All rigidity gone, her weight leaned fully into him now, and Samuel felt the tremor of her breath against his neck and the damp warmth where her tears soaked through the cloth. Therewas nothing orderly about it. No dignity to be preserved. Only her grief, given voice at last, and it made something in his chest crack open.
Bowing his head, Samuel’s own breath hitched as his sorrow broke free. Tightening his arms around her as much as he dared, he held as fast to her as she did to him, and they remained like that, bound together in the gray chill, her sorrow loud and his silent. The sharpness of the past days faded as they braced against this new heartache. Samuel found he had no appetite to nurse grudges or lay blame or to preserve the brittle satisfaction of grievance. Neither of them stood blameless.
For now, there was only this shared grief, and the quiet relief of not carrying it alone.
Phoebe’s tears quieted, and she took in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t listen to you. About the Hollises.”
Not loosening his hold on her, Samuel thought he ought to be surprised, but he was more surprised that he wasn’t.
“I sold my tea,” she whispered. “And they used it to buy sweets and toys instead of shoes or pay the rent.”
“I’ll replace it.”
Phoebe gave a weak chuckle. “I do not need tea. It is a luxury I can easily do without.”
That admission settled somewhere low and steady in Samuel’s chest, warming places that had been sore and chilled for days. Without reservation or a trace of self-pity, she had sacrificed something that had mattered so dearly. Not the cost of the tea or the status of having an entire caddy of the stuff, but something about the ceremony meant a good deal to his wife.
Samuel tightened his hold by a fraction, not in comfort this time, but in acknowledgment. Of what she had chosen. Of what she had relinquished without complaint. The quiet practicality of it undid him more thoroughly than any grand declaration might have done.
His mind returned, unbidden, to the sight of her seated in Mrs. Whitcombe’s drawing room—spine straight, chin lifted, pride set carefully aside. The way she had laid herself bare, not out of weakness, but out of resolve. How she had fed every vanity, bowed to every hierarchy, all for the sake of a lonely old man who could no longer speak for himself.
There had been nothing small in it. Nothing timid. It had been magnificent. And here she stood now, tear-streaked and spent, dismissing her own loss with a soft, wry breath. Samuel swallowed, throat tight. She had erred, but he could summon no resentment in the face of the sacrifices laid bare.
Straightening, she put some distance between them, and Samuel yearned to pull her back.
“I do not begrudge them a little indulgence, and I am glad the children were given such a delightful day,” she began, and Samuel held his tongue, though it was clear that a few sweets and trifles amounted to only a fraction of what she had given, and their rent remained in arrears. “But it pains me to know that, once again, I ignored your advice and chose poorly.”
Phoebe faced him fully, her shoulders sinking as the color drained from her face. “After much consideration, I see now what I ought to have known from the first. For all that this marriage is meant to be a blessing to us both, I think it safe to say that you have suffered for it more than I. Mrs. Whitcombe is ill-disposed toward me, and you have been made to bear the brunt of it.”
Samuel frowned, for he wouldn’t say that was true—especially after their audience with her just moments ago—but he waited to hear what Phoebe was driving toward, though nothing could’ve prepared him for the words that followed.
“I think it is best if we part ways.”
Chapter 35
Everything stilled as though the world had slipped sideways and left Samuel without footing. Her words echoed, absurd but unmistakable, refusing to soften no matter how he fought them. His breath stalled somewhere between ribs and throat, the next inhale scraping painfully when it finally came.
A denial rose whole and immediate, a physical thing that tightened his chest and set his pulse racing. The idea tore at something instinctive, conjuring images of empty rooms and solitary evenings.
Yes, Samuel enjoyed his peace and quiet but more so with Phoebe at his side. Conversation with her wasn’t noise. The fractures of the past days—the missteps, the words spoken too hastily or not at all—were rendered meaningless when he considered his life without her in it. Arguments and all.
*
Drawing in a breath, her brows furrowed as she considered him. “For all that Mrs. Whitcombe wished you to marry, I suspect she will be quite sympathetic if her rector is abandoned by his wife like she was abandoned by her husband. My sister, Pippa, was unhappy that I chose you over her, so I am certainshe will welcome me now. Her eldest will require a governess soon, and I do not believe Mama has been as much of an aid to her and Lucille as they had hoped she would be.”
Phoebe was babbling. She knew she was, but she couldn’t help the stream of words that kept spilling forth.
“All because of an argument?” asked Samuel with a puzzled frown.
“All because we are clearly unsuited for one another,” said Phoebe with an equally deep furrow of her brow. “We have fought so much—”
“Because we are terrible at being honest with one another, regardless of our promise at the outset,” he said with a huff. “Though it is understandable, as nothing about our marriage has followed the usual patterns. We weren’t even friends until just recently, so it is little wonder that we do not understand the nuances of our relationship. It is a trial by fire, so to speak.”
Pausing, Samuel canted his head as he studied her. “Or did you think we would never argue?”
Straightening, Phoebe considered it. “In all honesty, my parents never did. But then, they rarely spoke at all.”
With a shake of her head, she turned away with a sigh. “This is for the best. Mrs. Whitcombe has been placated, you will be painted as the victim of my cruel desertion, and I wouldn’t plague your parish any longer. Only the Coulter and Mrs. Broad will mourn my absence, so it shan’t cause you much trouble amongst the neighborhood.”
