Stepping between him and the guests, Phoebe angled him away from the other conversations.
“The man is pig-headed and cannot bear to hear anyone’s opinion but his own.” Samuel’s fist clenched at his side before he released it. “I made no headway with the obstinate fool. I might as well have been speaking to a post.”
“Come now. We knew nothing would be settled in a single evening,” she said, patting his arm. “We are laying the foundation for the peace to come. The Kirks are their closest friends, and the Coulters can set anyone at ease. Between them, this evening will be a success as long as we do not expect too much from it.”
Drawing in a breath, Samuel nodded and donned his Mr. Godwin smile once more as the pair turned to face their guests.
“As we have the venerable Mr. and Mrs. Whitcombe’s steward in attendance, I thought a bit of speculation might be in order,” Samuel said in a tone bright with admiration. “It requires sound judgment and insight into the minds of others, and I know of no one whose judgment and insight are so clear—or so regarded. I would be honored to see his skill put to the test.”
Samuel’s words landed smoothly, each one placed with careful regard, but Phoebe felt them like a weight on her back. She knew the purpose behind them—had known it the moment that ingratiating tone seized hold of his voice—but understanding did little to blunt the discomfort of seeing her husband play the sniveling, obsequious fool.
A warmth crept up her neck, settling just beneath her skin. She kept her expression composed, her attention fixed on the table and chairs set up in the far side of the parlor. This was necessary.
But Mr. and Mrs. Kirk exchanged a glance. Though swift and subtle, Phoebe spied it nonetheless: the slight tilt of the mouth, the flicker of shared amusement. They looked away almost at once, their expressions composed again, but the moment struck her like a slap to her cheek. Fire flared there, not sharp, but persistent, and she felt suddenly too aware of her place at his side.
“You are a coward, Phoebe Godwin.”
The thought appeared in her mind without preamble or bidding, sinking into her heart with utter clarity. Phoebe may claim to be confident, but it was Samuel who truly embodied it.
Who was Mrs. Kirk but a performer, throwing herself into charity for adulation whilst ignoring the needs of those around her? What did her condemnation mean? Samuel was doing his utmost to better his parish, which was far more important than Mrs. Kirk’s lectures. The lady had no right to mock him.
Straightening, Phoebe slipped her arm through her husband’s and held fast. His words faltered the slightest bit as he glanced at her, but otherwise, Samuel was in fine form as he guided them to their seats. Chairs were claimed and the cards dealt as the party shifted into the evening’s entertainment.Taking stock of their hands, the conversation settled into a steady cadence as they spoke of the village and the game.
But Phoebe’s attention slipped back to her husband as she considered that quick shift from growling complaints to ingratiating praise. Seeing his public mask settle into place with such ease and speed was rather impressive, and she found herself studying the performance as all those vapid words took on new meaning. And for once, she listened—truly listened—to “Mr. Godwin.”
Straightening, Phoebe’s brow furrowed as she considered his words and the man she knew. This was not capitulation. It was not flattery. It was something more precise, more deliberate. Samuel wasteasingMr. Norcroft.
Entranced with the performance, Phoebe picked apart everything he said as the cards flew. A faint emphasis on the wrong word that was easily ignored. A pause held a fraction longer than necessary. A double-meaning that was interpreted favorably by the listener. So many of them were barbs wrapped in such good humor that they landed without drawing blood, though that didn’t diminish the amusement of the wielder.
The lift of his brow, the faint curve at the corner of his mouth when he struck his mark, the way his laughter remained buried beneath that staid exterior. Had she not been married to the man for nearly three months, she wouldn’t have seen those subtle signs, but now, Phoebe couldn’t believe she had overlooked them for so long.
Her husband was a tease!
Chapter 25
The game settled into a steady rhythm, the cards flying as conversation flowed, and the strain in Phoebe’s shoulders loosened as her attention sharpened, picking apart everything Samuel did. Though she did her best to appear unaffected, a smile tickled her lips as she watched him study his cards with an expression of earnest concentration, his head tipped slightly to one side.
When the flow of offers lulled, Samuel hesitated, then glanced toward Mrs. Kirk. “I beg your pardon, but if I make an offer now, am I committing myself—or merely testing what the table will bear?”
Mrs. Kirk’s lips tightened. “You are committing, Mr. Godwin. The point is to act.”
“Ah. Of course.” He inclined his head, contrition neatly folded into the gesture. “How foolish of me. I quite see it now.” He named a modest price, his tone careful, almost deferential. “You explain it so clearly.”
The faint strain at the corner of her mouth eased, and she acknowledged the compliment with a small nod. The play continued. Offers were made and declined, coins shifting hands in quiet increments. Once, then twice more, Samuel hovered onthe edge of speaking, only to draw back, his brows knitting as he studied the others.
“And yet,” he said thoughtfully at last, “isn’t restraint the wiser course? I should hate to overreach.”
Mrs. Kirk exhaled sharply. “Mr. Godwin, restraint is not the object of the game.”
“Indeed?” His eyes widened a fraction, as though the notion had only just occurred to him. “Then I am most grateful for your patience, madam. Your grasp of these matters is truly impressive.”
After a brief pause, Samuel named a price—low enough to seem tentative, yet placed with such quiet precision that it drew a card from reluctant hands and shifted the balance of the table in one stroke. And Mrs. Kirk watched the exchange with a strained expression.
“That was… unfortunate,” she said, her tone measured but taut.
“Was it? I apologize, madam. You have such a better grasp of the game, and I fear I am all thumbs when it comes to such matters.” Straightening, Samuel winced as though completely unaware that he had caused serious damage, though Phoebe spied a spark of humor in his gaze.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Kirk, giving him a long-suffering nod.
