But that dry tone that had so often caused her to scowl or scoff now drew a huff and earned Samuel a shake of her head as Phoebe threaded her arm through his.
“Are you two having a nice chat?” asked Guy Coulter as he and his wife drew up beside them. The gentleman was just as bad as the lady, for they both took in the proximity and expressions of the pair and immediately gave Samuel and Phoebe knowing looks.
“Do you have something in your eye, Mrs. Coulter?” asked Phoebe with feigned innocence. “You are winking most strangely, and I am growing concerned.”
Elizabeth huffed, leveling a narrowed look at Samuel. “Are we now going to have to deal with two of you flitting about Kingsmere, teasing everyone in sight?”
“I do not know what you mean,” said Samuel, and his wife looked at him with a furrowed brow.
“I do worry about the dear,” added Phoebe with false concern. “She is speaking such nonsense. Perhaps, Mr. Coulter, it would be best to fetch her home. I fear she is not in her right mind.”
That earned her a laugh from Guy, and Samuel turned back to the other guests.
“Would you care for another round of speculation?” he asked.
“Not with Mrs. Godwin,” said Mr. Norcroft as his wife reached for the glass in his hand. “It is no fun to play against someone who knows the cards before they are even played.”
The words struck with a bluntness that stole Samuel’s breath, and silence fell upon the room as they all stared at the fellow. Cheating? Not said outright, but the accusation hung there all the same, filling the space between them. Heat gathered low andfast, coiling tight beneath his ribs, and Samuel’s teeth clenched until his jaw ached.
Had Phoebe been a man, the insult would demand satisfaction, the kind of escalation that left no room for retreat. To speak such a thing to a woman—one’s hostess of all people—was a particular breed of rude that left Samuel baffled.
Phoebe stood perfectly composed, her posture unaltered, her expression smooth enough to deceive anyone who did not know her well, but he felt the quiet strain beneath that stillness and the effort it took to remain unmoved. Samuel had seen it too many times as she walked through Haverford, her chin lifted while whispered judgments followed in her wake.
Both Godwins masked their frustrations and pains, but where Samuel took the path of subservient double-speak, Phoebe had perfected the art of the cool set-down, appearing to the world as though she were above their barbs—but they settled deep in her heart, piercing it through.
“Mr. Norcroft!” hissed Mrs. Norcroft. “That is enough.”
But the fellow waved it aside. “I am not the only one who was thinking it.”
Phoebe’s hold on Samuel’s arm tightened, but before he could say a thing, she laughed. “I am flattered, sir, that you think me so capable of manipulating the game, but I assure you it was honestly played. Fortune was on my side, but I am certain it will favor you next.”
That answer, so calmly given, stoked the pressure building within him. Phoebe had played cleanly, and yet, she apologized to Mr. Norcroft forhispresumption and inadequacies. Samuel drew a measured breath, forcing it deep, as his temper bucked and fought against the reins.
Turning away, Mr. Norcroft’s steps were unsteady. “I should’ve known better than to play against a lady whose family are liars and thieves—”
“Hold your tongue, sir!” barked Samuel.
Chapter 26
Silence fell, heavy and absolute, pressing against Phoebe’s ears until she was aware of her own heartbeat. The parlor froze around them, caught in a stillness so complete it felt unreal. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the candles burned without flickering, their flames the steady witnesses to this madness.
Her senses sharpened painfully, and Phoebe became aware of Mrs. Norcroft’s hand hovering uselessly at her husband’s sleeve, uncertain whether to restrain or retreat. Of Mr. Coulter’s startled stillness, his mouth hanging open as though he meant to laugh but forgot how. Of Mrs. Kirk’s expression, carefully vacant and waiting for someone else to react. And Samuel stood rigid beside Phoebe, his eyes burning into Mr. Norcroft as his fist clenched, fairly thrumming in his need to use it.
The silence stretched, thick and unwieldy, demanding to be filled, yet no one was willing.
Forcing a smile onto her face, Phoebe tried to speak, but her intake of breath broke the spell, and Mr. Norcroft puffed himself up.
“What do you mean speaking to me that way, Godwin?” he demanded. “You invited me here to extend the hand of friendship, and I was simply stating a fact. You knew who youmarried, so you cannot grow angry when I simply speak the truth—”
“I will not allow you or anyone to speak about my wife in such a disrespectful manner,” said Samuel in a quiet but no less forceful tone. “I certainly will not stand idly by whilst you blacken her name with outrageous aspersions. You are a sore loser and a poor drunk. Now, be silent, or I will throw you from this house.”
“Samuel,” gasped Phoebe, and she tried to think of something to alleviate the heaviness in the air, for her husband was clearly not in his right mind, but when she tried to step away, Samuel’s arm tightened around hers, keeping her locked in place.
“The devil take you, man,” spat Mr. Norcroft. “You’ve been a thorn in my side—”
“It is time for us to take our leave,” said Mrs. Norcroft, angling herself so she stood between her husband and Phoebe’s. Turning a hard gaze at Mr. Norcroft, she ordered, “Come.”
It was a tone to which all the gentlemen instinctively responded, for it was the one every mother, grandmother, aunt, nursemaid, and schoolmistress employed when their charges strayed well beyond the limits of acceptable behavior—and the woman’s patience—and they snapped to attention.
