“I hardly think Napoleon will trifle with foreign wars when France has only just found peace,” said Samuel, hoping it might keep her from growing truly agitated, and though Mrs. Whitcombe paused, the incredulous expression on her face was hardly comforting. It was that of a headmaster questioning the intelligence of his pupil.
“Do not be a fool, Mr. Godwin,” said Mrs. Whitcombe. “France and England cannot leave one another be, and I fear their ‘revolution’ may finally make its way to our shores. When structure fails, anarchy ensues, and I shan’t allow anyone to destroy Kingsmere’s peace. Not even the rector’s wife.”
Bowing, Samuel said, “Your concern does you credit, madam. I understand the depth of your fears, and I wish to assure you that had not your niece recommended Mrs. Godwin so favorably, I would never have considered her. But my wife has suffered many difficulties of late and is still sorting out her place in Kingsmere. I assure you she has no thoughts of sedition.”
Saying the words felt so ridiculous that Samuel yearned to laugh. The whole situation was ridiculous. Mrs. Godwin didn’t suffer fools, but she was hardly a revolutionary. Yet the fear in Mrs. Whitcombe’s eyes was genuine, and the strain in her features made it clear these weren’t idle concerns.
“Marriage is meant to be a boon to both husband and wife,” said Mrs. Whitcombe, sloughing off the moment of weakness as she met his gaze with that steely strength once more. “You aresuch a skilled rector, and I wished this blessing upon you to help you reach your full potential.”
“It is far too early to say my marriage is a failure,” said Samuel, though he hoped more than believed those words. “Regardless, the choice has been made, and there is no undoing it now.”
Mrs. Whitcombe’s gaze turned to the window once more, and she whispered, “No, there is not.”
The room settled into stillness, the moment stretching thin between them. Samuel followed her gaze to the glass, where the light fell pale and indistinct, offering no comfort beyond its constancy. Fears and disappointments layered one atop the other, etching themselves into the lines of her face, and Samuel couldn’t help the twinge in his heart at the sight.
Flawed and foolish she may be at times, but Mrs. Whitcombe was human like all the rest, driven by the very sensibilities she warned against.
Drawing in a breath (and drawing her attention once more), Samuel nodded. “I can only hope that with our guidance, Mrs. Godwin will find her way.”
Eyes flicking to the ladies standing round about, Mrs. Whitcombe considered all the listening ears, and a flash of color so faint that it could easily be mistaken for a bit of rouge crossed her cheeks. But just like his marriage, wishing this conversation had taken place in private was a matter that could not be undone.
Straightening, the lady glanced at her audience. “I am certain we all wish to welcome our rector’s wife and enfold her in the arms of the parish, so we will do our best to aid and assist as she finds her footing in Kingsmere.”
Murmurs of assent echoed throughout the room, and Samuel hoped he hadn’t unwittingly ushered in new troubles to plaguehis wife—and him by extension. Bowing once more, he gave his farewell and strode from the parlor, his duty fulfilled.
The walk home did little to settle him. Though the path was familiar, his mind would not ease into the gentle bends, and Samuel’s pace did not slow until Langley Court was well behind him; even then, his stride remained brisk, his boots striking the earth with a determination he did not feel.
“Marriage is meant to be a boon to both husband and wife.”Or so Mrs. Whitcombe had said.
Thoughts drifting back to Mrs. Godwin’s proposal (for shehadproposed to him), Samuel considered the manner in which his bride-to-be had described their marriage. Two people brought together out of necessity, living parallel to one another and intersecting only when it was “a boon.” Nothing more. That was precisely what he needed. Wanted.
His work as the spiritual and emotional guide of the parish had stripped him of any romantic notions, for marriage troubles vexed his parish more than anything else. Even financial hardships paled in comparison, for though they always led to matrimonial acrimony, there were plenty who suffered from poor marriages and healthy coffers—such as his dear patroness.
His university education had not prepared him for that aspect of his profession. They taught about sermons and doctrines, but it was the counseling that occupied the majority of his time, be it financial, spiritual, or spousal in nature.
Why would he wish to marry and bring those troubles into his home? To add yet another person to the list of those whom he tended and watched over?
Samuel slowed as the path bent toward The Parsonage, his steps finally losing their urgency. The house came into view, modest and unassuming against the clear blue sky. His refuge. Or it had been. Mrs. Godwin would be inside, sitting with abook or writing a letter—doing anything to entertain herself and nothing more.
A weight settled beneath his ribs, dull and persistent. He had chosen this. Chosen quickly, yes, but with intent. He had believed that goodwill and patience would see them through the rest. Now, as he reached for the door, Samuel wondered whether that alone could mend a union in which one party labored ceaselessly to keep the peace, whilst the other fostered unrest.
The latch lifted beneath his hand, and for the first time since the wedding, Samuel hesitated before entering his own home.
Voices came from the parlor, and he couldn’t help pausing just outside the doorway. Thank the heavens! Praise anything and everything that brought about this miracle! Though the voices inside indicated that there was only a solitary visitor in residence, it was noteworthy, and with Mrs. Whitcombe encouraging the others to embrace Mrs. Godwin, perhaps more would soon follow.
The voices drifted toward him in a steady, unbroken stream of a conversation that had moved well past pleasantries. Samuel identified Mrs. Kirk immediately; there was a fullness to her speech, a confident warmth that filled a room without effort, and no one held such passion for The Royal Humane Society.
“We aim to prevent the unnecessary loss of life,” she added with the gusto of one yearning to make a convert of her audience. “Intervention is a duty, and education is imperative.”
“Yes. That is a worthy aim,” replied Mrs. Godwin in a tone that was polite enough, though Samuel winced inwardly. Courteous. Correct. Yet entirely insufficient.
Mrs. Kirk pressed on, detailing the various efforts made by the society to better the world, and she spoke with the passion of one who had not merely donated but labored: writing letters, organizing collections, and coaxing subscriptions from reluctant pockets.
From the corridor, Samuel silently pleaded with his wife to engage with the lady. Ask a question. Express an opinion. Do anything that signaled more than mild disinterest. Mrs. Kirk was a force within Kingsmere, whose charitable endeavors encouraged so many in the village. To have her favor was no small thing. The lady did not require flattery, but she valued conviction, and allies were forged through shared purpose, not civility.
“With our efforts, we may improve lives all across England,” said Mrs. Kirk, and a rustle made Samuel think she was shifting in her seat, no doubt preening as she announced her latest coup. “Our district raised the most money in all of Northamptonshire. We were featured inThe Morning Chronicleand shall receive a commendation in the next Annual Report. But most importantly, those funds will go towards saving a good many lives.”
“From drowning,” said Mrs. Godwin, with the faintest hint of bemusement in her tone.
