Page 86 of Miss Devoted
Not merely attracted, not infatuated, not succumbing to the calf-love of impressionable youth, or indulging in the sort ofaffaireat which Hazel excelled.
In love. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, for portraits or for prints.
“Mr. Delancey might not need you to support him,” Hazel said.
“He’d prefer to keep his independence, of course. Michael hasn’t an arrogant or vain bone in his body, but he is entitled to his pride.”
“Shreve is proud, too, and it took me most of the way from St. Mildred’s to figure out that he sought an introduction to Preacher Delancey.”
“Michael doesn’t preach.” Not ever.
“No, he acts on his convictions and saves lives and stands as a rebuke to the rest of us who merely drop a penny into the poor box when we’re sure the vicar is watching. That impresses Shreve.”
“Michael’s convictions ought to impress all who behold them, but you’ve done something, Hazel. Something you aren’t sure I’ll approve of.”
“You might not, but that’s the thing isn’t it? We aren’t supposed to act based on what will win us approval from the right people. We’re supposed to act based on what conscience demands, and my conscience demanded that I give Shreve a letter of introduction to Mr. Delancey.”
And his lordship had holdings all over the realm. Perhaps he sought to turn Michael into a steward or factor of some sort.
“Shreve sought that letter?”
“Asked for it most humbly, which was a bit awkward, and also… nice. Shreve is a decent man, under all the strutting and flirtation.”
Psyche wasn’t sure what a lord might want with an out-of-work clergyman, but she knew what she wanted from Michael.
“Will you need the coach today?” she asked.
“If you are intent on paying a call on Circle Lane, then no.”
“Not Circle Lane,” Psyche said, leaving the studio for her bedroom. “The day promises fine weather. I’ve a mind to take some air in the park this afternoon.”
“Will you need company?” Hazel asked, trailing after her. “A chaperone, a loyal minion?”
Psyche opened her wardrobe and saw mostly subdued colors and sensible footwear. She’d rendered herself as a pen-and-ink sketch of a widow rather than as an artist worthy of vibrant oils.
“Widows don’t need chaperones, Hazel. You would be coming to spy on me, and for all I know, Michael will decline to join me. He might be on his way back to York or making plans to teach at some boys’ school in the Midlands.”
“Mr. Twillinger is taking the post Arbuckle was booted from in York. Danner will have Helmsley’s job if your Michael declines it, and Ingram will serve at one of the churches bordering St. Giles.”
“Helmsley wassacked?” Michael hadn’t asked for that, but the notion pleased Psyche inordinately.
“Helmsley will be allowed to retire to Shropshire, though Vicar Tom thinks he might do some traveling first. Arbuckle was truly a monster.”
“Arbuckle was a monster, but also the exception. Vicar Tom is the rule, thank heavens. What shall I wear, Hazel? I haven’t much bothered about my wardrobe for years, and now…” How Psyche had attired herself had always mattered, but never so much as on this day.
“Now you want your Michael toseeyou, the real you, whoever you are now, and that’s a very different challenge from how to pass unnoticed or be taken for someone you’re not. What would Jacob tell you to wear?”
Oddly enough, that was the right question, and Psyche knew the answer. “I don’t even know if it’s…” she muttered, rummaging in the back of the wardrobe. “Eureka!”
She extracted an exquisitely embroidered aubergine silk walking dress. “Simple lines, elegant details. Jacob said this frock flattered my figure and my coloring without overwhelming my features.”
Hazel grasped one cuff delicately embroidered with green and gold vines. “Understated but impressive, like you. Let’s hope it fits.”
Psyche first sent off a short note, then allowed Hazel to fuss a bit—pink pearl earbobs, soft gold gloves, and a spencer of hunter green completed the ensemble. Nothing showy or frilly, and for her feet, Psyche chose a pair of buttery black boots she’d been saving for warmer weather.
“Will I do?” she asked, surveying her image in the cheval mirror.
“For a walk in the park?” Hazel said, standing behind her. “You will turn the head of every male over the age of fourteen.”
