“And if Lord Tavistock asks to sit to you?” Michael murmured, “you’ll refuse him?”
“The marquess?”
“The young, handsome, wealthy marquess to whom I am distantly connected through family and marriage.”
What was Michael asking? “He hasn’t asked, and he probably won’t.”
“What if you don’t have to choose, Psyche? Paint Tavistock’s portrait, do sketches of the climbing boys. Follow where your talent and your heart lead you. Say yes to your joy.”
She burrowed closer. “You are part of my joy, Michael. I wanted to be safe in my disguises, as Jacob’s wife, as Henderson, as the widow in a household where I have all the privacy in the world. If I marry you, I will not have the same sort of safety, but I will have love, and that’s… better.” Better for her art, better for her heart.
Life with Michael and the children would not be easy, but it would be vibrant and joyous and loving.
“And the children?” Michael asked, turning Psyche under his arm and leading her back to the bench.
“I don’t know Thaddeus, but Bea is lovely.”
“You wouldn’t mind raising somebody else’s children?”
This mattered to Michael more than Psyche had realized. “Do you mind raising other people’s children, Michael?”
“I don’t think of Thad and Bea as belonging to anybody but me, but if I have my way, I will raise many such offspring. I cannot presume, though, that my aspirations will necessarily fit… That is, you matter to me, Psyche. I love you, and you are my heart, but the children are my heart too.”
And he did not mean only Thad and Bea. Psyche sank onto the bench and, by virtue of tugging on Michael’s hand, bid him to sit beside her.
“Michael, you did presume. You presumed to know my ambitions—the next Sir Joshua, Gainsborough in petticoats, et cetera—when I wasn’t Henderson in a top hat. You were for the Church, I was laying siege to the Royal Academy. But what you do is art, and what I create is art. Both have an impact. Please… make great art with me. You ask me what I want: I want to be Mrs. Michael Delancey, because all the other parts of me—Henderson, Gainsborough, the shop-window prints—will find a home in the personage of your wife.”
Michael looped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I want to be Mr. Psyche Fremont more desperately than you can possibly know. Please say we can be married.”
Psyche wiped something hot and wet from her cheek. “You won’t mind if I continue to wear my top hat to the occasional class?”
“I will love you in your top hat, and if we should make another sortie to St. Giles, you’ll be safer in that top hat anyway.”
“Will you love me if my next series of prints portrays London’s beggars?”
“Will you promise to make those works as compelling as your flower girls?”
“Michael, will you love me if I can never paint again, never have children, and never make you a proper preacher’s wife?”
He kissed her temple. “What are you going on about? I will never be a preacher, not in the sense you mean. Have you met Lord Shreve? He wants to combine something of the foundling home with something of the Magdalen houses. He has money and determination, and he wants me to throw in with him. I have Mrs. Buckthorn to thank for the introduction.”
“Shreve is very determined, Michael. You and he have that in common. You’re done with the Church?”
“As an employee, I am, and maybe you are done with Henderson. I would be endlessly proud to find myself married to the artist who created the flower girls, but if Henderson is still serving a purpose, I will be endlessly proud to have his company as well.”
Jacob would be pleased, also amused. “We will not be a conventional couple.” But they would be happy, at least much of the time. Also exhausted, frustrated, and maybe short of coin. What did any of that matter?
“We also won’t have a conventional family, but we will have love, Psyche, and I cannot think of a greater foundation from which to go forward in this life.”
Michael kissed her cheek, and Psyche rested her head on his shoulder, and in the greening branches high above, the courting robins chirruped the arrival of spring.
To my dear readers
I hope you enjoyed Michael and Psyche’s story! When we first met Michael in Dorcas and Alasdhair’s story (Miss Delightful), I wondered what was up with the brooding clergyman. He was too serious, too quiet, and something must have gone awry up there in Yorkshire…
The author is sometimes the last the know, but I’m glad Psyche got him sorted out!
Our next Mischief in Mayfair title also circles back to a character introduced in an earlier tale. Trevor, Marquess of Tavistock, popped up way, way back in The Last True Gentleman as the step-son to Sycamore Dorning’s dearest Jeanette. Trevor is all grown up now, and ready to take his place in society and even find himself a marchioness, though of course he’s looking in all the wrong places and for all the wrong reasons.
Miss Amaryllis DeWitt—Miss Determined to Trevor—is also resigned to making a practical match, until Trevor comes along and fills her head with impractical notions. Order your copy here. Look for Miss Determined in June 2023 (May in the web store.)
I’m also hard at work on a new historical mystery series featuring Lord Julian Caldicott. Julian is back from the war and trying to recover from a stint in French captivity, though he’s dogged by scandal and memory lapses. He’d would rather hide himself away from society, but with attempted kidnapping, thievery, and extortion swirling around him at Lady Longchamps’ house party, he’ll have to ignore the whispers and search out the truth.
And yes, he’s a bit broken-hearted too… for now. Look for the first book in the series A Gentleman Fallen on Hard Times to come out sometime this summer (pre-order links coming soon).
If you’d like to stay up-to-date on my new releases, pre-orders, and discounts, I do publish a newsletter about once a month. I will never swap, sell, give away, or otherwise part with your personal information and unsubscribing is easy. If newsletters aren’t your thing, you can take a peek at my Deals page, or follow me on Bookbub.
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Happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
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Read on for an excerpt from Miss Determined!
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Miss Determined—Excerpt
Miss Determined—Mischief in Mayfair, Book Seven
Trevor, Marquess of Tavistock, is in Berkshire trying to have a very discreet look a pair of properties he’s considering selling. The laid schemes of marquesses and maidens…
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The lady came galloping around the bend on a leggy bay like the queen of the Valkyries determined to be on time for her next battle. Trevor would have been knocked straight into the ditch had she not hauled hard on the beast’s right rein, aimed the horse at said ditch, and jibbed his quarters into the middle of the lane.
The colt, rather than leap the ditch and bound off into the adjoining meadow, went up on his hind legs, whinnying objections that should have been heard half-way to London. Had his histrionics been limited to a mere rear and a roar, the rider might have stayed aboard.