“Oh. It is over.” Caroline sat back in her seat and collapsed her telescope, her bottom lip protruding as though she had been robbed of a treat. Really. A woman of her delicate condition, even if said condition wasn’t yet widely known, ought to show more decorum. “That was the liveliest thing that has happened all week.”
“But hardly appropriate.” Phoebe turned her head barely enough to see the crowd dispersing, but the two men in the middle of the odd display were pulling on their coats and exchanging huge grins. Phoebe hastily looked away again. “Did you hear how it came about? They were tossing food at one another at their club, like common ruffians in a public house.”
Caroline had obviously grown used to Phoebe’s ways and tended to ignore her sister-in-law when Phoebe addressed subjects relating to decorum. As a married woman, perhaps Caroline did not worry as much over her reputation as Phoebe must. But associating with the dough-ball-duel was not high on Phoebe’s list of accomplishments she hoped to expound to a future mother-in-law.
People climbed back into their carriages or made their way across the green lawns of Hyde Park, everyone chatting and laughing about the duel they had witnessed. Doubtless, accounts would appear in every newspaper about the event, all of it mocking both the participants and those who had lingered to watch.
Phoebe narrowed her eyes, sweeping the carriages lined up in front of theirs, looking for a particular gentleman in a plum-colored coat. Mr. Richard Milbourne, heir to an estate estimated to be worth eight thousand pounds per annum. Rumor had it he wished to marry before the end of the Season.
From what Phoebe knew about him, he might prove an excellent husband.
“Mr. Fenwick,” Caroline called, startling Phoebe out of her search. Surely, Caroline did not mean to call over one of those men, in public, no less. Mr. Fenwick, coat in place, trotted over to the carriage from his place on the green, wearing a wide grin. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, leaving it a brown mass of waves with blotches of white dough sticking this way and that. His eyes were on Caroline until he was but a few feet from the carriage, and then his gaze flicked to meet Phoebe’s glare.
The grin faded abruptly, and his cheeks reddened. Good. Perhaps her sophisticated disapproval put him in mind of where he was and with whom he was speaking.
“Mrs. Kimball,” he said, bowing from his place at the side of the path. “Good afternoon.”
Caroline laughed, the cheerful sound causing Phoebe to grit her teeth. Everyone in the vicinity would stare at them. “Please, Griffin, we have known each other since our infancy. Call me Caroline.”
That brought Phoebe’s attention back to her sister-in-law. “I did not know you were so familiarly acquainted with this man.” She spoke without thought, then pressed her lips tightly together. But really, she had been shocked into the exclamation.
Caroline was not at all put out. “Of course. Why would I not be? My family and the Fenwicks have been intimately connected for years. Our fathers’ estates adjoin one another.” Caroline batted her pretty, blonde lashes at Phoebe, but that placating trick only worked on Phoebe’s older brother. “Please, allow me to introduce you. Phoebe, this is Mr. Griffin Fenwick. Griffin, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Phoebe Kimball.”
Phoebe’s good manners forced her to turn to the gentleman, staring down into his twinkling blue-gray eyes as he bowed. He kept his gaze directed at her through the gesture, which made her blink. Men normally did not appraise her so openly.
“Miss Kimball, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your sister-in-law spoke of you a great deal last time she visited Essex.” He straightened after she gave him a brief nod, his expression still one of amusement.
“I have heard her speak of you, on occasion. My brother had the most to say after meeting you.” Phoebe refrained from mentioning that her elder brother, Caroline’s husband, mostly commented on the man’s ability to make others laugh. Not much else was said about him, in his favor or otherwise. Likely, the man was little more than a fool.
Usually, when someone stared down their nose at Griffin, he did not care. The opinions of others, even pretty young misses with pert noses, were of little importance to him. On more than one occasion he had seen the bores of Society grimace at his antics. But it was rare someone so young refused to see the humor in his escapades, and it gave him pause.
“I rather liked your brother,” he told Miss Phoebe Kimball. “A good chap, really.” It somewhat surprised him that a man who seemed as eager to laugh as Mr. Joseph Kimball would have a sister with such a stern and disapproving countenance.
The young woman’s smile appeared, though it was tight as a miser’s fist. Shame. She was likely more than pretty when she smiled. Her eyes slid away from him, back to the line of open carriages finally beginning to stir on Rotten Row.
“Caroline,” she said, her delicate eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Look. Mr. Milbourne is coming closer.” She adjusted her posture and widened her eyes.
Griffin raised his eyebrows at Caroline. She met his gaze and shrugged, one corner of her mouth tightening as though to say to him, I haven’t any idea what she sees in him.
“Have you a wish to meet Mr. Milbourne?” Griffin asked, keeping his tone light. He and Milbourne had gone to Oxford at the same time, and they now belonged to the same club. Griffin rather pitied any woman who wound up with the man. He had no thought for the feelings of others, living only for his own pleasure. Rumor was he had become quite the gambler of late, too, to the distress of his family.
Miss Kimball cut him a look from the corner of her eye. “Do you know him, Mr. Fenwick?”
“Somewhat.” Was it his place to tell the young woman the man she wished to meet was a crass and arrogant imbecile? Likely not. He shrugged. “I can introduce you, if you wish.”
Noticing more sticky dough upon his shoulder, Griffin grimaced. He must still have quite a bit in his hair. He started combing his fingers through it again, drawing out sticky white clumps into his fingers. The young woman leaned away, though it would be quite impossible for any of the dough to land upon her as she was above and several feet away from him.
“That would make this outing worthwhile for Phoebe,” Caroline said, releasing a sigh as she began to fan herself. “Though I am content to have merely witnessed your duel. It was such fun, Griffin.”
He grinned at her. “The viscount is an excellent bowler, I should say. He certainly trounced me, which is all the more insulting since I came up with the idea.”
Miss Kimball made a noise of impatience in the back of her throat. “Mr. Milbourne is nearly here,” she whispered. “Please, Mr. Fenwick, if you would—?”
“Of course.” He opened the door to the phaeton, jumping in to sit across from the ladies. Miss Kimball drew back in surprise, her jaw dropping open, while Caroline covered a smirk with her fan. “You did not expect me to stand in the road to make such an introduction, did you?” he asked, keeping his tone innocent.
Color rose in her cheeks, and the young woman did not appear to know what to say. He winked at her, then turned to the approaching yellow phaeton. “Ah, Milbourne. Good afternoon.” The other man was wearing a very purple coat, and a silver waistcoat that looked as though it would not cover his growing middle much longer.
Milbourne, driving himself, slowed his single horse. “Is that you, Fenwick? Do not tell me you caused all the fuss on the green.”
Griffin laughed. “Very well, I will not tell you such a thing. Instead, I will introduce you to these fine ladies. Mrs. Joseph Kimball and her sister-in-law, Miss Kimball. Mrs. Kimball and I grew up as neighbors. Ladies, Mr. Milbourne and I attended Oxford at the same time.”
Milbourne’s eyebrows rose, and he leaned somewhat closer. “Miss Phoebe Kimball? I have heard all about you, of course, but I did not expect to be so fortunate as to receive an introduction.” His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, as they likely would at an especially good hand of cards.
It was rather unlikely they would run in t
he same circles, Griffin supposed, given that Milbourne preferred gaming tables to the marriage mart.
Miss Kimball smiled, though it was something of a subdued expression, and tipped her head to one side. “Oh, it is I who am fortunate to meet you, sir.”
Griffin lost interest in their exchange, looking back over the park. He had left his horse tied up beneath trees on the opposite side of the green, and he could see the beast still there, nibbling at the grass. He had nearly decided to excuse himself when he heard Mr. Milbourne ask to call on the young woman.
That brought his attention back to the conversation, and to a blushing Phoebe Kimball. She appeared rather pleased with herself as she gave the man permission to visit and take tea with her the next afternoon.
Caroline was still waving her fan and seemed even less invested in the conversation than Griffin. Given that she was likely Miss Kimball’s chaperone, that did not bode well.
“I look forward to coming to know you better, Mr. Milbourne,” the unmarried miss said with a simpering smile that looked not at all natural upon her face. He had thought she had rather intelligent brown eyes, but if she sought the company of one such as Milbourne…
“Capitol. Good to see you again, Fenwick. Mrs. Kimball. Miss Kimball.” Milbourne tipped his hat to them and went on, grinning rather like a wolf who had been invited into the sheep pen.
Frowning, Griffin looked to Caroline. “You are not really going to allow an association with Milbourne, are you?”
That brought both women’s attention to him. “I do not see why not. I know nothing to concern me about the gentleman.” Caroline smiled, though the expression appeared tired or strained. She did not seem herself, really. When he looked to Miss Kimball, her eyes were narrowed.
“I do not expect you to understand someone of Mr. Milbourne’s reputation,” the young woman said, somewhat defensively. “His family is known quite well in London, and I have never heard anyone speak ill of him.”
Most likely because speaking of his sort would not be considered polite conversation, Griffin thought. It was not his place to become involved. Surely, Miss Kimball’s brother would learn of the meeting and caution his sister. Unless Mr. Kimball knew nothing about Milbourne, either. It was not as though he paid much attention to Society, now that he had procured a wife for himself. He had said as much to Griffin the previous summer.
Griffin shrugged away the troubling thought. “It is none of my business, of course, Miss Kimball. I am certain we all ought to form our own opinions of those we associate with.” He tried one of his more charming grins in an attempt to coax her back to good humor. Instead, she wrinkled her nose at him and turned away, as though interested in something on the other side of the road.
Petulant little thing, for all she had a lovely profile.
But it was none of his affair. Griffin smiled at Caroline, wishing her well, then took his leave of them both and descended from the phaeton. He strolled across the green, grinning a bit to himself when he stepped over a particularly large clump of bread dough.
He had brought laughter to more people than he had planned that afternoon. It did everyone a bit of good, he knew, to have something cheerful to speak of rather than the usual gossip or news of the Continental war. With a bit of a sigh, he mounted his horse and went home. His parents would most likely wish for an account of his afternoon before they prepared for dinner and their usual evening entertainment.
Even as he tried to decide which parts of the dough-duel to exaggerate to see his mother laugh, he could not help but think of Milbourne’s pleasure at meeting Miss Kimball. It was enough of a distraction to him that when he arrived home, he stopped to speak to the butler.
After all, no one in London knew more about the gossip of gentry and nobility both than the household servants.
“Miss Kimball, sir?” Bastion asked. “Yes, sir. The rumor is she is on the lookout for a husband with a nest as well-feathered as her own. I could not say why, of course. But I do believe this is her third season.”
“When you say well-feathered nest,” Griffin said, raising his eyebrows, “do you mean that she is wealthy? I did not think Caroline Wynncroft married into a wealthy family.”
“Not precisely wealthy, sir.” Bastion’s forehead puckered as he thought. “But I believe there was some scandal last year, when a man in search of a fortune attempted to court her. He was exposed, of course. Miss Kimball left London, likely in some embarrassment.”
That made Griffin nod slowly as he worked out the rest himself. “She would not wish to fall prey to a fortune hunter again, therefore she would look for someone not necessarily in need of her dowry. I suppose that makes sense.” He winced, thinking again of Milbourne’s rather unsavory habits. Even if the man had money enough at the moment, he might not hold on to it if he continued gambling. And keeping a mistress.
Not that it was his business. Perhaps he could pen a letter to Joseph Kimball and express his concerns. That seemed like the best course of action in such circumstances. Or pay a call on the man. Yes, that would have to do.
Griffin went in search of his mother, his grin more confident now that he had decided upon a course of action.
Chapter 2
A Little Luck
Mr. Joseph Kimball had left Town to see to a matter on his father’s estate. That was what the Kimball butler told Griffin the next morning when he asked to be admitted into the house. Griffin stared at the butler with confusion.
“What of the senior Mr. Kimball?” Surely, Miss Kimball’s father would serve just as well. He need only deliver a warning. It mattered little to whom, so long as the individual cared about Miss Kimball’s happiness.
“He did not come to Town this Season,” the butler said, somehow looking and sounding stiffer than before.
Griffin took a card from his coat and gave it to the servant. “Here is my card. Will you take it up to Mrs. Joseph Kimball? She and I are friends.”
The butler took the card, then placed it on a silver platter on a table near the door. “I am afraid she is resting and is not to be disturbed, sir.”
There were very few hours left before Miss Kimball was to entertain Mr. Milbourne. While nothing dire was likely to occur during their casual appointment, it would be best if she were warned not to schedule another. He should put her on her guard, at the least.
Leaving the house with a quick step, Griffin went directly to the rooms he kept in town. When his parents came to London, he usually stayed with them, but keeping his own set of rooms had proven quite handy on more than one occasion. Independence from one’s parents assured more felicity and understanding when he made decisions for himself without first consulting them. They loved him, of course, but Griffin needed a place all his own.
He let himself into his rented rooms inside what had once been a very elegant townhouse. Three rooms with doors opening into each other belonged to him. He used one for dining, one as a bedroom, and the largest as a place to entertain guests and relax.
He went into his bedroom where a writing desk sat beneath a wide window. Griffin dropped into the chair and rummaged about in the drawers until he found everything necessary to write a letter.
The moment he dipped his pen in the ink, however, he realized his mistake.
He had planned to write Caroline, but she might not see his letter if she had taken ill. The butler had seemed more than adamant about her remaining undisturbed, after all. No one else was in the house, except Miss Phoebe Kimball herself. Writing a young woman, without parental permission, was most improper.
Griffin tossed the pen down and leaned back in his chair.
Impropriety had rarely stopped him before, but he had never mixed anyone in with his plans without their permission. Miss Kimball would likely object to him taking such a liberty as writing her a personal note.
But then, if she did not know where the note came from, or who had penned it, she would have no reason to be upset.
Thus justified, Griffin took the
pen up once more.
Two letters waited for Phoebe in her room, after she had spent a marvelous quarter of an hour in Mr. Milbourne’s company.
Perhaps marvelous overstated the time spent with the gentleman, but Phoebe needed to be positive. His fortune was similar in size to hers, which meant they would enter into any match made as equals. That was a high mark in his favor.
She took her letters from Lawler, thanking the butler, and went into the study to open them. She recognized the hand on the first, and the thickness of the paper made it clear there was more to the packet than merely a letter.
But it could not be. She had no need of the bracelet, or of the good luck the girls had come to associate with it. Everything in her life went according to plan, no luck necessary.
Yet when she lifted the seal and unfolded the paper, a handkerchief fell to the desk with a light clatter. Phoebe hesitated, then lifted the thin cloth to reveal a bracelet of red round beads. It was from Lavinia. She said nothing extraordinary, but the paragraph explaining the bracelet was of interest.
I know this is a trying time for you, dearest. Please consider wearing our bracelet. I think it will bring you luck—and possibly love—on your husband hunt.
After reading through the letter twice, Phoebe sighed and looked down at the bracelet. There would be no harm in wearing it, even if she did not need any extra good fortune. She could look on the bracelet as a simple trinket, reminding her of her friends and simpler times.
In a moment, she had it wrapped about her wrist. The clasp was one the girls had made certain each of them could easily do up alone. A small snick secured the red beads to her wrist, and almost immediately Phoebe felt as though each of her friends stood before her.
Daphne, Marah, Lavinia, and Isabel. How she missed them. They had been as close as sisters during their time at school. But it had been years since they had met up, all together.
Letters for Phoebe (Promise of Forever After Book 1) Page 2
