Page 34 of Miss Devoted
They finished their meal in silence, then dealt with the business of greatcoat, scarf, gloves, and coin. The leftover gingerbread from the previous evening sat in a sack by the studio door. Psyche insisted Michael take it.
“I’ll share this bounty with the other clerks,” he said. “We are like locusts when it comes to sweets. Thank you.” He kissed Psyche’s cheek, gathered up his half loaf, and slipped out the door.
Psyche returned to the parlor, poured herself the last cup of tea in the pot, and sat in the morning sun until John leaped into her lap and demanded to be scratched.
“Michael has a lovely way with a friendly kiss,” Psyche murmured. But not entirely friendly. He’d lingered near for a moment, too, as if he’d wanted to whisper something in her ear but hadn’t known what to say.
The mind boggled—again—and the heart yearned.
ChapterEight
“Where in blazes did you get off to last night?” Ignatius Ingram took the only other chair in Michael’s office and shoved the door closed with his foot. “Didn’t see the light in your window for even fifteen minutes, and I was up quite late.”
Reading the maunderings of long-dead bishops, no doubt. Michael set aside the letter upon which he’d made no progress in the last forty-five minutes. He was distracted by the memory of Psyche Fremont, slumbering peacefully beneath her covers.
And Psyche Fremont, a loose braid over her shoulder, the wrath of Boudicca in her eyes at the thought of Michael missing his breakfast.
“Have you nothing better to do than spy on me, Ingram?”
“No, and then you arrive this morning bearing gingerbread and butter. One worries that you’ve gone astray, Delancey. If you must go astray, please do so with a baker’s daughter.”
“How’s Danner?” Only a dire worry would tempt Natty away from guarding the remains of the gingerbread.
“Suffering the torments of the besotted. Mama Danner wants him to take the curate’s post with his uncle’s congregation in Nottingham, while Danner cannot think of abandoning his goose girl, or whatever she is. I cannot think of life here at the palace without Mama Danner’s generous offerings. She’s widowed. Perhaps she’d look with favor on a younger husband.”
Ingram plucked at his cuffs, which were not quite long enough to cover his bony wrists.
“Natty, what’s amiss?”
“Amiss? How could anything be amiss when we’re doing the Lord’s work and glad of it?”
“Even the Lord’s most devoted minions are merely human. Out with it.”
The chair was an old castoff much in need of reupholstering. Ingram shifted uneasily on the thin cushion. “I watched your window for a reason.”
Unease blighted the glow in Michael’s heart. “You are inquisitive by nature.”
Ingram scrubbed a hand over his face. “Nosy, you mean. Yes, I am, but you should know Helmsley has asked me to keep an eye on you. Says he fears the fleshpots of Southwark might cause you to stumble.”
“And Danner’s regular traffic with those same fleshpots is of no interest to him?”
“He asked Danner to keep an eye on you too. We aren’t sure about Twillinger, but Twilly is a good sort. If you’re out fleshpotting, he’ll keep mum. Do be careful, though. The French pox is more than a passing inconvenience.”
Michael set aside the letter he’d been trying to draft. Something about a curate being overly attentive to one of the old maids in a rural parish.
“I’m not out fleshpotting,” he said. “I learned that lesson before I turned eighteen.”
Ingram peered at him. “Did you get somebody with child? My brother did. Mama never lets him forget it, though I quite like my sister-in-law.”
Did you get somebody with child?Michael had no good answer. If he said no, then turning up with two children in some parish in Hampshire a few years hence would raise questions. If he said yes, then there would be no parish for him in Hampshire or anywhere else.
“I suspect Helmsley is concerned that I’m gambling again.”
Bright red brows rose high on a pale forehead. “Youtoldhim about that?”
“He had another party in mind for the post I now hold, and my wicked past wasn’t that long ago or nearly far enough away.” Also more stupid than wicked. “He’d hear of it from Mrs. Oldbach or some other at-large guardian of clerical morality, and she would have been right to tell him.”
“I’ve met Ophelia Oldbach. If there are avenging angels, they have white hair and don’t suffer fools. Even Helmsley gives the formidable Mrs. O a wide berth. If she has ten cousins, nine of them are bishops.”
