Letters for Phoebe (Promise of Forever After Book 1)

by Sally Britton

  Phoebe saw Caroline and Joseph standing near the wall. When they spotted her, Caroline’s expression changed from merely cheerful to something bordering on excitement. Joseph, ever the protective older brother, merely raised his eyebrows. If Mr. Fenwick noticed them at all, he gave no indication as he swept her toward the couples arranging themselves upon the floor.

  The countess never gave out invitations on a whim, as all of Society knew, so her ball could not be called a crush. But thirty couples stood ready to dance, and more lined the walls. A set would easily take up half an hour, and perhaps a quarter more depending on the forms. Giving so much time to Mr. Fenwick made Phoebe sigh as she took up her position. Finding enough gentlemen to repopulate her list of eligible bachelors in a single evening had already felt like a challenge without such devotion of time to someone completely unsuitable.

  As she stood across from the gentleman, Phoebe kept her expression bored. The man seemingly went through life with the goal of self-amusement. She would give him nothing to laugh over that evening.

  He grinned at her anyway.

  “I have been pondering something, Miss Kimball.” He stepped forward and took her hand, raising it above them both and stepping back again.

  “Have you?” Phoebe refused to show interest, pretending to concentrate on the movements of the dance.

  “Yes. Your name.”

  She did not trip, but she did narrow her eyes at him. She lightly skipped to one side as the steps called for. “I cannot see how my name could possibly give you more than a moment’s thought.”

  “Your Christian name is quite lovely and unique. I cannot say I know of many ladies with such a name. It comes from mythology, I believe. Is it not the name of a Titaness? The first ruler of the moon, according to the Greeks.” He smiled as though he had said something particularly clever.

  Phoebe felt her nose wrinkle before she hastily reminded herself such an expression was not ladylike. “I do know the origins of my name, sir.”

  “Of course. But I wonder how it came to be chosen for you. Knowing such things, I believe, is telling.” He did not appear the least put off by her expression. The dance took them away from each other for several moments. When she returned to stand before him he spoke as though there had been no interruption. “Who named you? Your father or mother?”

  Though reluctant to engage in any conversation which might be perceived as meaningful, Phoebe knew he would not allow her to ignore the question entirely. “My mother suggested it. Her Christian name is Mary. She never liked that there were a great many who shared her name.”

  “She wished your name, and you, to be unique.” Mr. Fenwick nodded sagely, though his eyes brightened. “My mother named me with the same thought. Everyone on my father’s side argued with her, thinking I ought to be named something sensible like William.” His grin flashed as he walked around her and bowed to another lady before returning. “She said, and my father agreed, that she should like me to stand out among gentlemen rather than merely be sensible.”

  “Given what you were up to the day we met, I should say you succeeded in fulfilling her expectations.” Though likely not the way the woman had expected. Despite her earlier commitment to avoid being amused by the man, Phoebe had to smile a touch at that.

  He laughed aloud, drawing attention from other dancers, including smiles from several females.

  A gentleman with such open good humor was rather rare, especially in a ballroom where every man was either hunted or on the hunt himself. Mr. Fenwick’s above average good looks likely contributed to the indulgence of his humor. His bright eyes and dark hair, his lean and tall stature, would pull eyes in his direction even had he frowned.

  “Griffin is still more unlikely a choice than a Greek god’s name.” Phoebe snapped her mouth shut over the observation.

  “I know.” He took her hand again and moved in close, staying so a second longer than the other gentlemen in the line of the dance. As though he had rather be near her than keep perfect time. For an instant, his grin turned into a soft smile, and an emotion she could not name appeared in his eyes. Whatever it was, it made her heart skip most traitorously.

  He stepped away, and she released her breath without knowing when she had begun to hold it.

  His merry smile reappeared. “My mother was rather enamored with a Grecian fresco with a griffin standing guard over a fallen man. She and my father brought me up to be a protector, as all gentlemen should be, of those who stand in need.”

  Phoebe cleared her throat, impressed despite her desire to remain otherwise. “A noble calling, indeed. Do you feel you have honored their wishes?”

  “Not perfectly, but I have tried.”

  Her lips parted, but Phoebe could not think what to say. Most men of her acquaintance would have boasted of such a trait, or protested in a way that reeked of false-humility. She detected neither in the way he spoke. The last strains of the orchestra signaled their time to bow and curtsy to one another.

  As she stood, she barely noticed which couples left the row and who arrived. Phoebe’s gaze remained on Griffin Fenwick, who spoke to the gentleman on his left with animation. Phoebe recognized the man, but could not put a name to him immediately.

  “Your partner dances well, Fenwick,” the man said, casting Phoebe a polite smile, though he did not address her directly. They must not have been properly introduced.

  Griffin’s wide smile was his first answer, before he surprised her with his words. “Indeed, Miss Kimball’s grace lends at least some dignity to my own limited abilities.” More modesty, for he danced as finely as any man she had ever partnered. “After this dance, if you are very fortunate, the lady will allow me to introduce her properly.”

  Phoebe lowered her eyes, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. It was thoughtful of Griffin—she suddenly could not think of him as anything else—not to assume he could make introductions without her approval. His words had been kind.

  Why, again, had she been angry with him? It took some thought to remember.

  Griffin started to relax at last. Though Phoebe had begun the evening with a cold demeanor, by the time the second dance in their set began she had warmed considerably to him. Her smile appeared more, rendering her already lovely face more beautiful. Here was the girl who had walked with him in the park, before he’d muddled things at her doorstep.

  It had taken Griffin time to sort out how his conversation with her that day had turned into a low moment. Arranging for the Countess Vailmoore to invite the Kimballs to her ball had been the first step in his apology, though Phoebe did not yet know it. The next step would be to offer up the words themselves, and the final must be the introduction of several eligible gentlemen to her.

  Except Griffin found himself rather wishing he could ask her to dance again. Perhaps reserve another set, or the supper dance at the very least.

  “I find myself wondering, Mr. Fenwick, what you do when you are in Town. Do you come for the Society or for another reason entirely?” Phoebe asked, drawing him out of his study of her smile.

  “I come for the company. I enjoy being among friends,” he admitted. “Though I have an uncle in the House of Commons—my father’s younger brother. We support him with our presence, and our connections. He represents our little corner of England to great credit. Where we are, everyone is of the opinion that sheep need more rights.” As loathe as Griffin was to discuss politics, he enjoyed the way she laughed at his mention of the sheep.

  “Your wooly population must be quite pleased if he represents them well.” She did not hide her smile again. “I confess, my favorite part of the Season is rarely the balls. I rather like all the opportunities presented to see new things. I dearly love plays, though I know it is not the fashion to admit to enjoying them.”

  Griffin sighed deeply. “A sorrowful state of things, to be certain. Merely because no one goes to see the actors and actresses, but to spy upon the other boxes.”

  Phoebe danced with a lightness he h
ad not seen in her character before. Upon their first meeting, he had thought her too staid. But coming to know her, and getting glimpses of her character still more through her letters, gave him leave to like her a great deal. How could he not, when the only things she most wished for in a husband was a man who would be both a generous husband and kind father? She had not mentioned the wish for a title, for a certain amount of land or wealth, a house in town, or someone excessively athletic or handsome.

  His hand grasped her just above the wrist as they completed a turn, and he felt the presence of a beaded wristlet. Was it the same he had seen before? She had not been without it. Not since it arrived from Lavinia.

  They were nearly down the line of couples, which meant their time together would soon end. Given the way other gentlemen had been watching Phoebe as he promenaded her along, he would not get more than a moment or two to escort her from the floor before there was a clamor for introductions.

  Which meant it was time for his apology.

  Griffin sobered. “Miss Kimball, though this is not ideal timing, I fear I will not have the ability to offer you a sincere apology if I do not make it now.”

  She blinked at him, and then her expression clouded over. She turned away, walking beneath the joined hands of another couple, then returned to him. “I do not know what you mean, Mr. Fenwick.”

  “The other day, upon your doorstep, I misspoke. I only wish to tell you that I am sorry for speaking like a bumbling fool. I would never wish to offer you insult. I rather like conversing with you, and I wish to be friends.”

  Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink, and he felt his chest warm in response.

  Phoebe took hold of her skirt, preparing to curtsy, and he clenched his fists at his side waiting for her acceptance of his apology. “Mr. Fenwick, of course you are forgiven. Thank you.”

  Relieved, he offered up his final bow, and then held his hand out to her. Her fingers slipped into his palm, and despite the material of their gloves between them he would have sworn in that moment there was a very real physical connection. His heart leapt, and his grip tightened upon her.

  No fewer than four gentlemen converged upon them, as he had known they would, and the moment was lost. Given the brightness of her greeting to each of the men, Griffin doubted he would be granted another opportunity to engage her hand.

  The disappointment he felt upon watching her walk away on the arm of another ought to have surprised him.

  “Griffin.”

  He jolted and looked down at Caroline Kimball.

  “Oh. Good evening, Caroline.” He realized his greeting lacked warmth and smiled rather hastily to make up for it.

  She laughed and took his arm. “Do not sound so happy to see me, sir, or my husband may get jealous.”

  He relaxed, then looked again to where Phoebe smiled at her new partner. “I would not wish to stir such an emotion in one who loves you, Caroline.”

  “No. I imagine not.” Why did she sound so sly as she spoke?

  Griffin looked down at her again, but something told him he ought to change the subject quickly. “I hope you are enjoying your evening.”

  “Very much, thank you.” Caroline peered at him most thoughtfully, then turned her attention to her sister-in-law. “Thank you for displaying Phoebe’s dancing skills so well, and introducing her to so many. I am afraid I have not been an ideal sponsor this Season.”

  “I am certain you are doing quite well,” he said at once, purposefully guiding her to walk away from the dancers. “Though I had wondered why it is you are here and not the senior Mrs. Kimball.”

  “Oh, did you not know?” Caroline’s expression turned serious, her eyebrows drawn down along with the corners of her mouth. “Dear me. The family does not mean to keep it a secret, of course, though I suppose we have not discussed it much outside of our own home and friends.” She looked to the wall of chairs, where her husband conversed with other married men.

  “If you do not think you should tell me,” Griffin said, though his curiosity rose, “then please do not. I would not like you to betray any confidences.”

  Caroline shook her head. “It is not a secret, as I said.” Then she sighed. “Last autumn, my mother-in-law was struck rather suddenly. Apoplexy, her doctor said. She has improved a great deal, though she could not even speak for a time. I am afraid she is not able to move about as freely as she once did, and she thought her presence in London would hurt Phoebe’s ability to focus on the task at hand.”

  The task at hand, of course, was to find a husband. Griffin relaxed and looked out to where Phoebe danced, immediately finding her among the throng. His eyes were drawn to her rather like a magnet to metal. “I imagine someone of such a kind nature as Miss Kimball would be more concerned with her mother’s well-being than her own.”

  “That is precisely true of Phoebe.” Caroline’s smile appeared almost sorrowful. “Last Season, Phoebe kept apologizing for entertaining that scoundrel of a suitor. She takes things very much to heart. My sweet sister-in-law puts burdens upon her shoulders when they are not hers to bear.”

  Griffin added that to what he knew of Phoebe, unsurprised, and his heart softened toward her still more. He ought to have been alarmed. Yet Griffin had known the moment he saw her that evening, all pretty uncertainty at the foot of the stairs, that his feelings toward the idea of marriage were shifting.

  The list of suitors he had begun to compose for her, as her anonymous friend, needed one more name added to it.

  His own.

  Chapter 7

  A Calculated Risk

  To My Friend,

  You are bold, sir, to ask such a personal question. But given that the nature of our correspondence has been most personal, I will answer your inquiry. This will be my last Season in London because I am rather exhausted. Constantly putting myself on display has worn at my confidence, my mind, and my heart. Rather than carry on as some do, I will retire to my family’s home. It feels more dignified than putting myself upon the marriage market for a fourth year.

  Perhaps you already know, my dear friend, but I enjoyed myself at the Countess Vailmoore’s ball last evening. I met many gentlemen. Have you already learned their names? Are you prepared to tell me which of them is suitable and which I ought to avoid?

  I confess to looking forward to your notes. Though I do not know who you are, I appreciate the kindness you have shown in your words and advice. I wonder if you look forward to my letters at all? Regardless, I hope this note finds you in good health and happiness. I remain

  Your Friend,

  P.K.

  Phoebe sat at her desk, reading again what she had written. It was a dangerous game to play, writing a complete stranger. Yet she could not bring herself to tear the note to pieces, to throw it away. And her anonymous friend’s letters she kept bundled in her desk, a red ribbon matching the rampant lion seal and her bracelet holding them together in a tidy packet.

  If her friends learned of her exchanging letters with an unknown gentleman, what might they say?

  Marah would doubtless disapprove. As kind as she was, she was one to follow rules. Usually. Lavinia would worry. She did tend to mother the girls when they were together at school. Isabel’s reaction was not one she could be certain of. But Daphne—Daphne listened. Daphne was also in Town this Season.

  A stab of guilt made Phoebe wince. It was her fault that they had not seen each other more often. Phoebe had kept herself far too busy of late. And their family’s social circles did not overlap enough for accidental meetings.

  Phoebe determined to write her friend at once. She took out a clean sheet of paper and tapped her pen to her lips as she thought.

  To Miss Windham,

  My dearest Daphne, I have missed you so.

  She wrote a full paragraph on her doings, which parties she had attended and those observations on Society surest to make Daphne smile. Practical she may be, but that only made the impractical things of Society more laughable to her.

&
nbsp; She found herself including the dough ball duel for just that reason, and if she described a certain oddly named gentleman with more detail than anyone else, it was only because he had proved so amusing.

  Halfway down her paper, Phoebe realized she could not reveal information about her mysterious friend. Not in a letter. Perhaps in person.

  Daphne, would you be willing to come for tea later this week? As much as I can tell you in a letter, I can divulge so much more in person. Especially as there is one topic of a most delicate nature I would address, seeking your advice. Do say you will come.

  She finished her note with a suggestion for an afternoon three days hence, then signed her name with a flourish. After she sealed the letter, she looked again at the one for her secret friend.

  If only she knew his name. But no. It was better not to know. If she knew, she would be far too tempted to seek him out. Instinctively, Phoebe felt they would get along quite well. Especially if he was a bachelor.

  To A Charming Lady,

  Each time one of your notes is slipped into my hand, I cannot help but be glad. Your observations are intriguing, your wit appreciated. While our communication is certainly unusual, I am grateful I dared send that first note.

  I have given more thought to your new list of eligible gentlemen. There are men in London whom I believe capable of such devotion and attentiveness as you would wish in a potential suitor. They are men of honor, from good families where the qualities you seek are present. I hope that by providing you this list you will find the right person to make introductions for you.

  Mr. Walter Elton, of London, a Barrister

  Mr. Griffin Fenwick, of the Watford Fenwicks

  Mr. William Nelson, of Hampshire

  Mr. Peter Thackery, of the Kenwick Thakerys

  Mr. George Waverton, of Bristol

  This list will give you a place to start. These gentlemen are all known to me, and I would trust them to treat any lady with respect and gentility.