Chapter 25
The game settled into a steady rhythm, the cards flying as conversation flowed, and the strain in Phoebe’s shoulders loosened as her attention sharpened, picking apart everything Samuel did.
Though she did her best to appear unaffected, a smile tickled her lips as she watched him study his cards with an expression of earnest concentration, his head tipped slightly to one side.
When the flow of offers lulled, Samuel hesitated, then glanced toward Mrs. Kirk. “I beg your pardon, but if I make an offer now, am I committing myself—or merely testing what the table will bear?”
Mrs. Kirk’s lips tightened. “You are committing, Mr. Godwin. The point is to act.”
“Ah. Of course.” He inclined his head, contrition neatly folded into the gesture. “How foolish of me. I quite see it now.” He named a modest price, his tone careful, almost deferential. “You explain it so clearly.”
The faint strain at the corner of her mouth eased, and she acknowledged the compliment with a small nod.
The play continued. Offers were made and declined, coins shifting hands in quiet increments.
Once, then twice more, Samuel hovered on the edge of speaking, only to draw back, his brows knitting as he studied the others.
“And yet,” he said thoughtfully at last, “isn’t restraint the wiser course? I should hate to overreach.”
Mrs. Kirk exhaled sharply. “Mr. Godwin, restraint is not the object of the game.”
“Indeed?” His eyes widened a fraction, as though the notion had only just occurred to him. “Then I am most grateful for your patience, madam. Your grasp of these matters is truly impressive.”
After a brief pause, Samuel named a price—low enough to seem tentative, yet placed with such quiet precision that it drew a card from reluctant hands and shifted the balance of the table in one stroke. And Mrs. Kirk watched the exchange with a strained expression.
“That was… unfortunate,” she said, her tone measured but taut.
“Was it? I apologize, madam. You have such a better grasp of the game, and I fear I am all thumbs when it comes to such matters.” Straightening, Samuel winced as though completely unaware that he had caused serious damage, though Phoebe spied a spark of humor in his gaze.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Kirk, giving him a long-suffering nod.
And three exchanges later, he did it again by declining a sale that forced her into the very position she was desperate to avoid, and Mrs. Kirk’s hands tightened around her cards.
“Have I done something wrong again?” asked Samuel, frowning at his cards as though not understanding what they meant. “I know speculation relies on foresight, and I fear mine is unequal to yours.”
Phoebe managed to hide a sputter and watched as Mrs. Kirk drew a slow breath, her composure reasserting itself with effort.
Stumbling over himself again, Samuel offered up a litany of apologies, verbally flogging himself whilst praising her forbearance to such a degree that the lady did not seem to notice just how much he was trouncing her.
But then, neither of them had a chance of overtaking Phoebe as she secured yet another decisive card. Mr. Norcroft grumbled into his glass before motioning for Molly to refill it, though his wife tugged at his sleeve.
“Well, then,” he said, the legs of his chair scraping softly against the floorboards as he shifted. “I hadn’t expected you to be so skilled at a game called speculation, Mrs. Godwin.”
The slightest shift of his tone, yet Phoebe felt his meaning. No doubt as Mrs. Whitcombe’s man, he knew far more about her family than he ought. Lowering her eyes to her hand, she fought against the heat filling her cheeks as she shrank beneath his gaze.
Perhaps a bit of Samuel’s strength was precisely what she needed.
Forcing herself to straighten, Phoebe let out an airy laugh. “I simply buy whichever card is prettiest and hope for the best. If I am doing well, it is entirely due to luck. I certainly do not have the head for strategy, as you do, Mr. Norcroft."
Punctuating that with a smile full of sweetness and sunshine, Phoebe turned her attention to her cards, though she felt Samuel’s attention on her as the gameplay continued. Slowly raising her eyes to his, she saw the corner of his mouth lift as amusement flickered in his gaze.
And together, they shared a silent laugh.
***
The cards blurred in Samuel’s hands as the rounds wore on, one scarcely distinguishable from the last. He followed the play well enough, though his interest waned as the burning candle shrank.
The room was growing too warm. The voices too loud.
The laughter too boisterous. Shifting in his seat, he sorted through his cards and forced himself not to look at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Yet, all in all, Samuel didn’t regret the evening. He wasn’t as optimistic about the outcome as his wife, but watching Phoebe progress throughout the games was more entertaining than the company was exhausting.
Where she had once played with quiet confidence, she now allowed herself small liberties—an artless hesitation before laying down a card or a look of innocent surprise when fortune favored her yet again.
She was learning the shape of the room, the temper of its occupants, and testing her footing in a way that was unmistakable to him.
Mr. Norcroft’s presence still grated, Mrs. Kirk’s kindness still rang hollow, but beneath it all ran an unexpected current of pleasure. The game Samuel had begun was now taken up by another player. A gauntlet thrown.
Leaning back in his chair, he held the cards loosely in his hands and watched as his wife made quick work of the others, all whilst cajoling them back into high spirits (except for Mr. Norcroft, who was far more keen on the spirits in his glass).
“Perhaps it is time for a new game,” said Samuel when Phoebe’s victims were well and truly trounced and had accepted their defeat (albeit begrudgingly). “We have some refreshments, should you require them.”
Rising to their feet, the guests availed themselves of the tea and cakes Molly had laid out, but Phoebe slipped away and came to his side.
“I did not see it,” she whispered. “But I do now.”
“I have not made it easy for you to see it,” he replied, his throat tightening around that admission.
Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “But I am sorry all the same. It seems I continually underestimate you.”
“And I am continually amazed that you married me at all. It is a miracle you didn’t run, screaming from the church when it came time to recite your vows.
” Samuel spoke as he always did, though this time, it was purposeful, and just as he wondered if she would recognize the humor hidden within it, Phoebe smiled. It was small. Hesitant, really.
But she understood the jest for what it was.
“In truth, it is quite freeing,” he added, glancing out at their guests. “When people think you a fool, they do not guard their words, and they dismiss and excuse your ‘missteps’ more than they would those they respect.”
“Mrs. Kirk came close to bludgeoning you,” she said with a strangled laugh.
“If I must be subjected to all sorts of indignities, I should be allowed some amusement, and it is quite diverting to see how close to the line I can come before I cross it.”
Phoebe huffed. “You sound like my brother. Frederick enjoys twitting people, growing more amused the more uncomfortable they are.”
“He is a good man,” murmured Samuel, his thoughts turning back to the gentleman.
Though he knew little of Frederick Voss, he improved with each new account, and Samuel couldn’t help wondering how the gentleman was faring since the loss of his family’s estate.
Perhaps he should write to his new brother-in-law.
“That he is,” said Phoebe, linking her arm through his once more. “In the past few months, I’ve often thought Frederick was the only good man in the world, but I am beginning to think there is at least one more.”
“Yes, Mr. Colby is a fine specimen.”
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 and fast, 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 for his presumption 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.