“I am glad to be of service. Do send word if you require anything else,” replied Phoebe, though her expression strained as her heart sank.
And with that, she strode away. The task had seemed simple, yet clearly, she had done something wrong. If only she hadspoken to Mrs. Jameson before yesterday, then she could’ve done more to improve upon the box—
“Mrs. Godwin,” called the older lady, and Phoebe turned to find her walking slowly towards her. “Do not make me come all the way to you, my dear.”
Jolting out of her thoughts, Phoebe hurried forward and offered an arm, which was accepted and used to steer Phoebe toward another house.
“Come now, Mrs. Godwin. You are coming for a visit.”
Even if Phoebe ignored the steel woven into those words, there was no battling the lady’s firm hold or determined gaze.
“Only if you will remind me of your name,” said Phoebe with a chagrined wince. “If I am to sit in your parlor, I must admit that it has slipped my mind.”
“Mrs. Broad, my dear,” said the lady, leading her into a good-sized cottage. “And do not fret one bit about it. My husband was a vicar, and I well remember the struggle to recall all the new names when we settled into our first parish. I fear I was forever offending.”
Motioning her toward the sofa in the front room, Mrs. Broad ordered her maid-of-all-work to bring refreshments before settling in beside her guest, though Phoebe’s thoughts latched tight to the word “vicar.”
After so much confusion and floundering, here sat a woman who had occupied Phoebe’s role, and the coincidence felt pointed, like a firm nudge onto the proper path. Relief flooded her chest, rising quickly until it pressed against her ribs and made her eyes prickle. Here was an answer to her prayers.
Yet her stomach sank as she considered the path forward: to ask for guidance would be to admit ignorance and confess how poorly she understood the role she now occupied. Her cheeks flushed, and Phoebe felt like scowling at herself for feeling so outof sorts: she was not a girl fresh from the schoolroom. Yet the thought of laying her flaws bare left her feeling faint.
Still, the need pressed harder than her pride. Mrs. Broad understood the confusion and unspoken expectations; she possessed knowledge Phoebe could not afford to overlook. The notion of fumbling onward alone, guessing at duties already well defined by custom, suddenly felt far more mortifying than the act of asking.
Phoebe drew a careful breath and settled her hands in her lap. If salvation lay within reach, she would have to grasp it. A moment’s discomfort was better than being willfully blind and ignorant. It was time to be brave.
Chapter 17
“With your experience, you must have a unique understanding of the troubles ailing the parish,” said Phoebe.
Mrs. Broad’s brows rose at that. “This wasn’t our parish. I am from Kingsmere, and I returned home after my husband passed and his successor took possession of the vicarage.”
“You were forced from your house?” Phoebe didn’t know why she asked the question, for it was the way of things. The building belonged to the parish, not the clergyman himself. However, Phoebe hadn’t considered that one day she would lose yet another home.
“My dear, you look faint,” said Mrs. Broad, the wrinkles in her brow creasing all the deeper. “How are you settling in? I have heard some odd accounts, but I imagine Mrs. Whitcombe is difficult to navigate, and you and your husband have so many dealings with her.”
Phoebe’s thoughts tangled, each pulling in different directions until the knot was too strangled to loosen. Words pressed close, eager but unformed, and she felt the urge to explain and justify every small confusion and misstep as proof that she was merely ignorant, not apathetic. Yet heat sweptthrough her once more, condemning the weakness that required this conversation.
Resolve quivering, Phoebe cursed herself. She ought to have leapt into the fray the moment she’d decided to speak to Mrs. Broad, but time had allowed another wave of self-recrimination to envelope her.
Surely she ought to manage on her own. Phoebe was no fool. She understood society and how to navigate those waters.
Phoebe drew another breath, slower this time, and felt the weight of the moment settle fully upon her. Pride urged silence. Need required speech. She hovered between the two, aware that whatever she said next would alter the course of more than this conversation. To find her footing in this world, she needed to choose—but only one path forward would provide the answers she sought.
“It has been miserable,” whispered Phoebe, forcing the words out.
The admission loosened something that had been held too tightly for too long. Once freed, it did not come apart neatly. Thoughts surged forward without order, each demanding to be acknowledged before the last found its place, and Phoebe spoke in fragments, circling back upon herself, correcting one point only to abandon it for another, her hands moving as though they might shape sense from the air.
The life she’d lost and the unwanted marriage it had brought about. The constant uncertainty. The expectations never voiced yet keenly felt.
Phoebe’s composure thinned as she spoke, replaced by a breathless urgency that left little room for dignity as the words tumbled over one another, unpolished and imperfect, carrying with them the strain of having been rehearsed in silence countless times but never spoken aloud. Whatever judgment might follow, she had already crossed the greater threshold—theone that required her to admit, if only to herself, that she could not navigate these waters alone.
“I have been nothing but a burden, and I am certain my husband regrets our marriage,” said Phoebe, her breath growing ragged. “I have managed to make some friends in the village, but they are so occupied with their children and managing their households that they haven’t the time to guide me. I do what I can, but I manage to cause trouble even when I am doing something so innocuous as delivering a christening box—which I didn’t know I needed to do until it was too late to do it properly.”
Mrs. Broad held up her hands and forestalled Phoebe’s next complaints by quickly adding, “Do not allow Mrs. Talley’s behavior to sour your experience today. The vast majority of those who receive charity are quite grateful for it, but there will always be those who feel entitled to more. Had you brought the box she wanted, she would’ve found something else to criticize. You did a fine job, given the circumstances.”
Giving her an encouraging nod, she waited until Phoebe managed to take several breaths before adding in a gentle tone, “Didn’t your mother ever take you to deliver charity baskets? Or aid with your village’s various charitable societies?”
Phoebe scoffed, the sound a touch watery. “Mrs. Sarah Voss is a lady of leisure in every definition of the word. No doubt, she gave funds, but she did not surrender her time nor did she expect us to. The mistress of Dunsby Hall busied herself with personal accomplishments and social calls—and I cannot seem to do even that properly.”
