Letters for Phoebe (Promise of Forever After Book 1)

by Sally Britton

  Letters for Phoebe © 2020 by Sally Britton. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover design by Blue Water Books

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Sally Britton

  www.authorsallybritton.com

  First Printing: July 2020

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  April 1, 1812

  Chapter 2

  A Little Luck

  Chapter 3

  A Sparring Match

  Chapter 4

  A Turn About the Square

  Chapter 5

  List of Suitors

  Chapter 6

  An Evening of Dancing

  Chapter 7

  A Calculated Risk

  Chapter 8

  The Play is the Thing

  Chapter 9

  A Friend Indeed

  Chapter 10

  Out of Sorts

  Chapter 11

  Revealing Conversation

  Chapter 12

  Botheration

  Chapter 13

  A Beginning

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments & Notes

  Also by Sally Britton

  About the Author

  To Joanna, Megan, Heidi, and Rachel:

  I’m forever grateful that we met.

  Prologue

  Surrey, England, 1808

  Phoebe Kimball tied the last of the sticky treats in a handkerchief, already questioning if it was wise to nip the Chelsea buns from the kitchen instead of the much less messy ginger biscuits. But tonight was not about avoiding messes. It was about bidding farewell to one of her dearest friends. While Phoebe liked most of the girls at school well enough, there were four she considered as close to her as sisters.

  She gathered up the buns and picked her way back through the kitchen, around work tables, to the doorway where Daphne waited. She nearly giggled at the way her friend stood, as rigid as a soldier on watch for an enemy.

  “Hurry, Phoebe,” Daphne whispered.

  Phoebe stepped directly next to her friend as she spoke. “Already done.”

  Daphne jumped. Truly, Phoebe’s friend was not one to break the rules. Sneaking out to meet their friends already made her nervous, but borrowing things from the kitchen had stretched her.

  Phoebe offered what she hoped was a reassuring grin. “How many times have we done this, and still you are nervous?” She turned to lead the way to the back door. She barely heard Daphne’s step behind her. They knew well enough which floorboards to avoid. They had been at Mrs. Vernal’s Seminary for Distinguished Young Ladies for years.

  “Not nervous,” Daphne answered. “Just appropriately cautious.”

  Phoebe had to swallow a giggle. “Of course.”

  Though amused in the moment, Phoebe had depended upon Daphne’s good sense and caution on more than one occasion. While Phoebe considered herself a planner, she sometimes forgot to keep herself within the bounds of propriety when working toward her goals.

  The lawn stretched before them, the moonlight showing the way as clear, though the shadows of trees and shrubs remained black. She shivered, though it was not too cold for an April night.

  When they came near the gazebo, she could hear Marah and Isabel’s quiet voices. Good. They had already arrived. Her heart dropped as she and Daphne went to the steps. Phoebe didn’t want this to be their last time together, but Marah had to leave. She hadn’t expected to lose practical Marah first. She was so young, but word of her father’s death had come as well as a summons to return home.

  Phoebe swallowed back her hurt on behalf of her friend when she heard Isabel’s voice, snapping her attention back to the present.

  “I know what might help,” Isabel said to Marah, beckoning Daphne and Phoebe to her. “Your best friends with your favorite—”

  “Chelsea buns!” Phoebe forced a bright smile, knowing they could see her expression well enough as she held up her package of smushed sweets.

  “Phoebe, Daphne,” Marah said suspiciously. “You didn’t make those, did you?”

  “We didn’t make them.” Phoebe’s smile settled to something more natural. Tonight was about giving Marah a proper send-off. She had to remember that. “We borrowed them from the kitchen.”

  Daphne sounded more amused than disapproving when she spoke. “Yes, and I do not think they’ll want them back after what Phoebe’s done to them.”

  Isabel laughed, but Marah only shook her head. “You shouldn’t have taken them. The last time Phoebe stole from the kitchens, she had to teach the first years how to sip their tea correctly. I don’t want you to—”

  Daphne stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Marah’s arm. “You’re leaving tomorrow, Marah. You needn’t worry about us.”

  Though Phoebe could have done without the reminder of her punishment, she shrugged off the concern. Then she looked about the gazebo. They were missing someone rather important. “Where is Lavinia? It’s not like her to call a meeting and then be the last to show.”

  A stern voice came behind them, mimicking their headmistress. “I won’t begin until everyone is sitting quietly with their hands in the laps and their eyes on me.” Lavinia stepped up onto the gazebo with her nose in the air, hands clasped neatly before her in the spitting image of the stern proprietress of the school.

  “Who invited Mrs. Vernal?” Isabel asked, voice dripping with disapproval.

  Lavinia laughed, breaking her act and coming to join the other girls. “I’ve a surprise for you. When have you ever known Mrs. Vernal to say that?”

  Phoebe winced. “Once. Before the Latin test.” The Latin test Phoebe had failed rather miserably.

  The girls giggled as they settled onto the blankets spread on the wooden planks of the gazebo. Phoebe settled the snacks next to her, safely wrapped in her handkerchiefs. The laundry maid would not thank Phoebe for the extra sticky linens to clean.

  Lavinia pulled a small sack from behind her back and set it before her. “Under normal circumstances, you know I would say we should eat first. But tonight, the food can wait.”

  With her mind upon the food, Phoebe’s complaint slipped out without thought. “Must it, though? I’m near to starving.”

  “Her stomach was growling all the way here,” Daphne confirmed.

  Phoebe sent her a mock glare as the girls laughed again, and Daphne returned it with a sly grin. Teasing each other came naturally with these dear friends. Sometimes, Phoebe pretended they really were sisters. Their bond had to be nearly as strong as one of blood, given how much they had been through together since meeting.

  Isabel held up a brown leather book. “Or, better than Chelsea buns, we could discover what happens at the end of The Love of Count Rudolph by Eugenia Rutherfield.”

  Before Phoebe could petition to begin with their treat again, Marah let out an audible groan.

  Isabel pointed the corner of the book at her. “But we only have one night left together! Come, Marah, you must be the slightest bit curious to know if the Count will save Lady Esmerelda.”

  “That isn’t how life goes, you know.” Marah spoke with an ever-so-practical tilt of her head. “The h
andsome gentleman doesn’t parade in on his white horse to save the lady from all her troubles.”

  “Isn’t it nice to imagine, though?” Daphne said, leaning toward Marah with a suggestive raise to her eyebrow. “When the count saved Lady Esmerelda from the evil baron, I practically swooned.”

  Marah lips twitched, but then Isabel spoke. “I think she will save herself in the end. We don’t need men to save us from everything, you know.” Isabel’s voice always grew a bit louder when she spoke of things she was passionate about, and now was no exception. Though Phoebe often agreed with her friend’s rather progressive views for the fair sex, she stayed out of the argument.

  Lavinia made a sound of exasperation. “You girls have the attention span of a…a…” she threw up her hands. “A senile goose. I brought a surprise, remember?”

  Phoebe bit her lip, darting a glance around quickly enough to know how they must respond. “Yes, Mrs. Vernal,” she said with her friends, then they all burst out laughing.

  “Oh, hush.” But even Lavinia grinned at them. She was something of a mother-hen, forever bringing them to attention even if amused by their inability to sit still. “I’ve been sad about Marah leaving. And Isabel and I only have a few more weeks before we’re done with school. Soon we’ll be separated.”

  That sobered all of them, and Phoebe felt her smile fade away as her eyes went first to Marah and then her other friends. She and Daphne would be the last two to leave the school. It was the end of an era, the end of childhood. She hated to let them go with a fierceness that made her chest tighten and her eyes burn.

  Life would never be the same again.

  “I was in Marlow’s shop today,” Lavinia went on, her voice softer, “and I saw the absolute most perfect thing that made me think of all of you.” She took out a beaded bracelet. “It reminds me of all our good times. I thought we could send it with Marah, so she’ll take a part of us with her.”

  A truly marvelous thought, but before Phoebe could say so, Marah was already shaking her head. “No, I couldn’t. It’s far too expensive.”

  Phoebe leaned forward, trying to convey what she felt in her eyes and voice. “But you are facing hardship at this moment. Why not keep it for now, and perhaps later you might send it to one of us? Should we need comforting. It could bring you luck.” Not that Phoebe particularly believed in luck. But she did believe in her friends.

  “Yes, I love it.” Lavinia smiled. “We can send it on to one another. It will keep us connected.”

  Daphne’s soft voice was the next to offer reassurance. “Like the locket Count Rudolph gave to Esmerelda, when he promised to always love her.”

  Phoebe darted a surprised glance at her friend. She hadn’t thought Daphne was as enamored by the romance as Phoebe was. True, the gothic novel had more than one silly passage that made them giggle, but at the heart of the story was the love between the count and his Esmerelda. A love story that defied the odds, leaping over every obstacle in its path. The reality of English romance and marriage was far removed from the story they had read aloud to each other for weeks. The reality was likely that Phoebe would be introduced to some stuffy gentleman at a ball who might take enough of a liking to her to send her flowers the next day.

  How dull.

  Marah snorted at Daphne’s words, but Isabel only squeezed an arm around her shoulder. “I will always love you, Marah. And you, Mrs. Vernal.”

  Lavinia laughed, but Phoebe’s mind grew serious as she turned about her thoughts of the future. What if their future could have romance in it? Something more than the cold formality of a Society courtship?

  “As foolish as we are behaving now,” she said, “it would mean a great deal to me to know each of you finds a love like that. I cannot like the idea of any of you marrying someone who does not treasure you.” Someone who would only see their dowries, or their pretty faces. Each of her friends deserved a husband who would see their goodness and their hearts.

  Lavinia took up the idea with an eager nod. “We should make a pact. A promise. To marry for love.” Phoebe held her breath, looking to the others. She hadn’t expected Lavinia to take up the idea so quickly.

  “To marry only for the truest love,” Daphne said into the quiet that had settled upon their gazebo. “A love that withstands every challenge and trial.”

  Isabel’s eyes grew serious. “To men who treat us as equals.”

  “Who can make us laugh even on the worst of days,” Phoebe added, some of the heaviness lifting from her heart.

  “Who would stop at nothing to win our hearts,” came Lavinia’s soft voice.

  Phoebe turned her gaze to Marah, as they all did. Marah only stared at her feet. “Love is a luxury some cannot afford.”

  Lavinia, ever kind and nurturing, took Marah’s hand. “Come, Marah, we are dreaming right now. Tell us what you want in a man.”

  Marah hesitated a moment longer then let out a long breath. “If I could have a man who sees me not for my economic value, but simply for me, I think I should be happy.”

  A lump formed in Phoebe’s throat. She looked around the circle of girls, meeting their eyes in turn. “We must promise to try.”

  Lavinia held out the bracelet, the red beads a glimmering circle in her palm, reflecting the weak moonlight. Daphne reached out first and touched the bracelet, Isabel’s and Phoebe’s hands following soon after. Her eyes prickled, and she raised her head to look at Marah, watching them.

  “All of us,” Daphne said gently.

  Marah sighed, then scooted forward to touch a tentative finger on the bracelet.

  “A pact for love,” Isabel said, “for each other, and the men we choose to stand beside us.”

  They nodded together, the solemnity of the moment settling heavy in the air around them.

  This could not be the end. Phoebe could not accept that this would be the last time she met with her friends, speaking their secrets into the night. Somehow, they would come together again. A bond such as theirs would not be easily forgotten, nor dimmed by time.

  “Give me your hand, Marah,” Lavinia said, and they all sat back save for Marah. Lavinia slipped the bracelet around her wrist, securing the gold fastener.

  Phoebe had to busy herself with something else before she cried. She uncovered the Chelsea buns and Marah smiled for the first time that night as they laughed, their hands becoming sticky messes as they ate their stolen treats. Even if Cook found out, even if Phoebe had to help first years practice their German vowels for a week, it would be worth it for that shared moment of happiness.

  As they settled back onto the blankets, Isabel once again held up their prized leather book. “Huddle close, ladies. The Love of Count Rudolph, the final chapter.”

  Lavinia put an arm around Marah, and Phoebe scooted closer to Daphne, wrapping a spare blanket about both their shoulders. They watched Isabel expectantly as she opened the book and paused dramatically.

  “The clouds over Mount Morocco made the silvery moon seem like a ghost, and Esmerelda heard the howl of the wolf pack from a far off and shivered. Where was her handsome Count? Would he come for her? She fingered the battered locket at her chest. He’d promised his love would stretch across oceans. Was a mountain too far?”

  Chapter 1

  April 1, 1812

  The crowd at the park had reached ridiculous proportions, which kept Phoebe seated squarely in her small phaeton. Her driver sat stiffly before her, knowing well enough that to show interest in the display to the left of the path would not elevate him in the eyes of his mistress.

  For her part, Phoebe Kimball kept her eyes averted from the ridiculous activity nearby and upon a cloud drifting overhead. She most certainly did not peer from the corner of her eye to see the two men on the green, stripped of their coats, hats, and gloves, hurling balls of dough at one another. Not like her sister-in-law, who watched the whole thing with a delicately crafted opera spyglass pressed to her eye.

  A spyglass. In broad daylig
ht.

  Phoebe pushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear and made a mental note to tell her maid to use more egg-whites in her next hair-setting tonic.

  Laughter erupted from the field. How two grown men, with family names well known and respected throughout England, could behave in such a common manner, she would never know. The crowd enjoyed their well-advertised “duel,” if the cheers and applause were any indication of their thoughts on the matter.

  “Why they chose the fashionable hour is beyond my understanding,” Phoebe muttered aloud at last. She had come hoping for a glimpse of a particularly suitable bachelor known to ride at that time. “Though the date makes perfect sense. They are behaving as fools, and they are causing a standstill on Rotten Row. This will be in all the papers.”

  “Of course. April is the month of fools.” Caroline murmured her agreement but made no effort to ignore the fight. “Oh, the viscount lobbed that one directly into Mr. Fenwick’s face. That must be the final blow. I cannot see how one might do better.”

  “It pains me to know you are acquainted with that man.” Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut. Where did they even get all the dough for this incredible foolishness? Stolen from some overworked baker, no doubt.

  There had been a time when Phoebe would have been as delighted by the spectacle as her sister-in-law. A time before her mother grew ill, before her father grew distant. Indeed, she had planned her own amusing adventures with her friends at school down to the smallest detail to ensure their merriment.

  But those days were past, and Phoebe had other things to plan. Such as a marriage wherein she might be seen as an equal rather than a sack of coins. She shivered despite the sunshine pouring through the trees above.