Would Mrs. Godwin become another supplicant, inserting herself into the games that kept him forever measuring his words and treading lightly? For one never knew when an innocent observation would make its way to the Queen of Kingsmere; like the proverbial roads of Rome, all gossip made its way to her ear.
Of course, Mrs. Godwin hadn’t shown any interest in social jockeying. It was one of the many reasons Samuel had proposed. But people could change. Especially when thrust into new circumstances, with new people.
Samuel exhaled slowly, irritation and unease tangling in his chest. When he’d set off for Haverford, he’d known that adding a wife to his household might erase the last refuge he had in the world, forcing him to weigh every word he spoke even within the safety of these four walls, and his heart poured out in prayer that he had not been mistaken in Miss Voss’s character. He couldn’t bear living with yet another person to placate and manage.
Forcing his feet forward, Samuel embraced what was to come. Whatever it was. If his home was to be another battleline in the endless campaign of parish life, then he would meet it as he always did—politely and warily.
Samuel swept into the house and entered the parlor to find the tea service laid out neatly, cups poised at the ready, the air scented with sugar and steeped leaves. Nothing was amiss. No raised voices. No brittle silences sharp enough to cut. Just twoladies seated comfortably, as though this were the most ordinary of calls.
Tea was harmless. Tea was civilized. Tea suggested banal pleasantries like uninspired observations about the weather. Samuel felt a cautious flicker of relief. Yes. Everything was fine. The unease permeating the room was naught but the newness of the situation—new marriage, new household, new rhythms still settling into place.
That was natural enough.
Schooling his expression into something suitably genial, Samuel stepped fully into the room.
Chapter 8
“Ah, Mr. Godwin,” said Mrs. Whitcombe with a regal wave of her hand, beckoning to him. “Your wife and I are just getting acquainted. It appears she intends to hire you a proper cook and host gatherings.”
Brows shooting upward, Samuel nearly beamed at the thought. Not that he cared one way or another, but the slight censure in her voice made it clear it mattered to the lady more than he’d realized. Thankfully, she was now able to enjoy a bit of a gloat at having gotten her way.
Motioning toward a seat, Mrs. Whitcombe invited him to sit in his own parlor, and Mrs. Godwin stiffened at that high-handedness, but Samuel gave her a slight lift of his fingers for her to let it go. Overstepping the bounds of a guest was of little consequence, after all.
“I am so happy for you to finally meet,” he quickly interjected, drawing their attention away from that faux pas.
“Yes, Mr. Godwin has told me so much about you, it feels as though we have already met,” said Mrs. Godwin in a dry tone, though his patroness took the statement as her due, giving that a sanctimonious nod.
“A rector cannot function without a wife to see to the many social aspects of his profession, and though I thought it ashame that our Mr. Godwin didn’t choose from one of our girls in Kingsmere, I understand the logic in doing so,” said Mrs. Whitcombe, giving the lady in question an appraising look. “No doubt it would’ve caused quite the stir when you chose one young lady over another.”
With a considering hum, she added, “When my niece wrote to me about your bride, I wasn’t certain what to make of your choice.”
“I had the great pleasure of meeting Lady Cecilia in Haverford,” said Samuel with a broad smile. “She is a credit to your family and the jewel of that village.”
Mrs. Godwin busied herself with the tea things, though Samuel saw the twitch of her lips that said she was laughing at him. So be it. Better him than Mrs. Whitcombe or Lady Cecilia. Though he couldn’t say whether Mrs. Godwin and the baronet’s wife were on cordial terms, it was safe to say that the first and second most influential families in the area had crossed paths many times.
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Whitcombe, waving his compliment away. “But she apprised me of the troubles facing Mrs. Godwin’s family, and I was shocked that you aligned yourself with them, what with the appalling manner in which her father behaved. To drive such a distinguished name into the ground is inexcusable.”
Shifting the cushion by her side, Mrs. Whitcombe added, “One must be careful in choosing one’s spouse after all.”
“Because one’s parentage determines one’s worth?” asked Mrs. Godwin.
Mrs. Whitcombe’s brows lifted a fraction. “Not entirely, of course, but does it not speak to some inherent flaw in a bloodline when someone blessed with a thriving estate brings it to ruin in such a short time?”
Mrs. Godwin set the teapot down with deliberate care, and she turned a quizzical look at her guest, saying in a light tone,“Oh dear, it appears I am an utter dunce, for I clearly do not understand the scriptures correctly. I thought that when our Lord was asked whether a man’s blindness was the result of his parents’ sins, He replied that a child is not made to bear the weight of their parents’ failings.”
Turning to her husband, Mrs. Godwin asked with wide-eyed (but entirely feigned) naivete. “Have I misremembered, Mr. Godwin? Or simply misinterpreted it? As the rector’s wife, I would hate to spread false teachings.”
The entire moment was genius. From the concerned furrow of her brow to the sweetness of her tone, everything about the lady gave the appearance of genuine concern whilst putting Mrs. Whitcombe so thoroughly in her place that the lady sat for a full minute without speaking. Mrs. Godwin’s humor laced into every inch of her, not openly mocking but giving no quarter, either.
And had it been anyone else but Mrs. Whitcombe, Samuel would’ve applauded the performance. Mrs. Godwin’s dry wit was yet another admirable quality, and seeing it in all its glory was a thing of beauty.
Mrs. Whitcombe cleared her throat, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet. “The Bible offers many lessons, my dear, but one must take care not to apply them too… generously. A family’s habits do not spring from nowhere.”
Reaching for her teacup, Mrs. Godwin’s smile did not waver. “Of course not. Yet everyone is an agent unto themselves, free to choose whether they embrace the habits and traditions of their family. I am simply relieved that the Lord does not heap punishments upon the heads of the innocents and does not rely upon us to sort the good from the bad. We should make dreadful work of it.”
“It is my experience that the Lord blesses the righteous and punishes the wicked,” said Mrs. Whitcombe with a sniff. “And the sight of such difficulties befalling a great family must be ajudgment from God. Unless you do not believe that He rewards those who follow Him.”
“I believe it would be far easier to choose the good if one always received immediate blessings,” said Mrs. Godwin with a beaming smile. “Just imagine what it would be like if every time we were unkind to one another, we received an immediate punishment. It would take all the fun out of gossiping, and society would be bereft of entertainment.”
