“I am pleased she attended,” he added.
“And why wouldn’t she?”
Samuel watched the lady closely. “Despite you two being thick as thieves, she was conspicuously absent of late. Clearly, some sort of fracture had formed, and I am pleased to see it was mended before we left—”
“How long until we arrive at Kingsmere?” she asked, without looking at him.
Drawing in a breath, Samuel explained the various plans for their journey home, including the changes to be made and the time it would take.
“Then we will be spending the night in Nethercombe?” she asked.
“I secured us a room in the coaching inn there,” he replied.
Mrs. Godwin gave a sharp nod of consideration, and though the answer didn’t seem as though it were such a grand declaration, Samuel watched as the lady steeled herself. That straightening of her shoulders. The stiffening of her spine. The lift of her chin. Though Samuel couldn’t claim to know his wife well, he had seen her don that particular strength many times—but then, it was understandable considering all that had been heaped upon her shoulders of late.
He just didn’t know why it should matter so much at this moment. The deed was done—
Straightening in his seat, Samuel embraced every last bit of his training and self-restraint to keep from reacting when he realized that not all had been done. When planning the voyage, he hadn’t thought twice about sharing a room as they would be husband and wife, but Mrs. Godwin hardly knew him, and Samuel was certain that her feelings towards him weren’t of the warm and welcoming variety.
Clearing his throat, he tried to think how to proceed. “I didn’t mean to assume that we would share a room. This whole affair has been rushed, and I am quite happy to secure another when we arrive.”
Mrs. Godwin shifted in her seat, turning her gaze away from the window and fixing those dark eyes fully on him. Of course, she said nothing. No, she allowed him to squirm in his seat as he considered what to say and how to address the looming marriage bed that lay before them. In truth, Samuel hadn’t really considered that aspect of marriage; Mrs. Whitcombe had simply sent him to find a wife, and his thoughts hadn’t strayed beyond the search.
“We needn’t hurry matters along…” Samuel cleared his throat again and tried to dispel the heat inching up his neck. For all that he was comfortable speaking about a great many difficult and tender subjects with his parish, he wasn’t prepared to do so with his stranger of a wife. “We know where we stand, and I hadn’t intended for us… to… I hadn’t considered…”
Mrs. Godwin’s brow arched upward, and a hint of humor sparked in those deep, brown eyes, though it was quickly snuffed when she spoke. “I assume you are referring to the marriage bed and all that entails, Mr. Godwin. Come now, sir. We needn’t faff about. This marriage may have begun on the wrong foot, but I have no intention of continuing in that vein. Honesty is the only way forward.”
Again, that strength gathered close, and Samuel hid another smile as his wife continued.
“I propose that we vow to always be forthright with one another. Even if it is unpleasant or sparks an argument, it is better than allowing matters to fester. Frankness is the only way our marriage will survive.”
“I suppose I ought to be surprised, but I should expect nothing less of the lady who proposed to me.” Samuel had meant it as a jest, but like so many others, instead of a smile or a witty retort, Mrs. Godwin’s lips pursed as though silently counting before she could trust herself to speak.
“You proposed, sir. I simply amended my answer.”
“As you say.”
Mrs. Godwin nodded and sighed. “We must start this marriage as we mean to continue, and that means being frank about our expectations. I want children, and whether or not you do, I am certain the Whitcombes will wish our family to be a good example and fill the pew. That cannot happen if we do not share a bed.”
Egads. Samuel reached for the window, cracking it open, though even that breeze could not cool the heat that enveloped the carriage. Especially as her blunt words stoked a flickering flame within his heart. It was hard not to admire the forthright manner in which the lady spoke; for all that she had been dealt a rum hand, Mrs. Godwin was moving ahead with dogged determination.
Yes, if Samuel Godwin had to marry, a lady like Miss Phoebe Voss was certainly the best choice.
“Even ignoring the fact that our marriage is not valid until that final bridge is crossed,” she said, hardly stumbling over the euphemism, “what good does it do to delay the inevitable? What would it serve? This is an arrangement, pure and simple. Do you agree?”
For all that she had asked him a question, Samuel found himself unable to answer. Having a mother and three sisters, he thought himself quite familiar with the fairer sex and the oddities that accompanied them, but not a single one of them would have ever spoken with such frankness.
And Samuel could not hide the smile that came to his lips.
“Do not laugh at me, sir.” The lady’s tone was ice, and her gaze was steel. “I did not want this marriage, but I will not be ruled by my circumstances. I will make the best of this.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” he said.
Nodding as though that was a response to both his faux pas and her question (and Samuel supposed it was), Mrs. Godwinreached into the small portmanteau resting on the seat opposite and retrieved a novel. The road was far too bumpy for eyes to focus on the words, but the lady settled behind it, her gaze fixing on the page.
Once more, a prayer entered his heart and drifted off into the ether, begging the Almighty and all the angels in Heaven that this had been a wise decision. For better or worse, it had been made, so there was no undoing it now, but with all the troubles hanging over him at home, Samuel hoped his choice hadn’t added to them.
What had he gotten himself into?
