“I would be honored, Mr. Godwin.” Though she paused before adding, “As we seem to be on the verge of striking up a proper friendship, I think it is time you call me Phoebe.”
Offering up his arm with a nod, Samuel pointed them toward home, and feeling that they ought to start this new venture on the proper footing, he repeated his previous invitation with that suggested revision.
“Then will you assist me with my event,Phoebe?”
The lady settled in beside him with a smile, her pace matching his. “I would be honored,Samuel.”
Chapter 23
Autumn sunlight had a quality all its own. Like Midas of old, everything it touched turned to gold. It was more than merely the changing foliage, those greens and greys shifting to yellows and oranges. It was as if the very air felt brighter as Kingsmere slipped on its finery for one last moment of glory before shrugging on its thick winter coat.
Of course, that beauty was entirely lost on Samuel, whose attention was fixed inward as his horse plodded along in her usual unhurried manner. The day had left its mark on him in the strain of his muscles and the pressure in his temples, and each familiar turn of the road reminded him of visits yet to be made and quiet grievances that required careful handling. Names and faces crowded his mind, each attached to a need that could not be ignored simply because he was weary.
His comfortable chair and warm dinner called to him, luring him in with hopes of a quiet evening. Perhaps he could convince Phoebe to read aloud. She gave the words new life, fleshing out the world with an added dash of excitement and mystery; Samuel had never thought himself a fan of romances, but he understood why Mr. Colby begrudgingly embraced them when she served as narrator.
But that dream dissolved into the ether as he recalled what awaited him tonight.
The dinner party. It would be loud. It would be taxing. It would require more of him than he was inclined to give at present. Worse still, he could not lay the blame anywhere but at his own feet as he had encouraged Phoebe to engage with local society, so he could not complain when it invaded his home.
Try as he might, Samuel could see no way out of it, though his thoughts sifted through impossible escapes, searching for his salvation. However futile the efforts.
And just as he was about to nudge his mount homeward, a name leapt into his mind: the Graywells. Shoulders dropping, Samuel slumped in his saddle. If he returned home now, he would have a few moments to collect himself before the company arrived, but the Graywells were of an age where they required more attention, and it had been too long since he’d paid them a call.
Creeping Jenny paused to nibble on an obliging tuft of grass peeking up from the edge of the stone wall lining the lane, and Samuel didn’t begrudge his mount the respite: he needed to think.
Duty or rest? There was nothing wrong with taking a short respite; otherwise, he would be of no use to anyone. Besides, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, and the day was nearly over. Postponing it until tomorrow was reasonable. If he had the time. Which he did not.
Nudging Jenny down the lane, he pointed her toward the Graywells’ cottage and dismounted before tying the leads to the weathered gate. The cottage crouched close to the lane, the threshold worn smooth beneath countless shoes, and Samuel paused only long enough to straighten his coat before lifting his hand to knock.
The door opened almost at once, and Mrs. Graywell peeked through, a shawl pulled tight against the chill. A smile brightened her features, and she stepped aside, ushering him in as Mr. Graywell rose unsteadily from his chair beside the hearth.
“Please keep your seat,” said Samuel, helping Mrs. Graywell into her own before snatching up one of the chairs beside the kitchen table and dragging it over as the familiar scents of boiled broth, wet wool, and coal smoke wrapped around him.
“What a blessing!” said Mrs. Graywell, reaching over to pat Samuel’s knee. “A visit from both Godwins in one afternoon is a great joy, indeed.”
“Both Godwins?” asked Samuel, glancing between the pair.
“Your good wife sat here for hours, helping Mrs. Graywell with her knitting,” explained Mr. Graywell.
“She asked me to teach her, though I can hardly work the needles anymore. She is such a sweet young lady,” added his wife as she pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders, her expression brightening even more as she spoke of their lessons—of stitches that had gone awry more than once, of how Phoebe had laughed at herself and tried again, of how the time had slipped past without notice.
And Samuel listened, his heart heating as thoroughly as their pot over the fire.
Mr. Graywell reached for his wife’s hand, gently rubbing the swollen knuckles as a matching smile filled his face, his joy magnified by seeing hers.
“I swear your missus is determined to knit blankets and shawls for the entire parish,” said the fellow. “Aye, you chose wisely for yourself, Mr. Godwin.”
But at that, Mrs. Graywell straightened, her eyes widening as she gaped at their visitor. “Good heavens! What am I doing, gabbing on like that? Why are you whiling away your time here when you ought to be home?”
Samuel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wife was all nerves when she left us,” Mrs. Graywell continued briskly. “Though she was doing her best to remain calm, she was wound as tight as a fiddle string. Hosting her first dinner party is a momentous occasion, and you ought to be home, calming Mrs. Godwin—not listening to us blather on.”
Mr. Graywell nodded in firm agreement. “Aye. We are well enough for the evening, and she needs you underfoot, even if she pretends otherwise.”
Giving her visitor’s knee another fond pat, Mrs. Graywell motioned toward the door. “Go on with you. See to your wife. We have been blessed enough for one day.”
There was no refusing the dismissal, so Samuel rose, accepting their insistence with a mixture of reluctance and gratitude. In a trice, he settled into his saddle once more, and as Creeping Jenny guided them home, Samuel’s thoughts were already there, fixed upon the lady who awaited him.
