And three exchanges later, he did it again by declining a sale that forced her into the very position she was desperate to avoid, and Mrs. Kirk’s hands tightened around her cards.
“Have I done something wrong again?” asked Samuel, frowning at his cards as though not understanding what they meant. “I know speculation relies on foresight, and I fear mine is unequal to yours.”
Phoebe managed to hide a sputter and watched as Mrs. Kirk drew a slow breath, her composure reasserting itself with effort. Stumbling over himself again, Samuel offered up alitany of apologies, verbally flogging himself whilst praising her forbearance to such a degree that the lady did not seem to notice just how much he was trouncing her.
But then, neither of them had a chance of overtaking Phoebe as she secured yet another decisive card. Mr. Norcroft grumbled into his glass before motioning for Molly to refill it, though his wife tugged at his sleeve.
“Well, then,” he said, the legs of his chair scraping softly against the floorboards as he shifted. “I hadn’t expected you to be so skilled at a game calledspeculation, Mrs. Godwin.”
The slightest shift of his tone, yet Phoebe felt his meaning. No doubt as Mrs. Whitcombe’s man, he knew far more about her family than he ought. Lowering her eyes to her hand, she fought against the heat filling her cheeks as she shrank beneath his gaze.
Perhaps a bit of Samuel’s strength was precisely what she needed.
Forcing herself to straighten, Phoebe let out an airy laugh. “I simply buy whichever card is prettiest and hope for the best. If I am doing well, it is entirely due to luck. I certainly do not have the head for strategy, as you do, Mr. Norcroft."
Punctuating that with a smile full of sweetness and sunshine, Phoebe turned her attention to her cards, though she felt Samuel’s attention on her as the gameplay continued. Slowly raising her eyes to his, she saw the corner of his mouth lift as amusement flickered in his gaze.
And together, they shared a silent laugh.
***
The cards blurred in Samuel’s hands as the rounds wore on, one scarcely distinguishable from the last. He followed the play well enough, though his interest waned as the burning candle shrank. The room was growing too warm. The voices too loud. The laughter too boisterous. Shifting in his seat, he sorted through his cards and forced himself not to look at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Yet, all in all, Samuel didn’t regret the evening. He wasn’t as optimistic about the outcome as his wife, but watching Phoebe progress throughout the games was more entertaining than the company was exhausting.
Where she had once played with quiet confidence, she now allowed herself small liberties—an artless hesitation before laying down a card or a look of innocent surprise when fortune favored her yet again. She was learning the shape of the room, the temper of its occupants, and testing her footing in a way that was unmistakable to him.
Mr. Norcroft’s presence still grated, Mrs. Kirk’s kindness still rang hollow, but beneath it all ran an unexpected current of pleasure. The game Samuel had begun was now taken up by another player. A gauntlet thrown.
Leaning back in his chair, he held the cards loosely in his hands and watched as his wife made quick work of the others, all whilst cajoling them back into high spirits (except for Mr. Norcroft, who was far more keen on the spirits in his glass).
“Perhaps it is time for a new game,” said Samuel when Phoebe’s victims were well and truly trounced and had accepted their defeat (albeit begrudgingly). “We have some refreshments, should you require them.”
Rising to their feet, the guests availed themselves of the tea and cakes Molly had laid out, but Phoebe slipped away and came to his side.
“I did not see it,” she whispered. “But I do now.”
“I have not made it easy for you to see it,” he replied, his throat tightening around that admission.
Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “But I am sorry all the same. It seems I continually underestimate you.”
“And I am continually amazed that you married me at all. It is a miracle you didn’t run, screaming from the church when it came time to recite your vows.” Samuel spoke as he always did, though this time, it was purposeful, and just as he wondered if she would recognize the humor hidden within it, Phoebe smiled. It was small. Hesitant, really.
But she understood the jest for what it was.
“In truth, it is quite freeing,” he added, glancing out at their guests. “When people think you a fool, they do not guard their words, and they dismiss and excuse your ‘missteps’ more than they would those they respect.”
“Mrs. Kirk came close to bludgeoning you,” she said with a strangled laugh.
“If I must be subjected to all sorts of indignities, I should be allowed some amusement, and it is quite diverting to see how close to the line I can come before I cross it.”
Phoebe huffed. “You sound like my brother. Frederick enjoys twitting people, growing more amused the more uncomfortable they are.”
“He is a good man,” murmured Samuel, his thoughts turning back to the gentleman. Though he knew little of Frederick Voss, he improved with each new account, and Samuel couldn’t help wondering how the gentleman was faring since the loss of his family’s estate. Perhaps he should write to his new brother-in-law.
“That he is,” said Phoebe, linking her arm through his once more. “In the past few months, I’ve often thought Frederick was the only good man in the world, but I am beginning to think there is at least one more.”
“Yes, Mr. Colby is a fine specimen.”
