“I will give you two a moment,” said Mrs. Godwin with far too much glee. “I wouldn’t wish to intrude on such adelicateconversation.”
Phoebe’s cheeks heated. She couldn’t stop them. They were agents unto themselves, determined to make their feelings known no matter how hard she tried to keep them in check. For his part, Mr. Godwin gave no sign of emotion.
The parlor door shut, and Phoebe allowed the words to burst forth.
“Do you still wish to marry me, sir?”
Mr. Godwin’s brows shot upward, but he schooled them with far more efficiency than Phoebe was able to manage. “You made your feelings quite clear before, Miss Voss, so I am at a loss as to why you would ask such a question.”
Squaring her shoulders, Phoebe tried not to think about that previous conversation. In truth, she could not recall everything she had said, but there was no forgetting the emphatic nature of her rejection.
“I understand your confusion, Mr. Godwin,” she said, keeping a tight hold on her nerves, though they longed to fidget with her skirts. “But as you eagerly alluded to my reduced circumstances and outlined how much our marriage would benefit me—”
“I do not believe I said those precise words,” said Mr. Godwin with a frown.
“Perhaps not, but it does no good to beat about the bush.” Phoebe refused to blush. Why must she bear the discomfort of something that was not her doing? It was her father’s reckless spending and speculation that had landed them in this difficulty to begin with, and her brother’s actions since Papa’s passing that had brought those failings to light.
Though she could hardly blame Frederick for that. Perpetuating Papa’s lies and concealing those losses made Phoebe’s stomach sour. Accepting the Vosses’ reduced circumstances was the only sensible way forward.
She just wished she’d been granted more time to prepare for it.
Forcing her thoughts from that avenue, Phoebe forged ahead. “You must marry to placate your patron and patroness, who insist their rector cannot be a perpetual bachelor, and you are the only gentleman of my acquaintance who cares not one jot that my family is now bankrupt, and I haven’t a farthing for my dowry. Marriage would be mutually beneficial to us both.”
With each word, the tightness in Phoebe’s chest loosened. This was not the marriage she desired, but this wasn’t charity.
“Ah,” said Mr. Godwin, a brow rising at that. “So, you spent the past fortnight scouring all of Haverford for a better offer, and having found none, you are here to reconsider.”
A self-satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, and Phoebe yearned to snatch it off and crush it beneath her heel. But it was not only impossible but inadvisable.
“I have spent the time in reflection,” she corrected.
Mr. Godwin’s brows furrowed with confusion. “But you said nothing could entice you to accept me.”
“I do not believe I said those precise words, sir.” Drawing in a breath through her nose, Phoebe said carefully, “Regardless, I spoke too hastily. You require a wife, and I require a husband, and as they say, ‘beggars cannot be choosers.’”
Opening his mouth to respond, Phoebe held up a staying hand, for it was clear to see that the fellow was too half-witted to comprehend the simplicity of this conversation.
“Please, Mr. Godwin,” she said, the words strangling her. “I may not have wished to marry for convenience’s sake, but I have acclimated to the idea. This is an arrangement. We each needsomething the other can give. Nothing more. You will spend your day with your work amongst the parish, and I will spend my days overseeing the household. Our lives will intersect at times, but beyond sharing a home, we will continue on much as we did before. We needn’t force this to be anything more than an arrangement.”
Phoebe paused to allow him to answer, but when silence followed that, she found more words tumbling forth. “I didn’t want to live such a solitary life, but I have come to realize that I can manage lonelinessorpoverty, not both.”
The options stretched before her with bleak clarity. “I do not want to be passed about my family like an unwanted heirloom they feel obligated to maintain, nor do I want to end my days as a parish charity case like governesses do in their later years,” she said, lifting her chin. “Both of those courses offer nothing but solitudeandpoverty for the rest of my days. At least with you, I wouldn’t endure the latter.”
Mr. Godwin opened his mouth, but Phoebe sensed it was another unnecessary observation, and she lifted a hand to silence him.
“Please, sir. I will not stand here, defending my change of heart,” she said. “You’ve known from the first that I do not love you, just as you do not love me. I will not prostrate myself and beg for your forgiveness for having expressed my distaste for this arrangement, nor will I pretend we are choosing this path of our own volition. I will not begin this venture with a lie.”
The gentleman considered her for a long moment. “But—”
Phoebe held up another staying hand; there was no need to revisit their previous conversation as it had no bearing on the present. “It is a simple question, Mr. Godwin, and it requires only a simple answer. Does your proposal of marriage still stand?”
“Yes, Miss Voss.”
Chains wrapped around her, binding her to this moment—to this man—and yet those muscles that had been strung as tight as piano wires loosened, allowing her to breathe fully. The sentiment was surprising, and yet, Phoebe clung to it.
Yes, she was accepting solitude within her marriage, but as Mrs. Phoebe Godwin, she would have standing in the village, friends, and children—good things that would be denied an impoverished spinster or governess.
This was a moment of celebration.
