Wrenching her hand free, Phoebe’s voice trembled as she fought to keep control. “I do not have the luxury of waiting and hoping for ‘someone better suited,’ Thea. You are not the only one whose life is unraveling around them. I must marry. I have no choice!”
The words came quicker, her voice cracking as her dreams were swept away in the current, pulling far out of reach. “Even if Frederick manages to make a success of his business—which I am certain he will—the best I can hope for is to be the pitiable poor relation who lives off the charity of her family. Even if I had the skills to earn my bread, the best a woman can hope for is to be a servant.”
Curse their father!
Phoebe clung to her memories of the man, but her affection tangled with the knowledge of what he’d done and the mess he’d made of their lives, wrapping tighter and tighter around her ribs until she couldn’t breathe. Father’s poor choices had brought them to this moment. His foolhardy spending. His reckless investments. His children were not the authors of their destruction, but they would pay for his vanity all the same.
Or rather, Phoebe and Frederick would. Their eldest sisters were married, comfortably situated, and living far enough from the scandal to avoid most of the gossip. Their youngest brother had a career and profession that could see him through if Timothy did not follow Papa’s example. However, Frederick would be forced to sell his home and birthright, abandon his future with Thea, and make his own way in the world, whilst Phoebe would be left to the mercy of her siblings’ charity.
“My sisters are not unkind,” said Phoebe in a hollow tone. “I am certain they will welcome me gladly into their homes—heaven knows Frederick shan’t have the space or income to provide for me—but I would rather be mistress of my own home than a servant in another’s. Even if it means marrying a near stranger.”
Phoebe’s voice wavered, a ragged sound escaping before she mastered it again. “And now, the one gentleman who appealed to me, who made me laugh and feel desired, is pursuing another.”
Speaking the words gave them weight, and they settled heavily upon her shoulders. Phoebe couldn’t say she loved Mr. Winwood, but a love match was a luxury she could no longer afford. The best she could do was cling to the persistent hope and possibility that had clung to every interaction with that gentleman, whispering that she might still gain both security and affection. In time.
And a marriage of convenience to a friend wouldn’t be a misery. Or feel like a prison sentence.
Mr. Godwin’s irritating face appeared in her thoughts, springing forth as though conjured from the pits of Hell to torment her, and Phoebe’s stomach lurched with a sharp, sickening drop. Her breaths grew ragged as though she were breathing through wool, and she kept her gaze fixed ahead,determined not to let her face betray the dread that chilled her veins.
Saints above. She would have to marry that odious man.
Chapter 2
Phoebe’s stomach churned, threatening to cast up the cakes and tea she’d eaten. Thoughts scattering to the farthest reaches of the world, she scoured for another possibility—another course—yet only three roads lay before her.
Either she could live off her sister’s charity as the poor, pitiable relation who was little better than a drudge. Or become a proper drudge and enter service, which boasted all of the hardships of the first path with only the blessing of a meager income as her reward (though she might still end her days living off parish charity once she was too old and infirm to work). Or Phoebe could accept Mr. Godwin’s proposal and be bound to a man who possessed all the appeal of a baboon.
Was comfort and security worth the irritation of watching him bow and scrape for the rest of his days? Of cringing at every obsequious comment and self-righteous observation? Of binding herself to someone whose company she could never tolerate, let alone enjoy?
Would she regret it more than losing the opportunity to become the mistress of her own home? To become a mother?
Phoebe lurched to her feet so abruptly that the chair protested, its legs shrieking as they slid across the flagstones. She could not sit here another moment with those thoughtscoiling around her mind. Her hands moved of their own accord, clumsily snatching up pencils and shoving them into the case as though speed might outrun inevitability, but the leather roll fought her, the cord slipping through her fingers, and she tugged it tighter with more force than necessary. Her drawing board tipped as she reached across the table, and it hit the stone with a sharp clatter.
A gray smear marked the side of her wrist where she had dragged her hand through the graphite, and she scrubbed at it with frantic movements, as though she might rub away the entire moment. And Phoebe kept her eyes on the table—on the wood, the paper, and anything else that did not look back at her with pity. She could not bear that. Not while the word “marry” sat in her mind with Mr. Godwin’s name attached to it, heavy and unavoidable.
“I am sorry for your disappointment, but I do not think you would be happy with Mr. Winwood.”
Miss Ashbrook’s words broke through the haze that clouded Phoebe’s mind, and she turned slowly to stare at the lady.
“I only meant that what I have heard and seen doesn’t recommend him,” the lady stammered, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “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 Miss Ashbrook, 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.
For all that her cousin claimed Miss Ashbrook to be sensible and feeling, the lady was doing a poor job of displaying either of those qualities now; despite Thea’s attempt to interject, Miss Ashbrook continued down her foolhardy path.
“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 Miss Ashbrook. “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 Miss Ashbrook spoke over her, hurrying to add, “You may like Mr. Winwood now, but how long before the strain of all those troubles grew more tiresome than anything Mr. Godwin could say or do?”
