The realization settled deep, quiet but insistent, and cut deeper than she cared to admit. She had been so quick to judge Mr. Godwin by what he lacked. Had measured him against a standard that was as empty and worthless as Mr. Winwood’scompliments. And what had once been appealing was sour and stale. An unappetizing mistake.
“Do you think I would marry someone who doesn’t share my beliefs—especially given my profession?” asked Mr. Godwin, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why did you marry me?”The question thrummed in her heart and mind, demanding to be asked. Yes, he had admitted his motivations for proposing, but the more Phoebe considered her behavior, the less sense it made. Mr. Godwin could’ve rescued a good many ladies from genteel poverty. Could’ve chosen one who hadn’t taken delight in mocking him.
Mr. Godwin claimed it to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, yet the more she came to know her husband, the more Phoebe felt as though the benefit had landed squarely on her shoulders.
However, she wasn’t brave enough to broach that subject. For all that she wanted honesty, only a fool asked a question when they weren’t prepared to accept the answer and the possible implications (both good and bad). Besides, there was a far more pressing question.
“Why do you play the fool?”
Chapter 21
Clutching the basket before him, Mr. Godwin stared at her for a long moment, his brows raised.
“From our first meeting, I’ve known only the halfwit sycophant, but you boast no grand aspirations for power or income, and you treat all the gentry with the same excessive deference, even if they cannot further a cleric’s ambitions.” Phoebe considered the gentleman before her. “But today I met a creature I do not recognize. One who is engaging and kind and someone I would be glad to call a friend.”
Pausing a moment, Phoebe forced herself to ask, “Or was the avuncular man at the Harveys’ the act? I do not believe so, but I cannot reconcile the two divergent versions of you.”
Silence settled between them, gathering weight with each heartbeat, yet Mr. Godwin did not answer. He stood motionless, the basket hanging from his arm, his expression giving nothing away as his gaze remained fixed upon her, intent and impenetrable.
And the silence stretched.
Phoebe felt it in the back of her throat, in the way her breath refused to find an easy rhythm. His stillness allowed too much room for interpretation, and her worries rushed to fill it.She became acutely aware of herself—of how abruptly she had stopped and of the sharpness of her words.
“I didn’t hide who I was. You simply refused to see past the halfwit,” he finally said.
Phoebe scoffed. “Do not blame me for my impressions when you did your best in Haverford to play the part. You laid the ground so thoroughly that I could not see the trees for the forest.”
Drawing in a breath, Mr. Godwin nodded, his shoulders dropping. “With Lady Cecilia in the village, I had to be on my best behavior, lest word get back to Kingsmere.” One short, but significant pause, and then he added, “And it can be difficult to recall myself when I am around the gentry. Here, I must always be on my guard.”
“But why?”
Mr. Godwin leveled a disbelieving look at her. “You have met Mrs. Whitcombe. Can you truly stand there and tell me it isn’t necessary?”
“She may have granted you the living, but she cannot take it once it is given.”
“True, and she cannot even show her disapproval by curtailing my income, for it is out of her control,” he conceded. “But she can withdraw the vast sums she donates to local charities. We are heading into a hard winter for the parish, and I will not risk a single farthing when it might mean the difference between life and death.”
Phoebe opened her mouth to interject, but Mr. Godwin continued.
“No, Mrs. Whitcombe is not so petty that she would punish the poor, but she hasn’t the slightest notion how much it costs to keep a family clothed and fed nor the lengths people must go to earn it,” he clarified. “At present, I have her favor, so she is generous, and the others follow suit. But if that changes, howgenerous do you think they will be the next time I ask for a donation?”
Turning down the path, Phoebe urged her feet forward as she considered the choices before him. Even in Haverford, it would be easy for word to reach Mrs. Whitcombe through her niece or Mr. Godwin’s uncle, as the gentleman had help to secure him the position in Kingsmere. And Phoebe knew all too well how the gentry here were so eager to tattle to their beloved Mrs. Whitcombe.
All in all, it was a difficult position in which to find oneself. Was it any wonder that Mr. Godwin resorted to playacting?
“How do you do it?” she asked in a quiet voice. “How do you debase yourself day after day?”
“What do their opinions matter? The flattery and flummery have filled the church’s coffers, and my pride is not worth more than another’s well-being. I would gladly crawl on my belly if it did any good.”
Mr. Godwin spoke as though the matter were inconsequential. He had weighed the cost and paid it willingly, again and again, without expectation of credit, and that quiet strength caught her unprepared. Phoebe had thought herself resilient and self-possessed, yet here was a man who set aside his pride as easily as one might shrug off a coat. And not out of weakness, but out of choice.
“But your peers think you a lackwit,” said Phoebe, her cheeks heating as she recalled the various comments she’d overheard amongst the ladies of Kingsmere. “They respect your office but laugh at you.”
Stopping in place, Mr. Godwin faced her. “And I say again, what does that matter? I know who I am. My Maker knows who I am. My friends know who I am. Those who refuse to look past my surface do not, so why should it bother me if theymisunderstand me? And for that matter, why does any of this bother you? I didn’t think you cared about society’s opinion.”
Gaze dropping, Phoebe’s eyes traced the packed earth at their feet. In that small pause, her own conduct came into sharper relief. For all that she met the world with a lift of her chin, her pride commandeered far too many of her thoughts and actions. After all, she claimed not to care one bit about her husband’s opinion, yet hearing the disappointment in his tone pricked at her heart and caused her cheeks to burn.
