Slowly, Phoebe turned, her eyes fixing on the lady, and Mina’s face flushed a deep scarlet.
“I only meant that what I have heard and seen doesn’t recommend him,” she stammered. “You are not the only woman he has toyed with, and there is talk of gambling and drink—”
“You mean he is behaving like a man,” said Phoebe with a huff.
“He is a wastrel,” said Mina, shaking her head. “Being married to him would’ve worsened your circumstances. He will spend you into the workhouse or worse.”
“Yes, because financial stability is the only requirement for a happy marriage,” scoffed Phoebe. “Not all of us are so delicate that we require fine houses and clothes—”
“Phoebe,” gasped Thea, but neither lady seemed to hear her, for timid Mina hurried in before Thea could say another word.
“I am not speaking of stability, Miss Voss. I am speaking of survival. For all that you mock and despise men like Mr. Godwin, he is conscientious of his duty. Whether or not he’s a fool, he shan’t carry on with women behind your back and leave you diseased because of his indiscretions. He wouldn’t raise your expectations whilst fully knowing he cannot meet them because he has no intention of marrying a penniless woman—”
“Mr. Winwood didn’t know my circumstances then,” said Phoebe, scowling. “And I shan’t fault him for marrying for money’s sake because I must do the same. It isn’t as though he ever deceived me about his standing in the world. He’s never portrayed himself as anything but a gentleman of limited means.”
“And proved himself to be naught but a fortune hunter, pursuing your dowry and then mine,” said Mina. “Better to have a husband who irritates and annoys than one who is selfish and immoral. Either way, you won’t be content with the match, but at least an honest bore wouldn’t leave you with the added burden of being penniless and abandoned when he decides he prefers some other pretty thing to your company. How can you not see it?”
Phoebe opened her mouth, but Mina spoke over her, hurrying to add, “You may like Mr. Winwood now, but how longbefore the strain of all those troubles grew more tiresome than anything Mr. Godwin could say or do?”
Silence fell at that, and Thea could only stare at her cousin. For a long moment, none of them spoke, and when Phoebe finally opened her mouth, her tone was low and cold.
“You have made your feelings very clear on the subject, Miss Ashbrook, and I did not ask your opinion to begin with. However, if you are so very insistent on inserting yourself into my life, then you should know you will have your way. I will marry the priggish parson.”
Mina’s lips parted, but no sound emerged, and Thea could only stare as her mind struggled to make sense of what she’d just heard. The distant trill of a blackbird pierced the silence and rose petals skittered along the flagstones as the world carried on like nothing remarkable had occurred. Only the three of them stood frozen in their small corner of it, grasping for words that would not come.
“You are going to marry Mr. Godwin?” asked Thea.
Phoebe gave a short, mirthless laugh. “He proposed last week, and like a fool, I refused him. I thought—” Her throat worked, and she gave a small shake of her head. “I thought I wouldn’t need to settle for a bore who only wishes for a wife to satisfy his employer, but it seems I was mistaken.”
Wrapping the leather cord around the pencil case, she tucked it into her satchel. “Apparently, Mr. Winwood requires security as much as I do, and practicality is guiding his choices as much as they are mine. He needs a wife with a dowry, and I no longer meet that requirement.”
Color flooded Mina’s cheeks, and Thea glanced between them and the abandoned nosegay of flowers Mr. Winwood had brought for the lady.
“So yes, I will marry Mr. Godwin. At least he wants me on his arm.” Phoebe straightened, her expression hardening as thoughit were the only way to keep from breaking again as she tucked the last of her things into the satchel.
“You would marry someone you despise?” Mina’s brows pulled low, her eyes boring into the other’s.
“Don’t you dare judge me, Miss Ashbrook,” replied Phoebe in frigid tones. “Your future is secure. Mine is not, and no matter what path I choose, I will be little more than a servant or drudge, but at least I will have some semblance of freedom if I marry. Beyond my wifely duties, I will be my own mistress with a household to command, and a husband cannot turn me out like an employer or sibling.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Phoebe’s posture straightened, and she clasped her hands before her. “Besides, Mr. Godwin knew my feelings and my financial situation and was still willing to accept me. All in all, not the worst of my choices.”
Yet there was a grimness to her tone that had Thea stepping closer, and despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help adding her pleas to Mina’s.
“You cannot bind yourself to a man you despise,” she said softly, stepping nearer. Phoebe’s jaw tightened, but Thea pressed on, her voice trembling, “At least give yourself time. You needn’t rush into a decision. You may stay here if you like, for Papa would not object, and you know Mama adores you. It would give you space to think—to decide what you truly want.”
That was met by a brittle laugh, though no amusement touched Phoebe’s eyes. “And instead of leeching off my sisters, I would leech off you? What would that accomplish beyond letting Mr. Godwin slip from my fingers? A few weeks of borrowed comfort before I must face the same fate again? I have spent weeks waiting for my brother to fix matters, and I am done allowing others to decide my fate. This may be a wretched decision, but at least it is mine to make.”
Her words struck Thea like a blow. She wanted to argue, to insist there must be another path, but the defeated set of Phoebe’s shoulders stopped her. Beneath the defiance, she saw exhaustion—bone-deep and unrelenting—and it terrified her to see how broken her indomitable friend was.
Then, leaning close, Phoebe added in a low voice, “And if you were wise, you would surrender this foolish hope for Frederick. Do not waste years pining. That future is gone. Life never resolves the way we wish it to, and there is peace in accepting that.”
For a long moment, Thea could not move. Phoebe’s words hung between them, cold and heavy, sinking deep into the space where hope had already begun to fray. Then, with a stiff lift of her chin, Phoebe slung the satchel onto her shoulder, tucked her drawing board under her arm, and turned toward the path.
The sharp sound of her steps cut through the hush of the garden, scattering the fallen petals along the stones, and Thea simply watched as Phoebe walked away, her figure straight and unyielding, even as the trembling in her hands betrayed her. At the edge of the terrace, Phoebe paused only long enough to steady her breath before continuing on, vanishing behind the curve of the hedgerow without a backward glance.
Thea remained rooted in place, her pulse thrumming painfully in her throat. Those parting words echoed through her until the very sun above seemed to dim. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing herself to breathe, but all she could feel was the chill Phoebe had left behind—an awful, creeping dread that her friend’s hopelessness might not be wrong.
For a long while, neither spoke. Mina sat very still, her hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the place where Phoebe had been as the distant lowing of sheep from the meadow and the hum of bees threading through the lavender filled the silence.
