Phoebe refused to blush, though the lady smiled as though she had. Leaning forward, Mrs. Broad reached for her hand, though she was too far, so Phoebe leaned forward to bridge the distance.
“Whether our affection is returned is of less consequence than we tell ourselves.” Mrs. Broad squeezed Phoebe’s hand, the pressure light but sure. “Receiving it is wondrous and gratifying, to be certain, but it cannot sustain happiness on its own. If you doubt me, simply look at the world around you, for everyone has love in their life, whether from sweethearts, friends, or kin, yet so many are forlorn and lonely. The most miserable souls often have great wells of affection flowing into their lives.”
Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Broad shook her head. “Love’s transformative power comes from whatwefeel for others, for it is thegivingthat brings us joy. So, if you sit about waiting until he proves himself, you are holding your own happiness hostage, and you are too intelligent to do that.”
Like flakes of snow, the words drifted through her thoughts, gathering slowly as they fell. There was satisfaction in the doing and the small, steady efforts that filled her days. Having her efforts ignored or unappreciated was frustrating to be certain, but it didn’t diminish the joy Phoebe felt in the moment. Or the pride she felt, regardless of the reaction she received.
For all the tears and uncertainty that had marked her time in Kingsmere, there was something here she had never found in Haverford. Her days no longer stretched before her, long and empty, filled only with idle pursuits. They were fuller now. And so was she.
Yet she wasn’t as beloved here as she was there. Kingsmere did not despise her (not entirely), but Haverford was her birthplace with friendships forged over the years. Countless experiences bound them together in a manner that could not be mimicked in a few short months, but that barrier did not diminish the joy Phoebe felt when she served her new home.
So, did it matter if he loved her? Her heart had already rushed ahead without her permission, and denying it would not alter that fact. Samuel Godwin had woven himself into every facet of her life.
A knock at the door broke through Phoebe’s musings, and Mrs. Broad didn’t bother to rise.
“Come in, Mr. Godwin,” called Mrs. Broad, and Samuel was there a moment later, his winter coat settled on his shoulders—the same shoulder that had supported her in the vestry moments ago when she had felt like falling to pieces.
Rising to her feet, Phoebe readied herself, and when they stepped out into the frosty world, she didn’t question the impulse that had her threading her arm through his as she leaned into his side. Samuel’s brows rose as he glanced at her, but he accepted the closeness without comment as they wandered down the lane.
“What do you think about organizing a lending library?” asked Phoebe, glancing at Samuel. “Something modest that would allow all those who cannot afford books to practice their reading?”
“And invite insurrection when the lower orders decide they are equal to their betters?” asked Samuel, his dry wit lacing every word. “Mrs. Whitcombe would have us arrested for sedition.”
For the first time in far too many days, Phoebe chuckled. It was quiet and short, but it was there nonetheless, and Samuel gave her a pleased smile.
“Then perhaps a proper parish school,” suggested Phoebe. “Our dearest patroness does not object to dame schools as they teach practical skills alongside basic education.”
Samuel’s brows rose as he considered that. “There is a need. And if we give it some thought, I am certain we can find a way to present it to Mrs. Whitcombe that won’t have her fearing for her life.”
“‘We,’” whispered Phoebe.
There were plenty of people in her life who cared deeply for her. But Frederick had fretted overhisduties to the estate. Mother had fussed overherfuture. Despite that tragedy befalling all of the Vosses, they’d spoken in the singular. And Phoebe couldn’t think of another person who considered her in that joint fashion. As if they were a single unit. A pair indelibly bound.
Samuel used that word so freely, and when he looked at her, those ties strengthened, knitting their hearts together in a way that vows and licenses couldn’t.
This was love. Not the bright burning inferno she had imagined, but the slow and steady warmth of a properly tended hearth. Something that fed the soul and sustained throughout the cold nights.
Wandering on, their conversation drifted from one notion to the next. The village lay just beyond the parkland gates, unchanged and yet full of new possibilities. And as their voices softened and the path carried them homeward, everything else faded from thought, leaving just her and Samuel.
Together.
Chapter 37
“Good game, Mrs. Godwin!” cried Mrs. Whitcombe as they rose from the card table. “You almost had me then.”
“You have a talent for cards, madam,” said Phoebe. “I do hope we may play again so that I may hone my meager skills, for I fear Mr. Godwin has no head for cards.”
The gentleman in question nodded beside her. “None at all. I am an utter dunce.”
“Yes, but we shall keep him nonetheless, shan’t we, Mrs. Whitcombe?” asked Phoebe, turning a conspiratorial grin to their hostess, who fairly preened.
“That we shall, my dear.”
Samuel offered her his arm, and Phoebe took it without hesitation as the players dispersed to find refreshments.
Langley Court hummed around them. The drawing room was alive with motion and sound: the chairs scraping softly against polished floors, the low flutter of cards being shuffled and dealt, the rise and fall of conversation. Along the edge stood a table laden with dishes both delicate and indulgent, the scent of sweets and lemonade mingling in the warm air.
Silks brushed past one another, jewels caught the light, and laughter rang out at intervals, bright and assured. Kingsmere’sfinest had gathered in force, filling every corner with color and confidence, each guest playing their part in the evening’s vibrant display.
