Page 76 of Miss Devoted
“Papa’s house of worship is neutral territory. Church territory, but Arbuckle will behave there.”
“St. Mildred’s is also Delancey family territory.” An image arose in Psyche’s imagination, Michael and Bea on the church steps, the odious Arbuckle standing above them on the front terrace, Helmsley off to the left. Skeletal tree branches arched as if menacing the child…
“I hope the setting will inspire some decorum from all parties,” Michael said, “but the occasion will be difficult regardless of where the drama plays out.”
“You won’t tell me what you have in mind?” He’d referred to putting up a fight, but perhaps the battle would be legal. Litigation was considered a scandalous lapse of goodwill, in addition to being expensive and interminable.
Michael had no money, and Bea should not have to spend two minutes, much less years, under Arbuckle’s control.
“What I have planned could easily fail, Psyche. I have learned to excel in the shadows, to play the part of the dutiful curate and drudging clerk, all the while attending to my own priorities when nobody in authority is looking.”
“Add to that the roles of conscientious brother and dutiful son.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I do love my family, but the time has come for me to bring my fight into the light.”
Psyche took his arm and looped it about her shoulders. “Open combat sits ill with you, when you’ve always protected the people you love by keeping a distance from them. Hazel suspects this has something to do with your mother dying when you were just a boy. I put it down to stubborn self-sufficiency.”
Michael looped his other arm around her, and she snuggled close.
“The Church is like a village,” he said. “If the neighbors turn on you, life becomes difficult. Nobody extends you credit. Nobody will watch your children when you must attend your ailing mother. In ways subtle and obvious, you become an outcast despite being shown little overt discourtesy. Papa, as a vicar, and Dorcas, as a vicar’s daughter, are particularly vulnerable. I realized that the first time I nearly brought scandal down upon them.”
“You did not want them to have to choose,” Psyche said. “If your gambling debts became known, if you failed in your curate’s post, your family would have had to choose whether to stand by you or join the choir ready to judge you.”
“And that,” Michael replied, shifting his caresses to her shoulders, “is why I will impose on you to make a sketch of Hannibal Arbuckle for me. You see the truth of a person, when they might not even see it themselves.”
How could he not have seen a pattern that leaped out at Psyche as obviously as a crooked nose on a portraiture subject? Michael protected those he cared for, even at the cost of his own safety.
“I’d rather do a likeness of horse droppings than sketch Arbuckle,” she said. The reptilian eyes, the smug smile, the expensive mahogany walking stick and gleaming boots… “Why would I draw him for you?”
“If I’m to warn Mrs. Harris and Finny to be on the lookout, if I’m to alert Dorcas and Papa, they need to know the devil when they see him.”
That explanation was plausible, but unsatisfying. Michael was determined to keep his strategies to himself, and Psyche respected that. She wasn’t exactly being forthcoming with him either.
“You need this sketch urgently, don’t you?”
“By tonight.”
“And it’s important to you?”
“Vitally.”
“Then you shall have it before you leave here, and I will do the best job I can, but, Michael, there’s something I need, too—something vitally important.”
He gathered her close, his cheek pressed to her hair. “Anything. Name it. Anything short of my life, because the children have first claim on that. I have some funds saved, not much, but I can—”
Psyche struggled free of his embrace to glower at him. “I need you. You daft, impossible man,I need you.”
His eyes lit with confusion, then humor, then a sort of bashful wonder. “Now? You are intent on having your way with me now?”
Now and forever, but she didn’t say that. “We have now, Michael. I want so much more than stolen moments with you, but now is all we can honestly offer each other.”
Michael caught her hand and kissed her fingers. “Damn Hannibal Arbuckle, church politics, filthy lucre, and damn everything.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m cursing, and the sky is not falling. I cannot,I will not, refuse what you offer.”
Psyche led him through the house and up to the bedroom, then assisted him from his clothing, while he performed the reciprocal courtesies for her. Every sweet moment was limned with grief, because Psyche had to admit one fact for a certainty.
Michael was allowing them this indulgence because he clearly agreed with her: Now was all they had.
ChapterSixteen
