A trip to the bank. He groaned internally.

Faith pursed her lips. "Oh, are women allowed in there?"

Cassian actually did not know. Had he seen women inside the bank before? Surely some of them accompanied their husbands. Either way, Cassian knew he was an important customer to the bank. If he wanted to bring Faith inside with him, he would.

"Come on," he urged.

Mr Green opened the door and Cassian climbed out. He then held his hand out for Faith. She placed her small hand in his and stepped down onto the street. As Cassian started up the steps, he noticed that Faith was not walking beside him. She had allowed him to move five steps ahead of her before following.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stopping midway up the stairs.

Faith looked up at him and frowned. "Walking."

"Behind me?"

Faith pressed her lips firmly together and gave him a knowing look. "Whether you like it or not, servants do not walk beside their masters. They walk behind them. I cannot walk into that building as your equal."

"Do you expect me to talk to you over my shoulder all day?" he challenged. "I shall get a neck ache."

They caught the eyes of several curious strangers walking the streets of London. Men wearing their best coats and hats paused on the bank steps briefly to watch him speak to a woman dressed like a servant.

"You are being difficult, Mr Kensington," Faith murmured, wary of onlookers.

Cassian was not about to give in. "Take my arm," he insisted, offering it to her.

Faith stared at him, her brown eyes flicking between his face and his outstretched arm. She was searching his face to see if he was being sincere. How could he not be?

After a few moments of indecision, Faith gave in. She hurried up the steps and slipped her arm through his. She fit comfortably, and he felt oddly proud to be walking with her like he was.

Cassian found himself enjoyed the stares of others. Were they jealous of the beauty that was on his arm? She was not his, but they did not know that. Little did they all know that there was much more to Faith than just her beauty. Only few were privy to that knowledge. He was one of the lucky few.

Cassian's business inside the bank took just over half an hour. The manager did not challenge the fact that Faith was with him, though his judgemental sneer was enough to let Cassian know that he did not think much of Faith.

It honestly made Cassian want to take his business elsewhere. He would look into it.

Cassian decided to skip seeing his tailor and instead took Faith directly to see the painting he was thinking about buying. They journeyed to the home of an old widow, Mrs Forster. The painting had belonged to her husband, and she was now selling his possessions to pay off debts.

It was really none of his business but the Forster scandal had been front page news for a few weeks in the summer.

Cassian watched Faith as they travelled towards Mrs Forster's London home. She really was angelically beautiful. Cassian knew that he would be lying if he said he were not attracted to her. It was hard not to be.

Any man could see how fair she was. Cassian appreciate her beauty. But he appreciated her heart more, and he meant that sincerely. The gentlemen at the club could mock him all they wanted, but Faith was the sort of good that he wanted to immerse himself in.

Who else but an angel would give a fortune away to an urchin she did not know?

But there were so many questions surrounding Faith.

If he was being honest, Cassian really did not know much about Faith. Cassian was sure he knew more about Faith than most. After all, she had told him about her son, but there was so much more to her. There had to be.

One day, he hoped, she would trust him enough to tell him everything.

Her fringe had fallen aside again as she looked out the window, exposing that pink scar once more.

"What happened to your head?" asked Cassian. It took him a moment to realise he had actually asked the question out loud.

Faith's eyes immediately widened and she slapped her hand over the scar. Faith fluffed her fringe so that it covered her hairline scar properly. "Nasty accident," she murmured. "A few years ago I tripped. Hit my head on a table."

Cassian wondered why she had just lied to him. He could see it in her eyes. She was waiting for him to call her on her lie. But he did not confront her. Faith could tell him the truth when she was ready to.

But that only made the scenarios in his head that much worse.

Mrs Forster was not in. Cassian and Faith was shown to the drawing room by a servant and they were left alone. The drawing room was quite empty. Quite a few pieces had been sold. All that was left was a few settees, a mantel clock, and two paintings on the adjacent walls.

One was of a landscape. The other, the one Cassian was interested in, was a portrait of a woman.

The raven haired woman was sitting by a window, looking over her shoulder at a closed door. She looked ... sad. But that was what Cassian liked about the painting. Her face told a story. She was a real person. Someone else to add to his collection.

"Who do you suppose she is?" asked Faith. She, too, was standing beside him while looking up at the painting.

"I would like to hear your thoughts," Cassian countered.

Faith exhaled and cocked her head thoughtfully. "I imagine she spends most of her time by that window," she mused. "She looks like she is waiting for someone."

"A man?"

"Perhaps. But he is not coming. He never comes."

"How do you know?"

"Look at her face." Faith sighed. "She looks so sad."

Cassian had never encountered anyone who imagined up personalities for paintings just like he did. "Is she waiting on her lover?"

"No," Faith said firmly. "Look out the window. She is very high up. She is waiting on a rescuer."

Cassian smiled. Faith was imagining a fairy tale. "But he is not coming," Cassian continued. "What is she to do?"

"Rescue herself," Faith said firmly. "She will rescue herself."

"And how does she do that?"

Faith shrugged her shoulders. "I am sure she is still trying to work it out. But women cannot always rely upon knights on white horses. They only exist in stories, you know."

Cassian could read between the lines. Faith was talking about herself in the most cryptic way possible. She was trying to rescue herself. She was trying to pull herself out of the mess that her husband had left her in.

"Well, I pray she does not give up hope," Cassian murmured.

"Oh, she hasn't. She is still by the window. Less frequently now, I imagine, but she still waits. She has ..." Faith smiled bashfully, "faith."

"Mr Kensington, I did not know you were arriving this early!" cried Mrs Forster, who had just entered the drawing room. Mrs Forster was in her late fifties, and the financial stress she had been under these last few months had taken its toll on her. She really looked her age.

Cassian had never been personally acquainted with Mr and Mrs Forster, but they were known to have lived an affluent lifestyle.

"Sorry to intrude. A servant showed us in," replied Cassian.

"Not at all, not at all," replied Mrs Forster. "What do you think of the painting?" she asked.

Before Cassian could answer, Faith asked, "Who is she?"

"Oh, my late sister-in-law. Horrid woman. The sourpuss was painted as a gift for my husband's thirtieth birthday."

Cassian and Faith both looked at each other and laughed. They could not have been more wrong about the woman's story, but Cassian liked theirs better anyway. "I shall take it, Mrs Forster. Thank you very much."

Cassian paid Mrs Forster discreetly as a servant helped to carry the painting out to his waiting carriage. The Forsters lived near Hyde Park. Cassian lived on the other side of the park in Kensington.

It would be just shy of a two mile walk back to his home, give or take a few meandering trails in the park. "Please take the painting home," he told Mr Green. "Faith and I will walk from here."

"Yes, sir," replied Mr Green, as Faith peered at Cassian curiously.

Cassian was not ready for their day to be over.

The November air had a real bite to it. He was warm enough in his overcoat. He only hoped that Faith was warm enough underneath her cloak.

"You really do not have a care for social hierarchy, do you?" Faith murmured just as soon as his carriage moved away.

Cassian offered his arm to Faith, and this time she did not protest. They started towards Hyde Park. "Neither do you," he countered.

Faith furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"A proper lady would never have stopped her carriage to help a grubby street urchin," he replied.

"You are assuming that I am a proper lady," she murmured.

"Come now," Cassian said firmly. "We both know you were, are, a proper lady."

With the clouds as low as they were, the park appeared quite grey and dreary. The deciduous trees had all lost their foliage and their surroundings were quite bleak. But Cassian's focus was solely on the nervous brown eyes of his companion.

"Won't you tell me?" Cassian fought the urge to caress her cheek comfortingly. It would probably startle her more than anything.

Faith clamped her lips shut.

"Surely you must know that anything you tell me will stay between us. I owe you my life, Faith. You can trust me."

"I do know that," whispered Faith.

"What happened to you?" he pressed. "Let me help you."

Faith offered him a touched smile. "You already have helped me," she insisted. "Lucy and I have a home because of you." Faith's grip tightened on Cassian's arm ever so slightly. "I am just like that woman, Mrs Forster," Faith began. "I was married to a very rich man and I lived an extravagant lifestyle. But when he died, it was all gone. I was forced to make the decision to come to London so that I could provide for my child when she came."

Had Faith been pregnant when she had found him? Cassian's memories of that day centred on the angel that had found him. He had not really noticed if her dress was at all tight.

"If you wanted to provide for your child, why would you give everything to me?"

"You cannot know what I saw in your eyes on that day. Your needs were greater than mine," Faith said firmly.

Cassian suddenly felt immensely guilty. His desperate, hungry eyes had taken funds away from Lucy. How was that right?

"I am glad I made the decisions I did. You cannot know how glad I am. The decisions I made brought Lucy and me into your home. We are safe and healthy. What more could a mother want for her child?" Faith's eyes turned away from him. She looked out on the path they were walking. "Where are you going to hang Mrs Forster's vile sister-in-law?" she asked, changing the subject.

Cassian knew Faith was still only telling him pieces of her story.

He knew she was a rich man's widow. Who was this man? He knew she had lost a son and never told anyone. He knew she had left her home, in God knows where, to come to London to find work. Along the way, it seemed, she had found a half dead Cassian on the side of the road.

Cassian probably knew more about this woman that anyone, and yet he still felt as though she was a mystery, hiding pieces of herself. But why?

Cassian knew one more thing.

He knew he was destined to fall in love with this woman. It was only a matter of time.