Is London to your liking this Season, P.K.? I do hope you have taken time away from your busy schedule to enjoy the art collections, theaters, and other cultural delights. I myself will go to the theater to see a revival of Cumberland’s play, The Eccentric Lover. It is a comedy you may perhaps enjoy, given that it is based upon a courtship which goes horribly awry. It will be the first time the play has been performed at Covent Garden Theater since its rebuilding.
I wish you good fortune, my dear friend.
Yours, etc.,
A Friend
The risk Griffin took was calculated when he sent that letter. He had, as promised, provided Phoebe with the names of eligible gentlemen. Slipping his own in among them would at least give her pause. If she had not yet considered him a candidate for courtship, her mind might at last bend that way on the word of her anonymous friend.
He gave the letter to the girl selling flowers along with several extra pennies if she would abandon her flowers and deliver the note immediately. She happily tucked the note in her basket of posies and skipped away, leaving Griffin to follow behind. He would wait no more than five minutes after the note was delivered to call upon Phoebe. He had not called upon her the day before, as the other men she had danced with would have been there during her at-home hours.
Though normally not one to plan out things, Griffin knew winning Phoebe Kimball would require an effort. She would receive the note from her anonymous friend, read his name upon the list, learn of the play, and then Griffin would arrive inviting her to the theater that very same evening. Her mood would already be favorable, if she truly enjoyed writing to him.
When the requisite time had passed, Griffin passed the smiling flower girl, paid her for a posy, then went up to the door and knocked.
He entered the parlor where Phoebe sat, the letter folded in her hand, and his heart began beating at twice its usual rhythm. She tucked the letter behind her back, a blush fading from her cheeks as she curtsied. Today she wore a gown of white, with a teal shawl around her shoulders and the red beaded bracelet again on her wrist. The jewelry must hold some sort of personal meaning for it to be upon her person so often.
“Mr. Fenwick, I was not expecting you.”
Griffin chuckled and bowed. “I hope my visit is not as unpleasant as it is unexpected.”
Caroline’s voice surprised him from where she stood near the window. “How could your company ever be unpleasant, Griffin?” He had not even noticed his friend. Phoebe had taken all his attention at once.
“Caroline, I am glad to see you. Have you recovered from the ball sufficiently?” He darted a quick look at Phoebe when she lifted a book from the couch, tucking the letter inside the cover. He cleared his throat. “I—I recall you were quite tired when you left.”
“Yes, thank you for your concern.” Caroline’s sly smile had returned. She looked from Griffin to her sister-in-law. “Phoebe enjoyed herself immensely. I think she would have gone to another ball the very next evening had I not begged for an evening at home.”
That remark gave Griffin permission to turn his attention fully back to the unmarried lady. “It was a fine evening. I do not think I saw you without a partner even once, Miss Kimball.”
“Indeed, I was quite fortunate in partners.” Phoebe clasped the book in one hand and gestured with the other to a chair. “Will you sit with us, Mr. Fenwick? Perhaps take some tea and cake?”
“I would very much like that.” Griffin took the chair, and Phoebe resumed her seat upon the couch. Caroline came and joined her. “I must apologize for not calling right away. I am afraid some family matters arose which required my attention.” That was at least in part true. He had entertained his mother when he ought to have been paying his call. “But I do have a peace offering for you ladies, if you will accept my apology.”
“Is it an offering then, or a bribe?” Phoebe asked, her eyebrows raising while her rosy lips slowly tilted upward. The woman’s smile proved most distracting. Griffin had to look to Caroline to gather his thoughts again.
"I am to take my mother to the theater tomorrow evening. If you ladies are not engaged elsewhere, I thought you might wish to join us.”
“The theater?” Caroline said at the same moment Phoebe asked, “Which theater?”
“Covent Garden,” he said, noting the way her eyes widened. His plan seemed to be working. “There will be a pantomime and then a comedy. The Eccentric Lover. Have either of you heard of it?”
Caroline started to shake her head, but Phoebe moved closer to the end of her seat.
“I have only just had it recommended to me,” Phoebe said, her tone bright with excitement. “By a friend. I should very much like to go. I do not believe we are yet engaged anywhere else, are we Caroline?”
“I am afraid Joseph and I have already accepted a dinner invitation.” Caroline tilted her head to the side, regarding her sister-in-law with care. Phoebe’s shoulder slumped, and Griffin held his breath. It had been a gamble, to think they would have no plans on such short notice, but there was still a chance.
Phoebe’s smile disappeared a moment before she seemed to remember herself under scrutiny. “Oh. That is a shame. Perhaps another time, Mr. Fenwick?”
Griffin did not get the chance to respond.
“Oh, Phoebe.” Caroline giggled and took the younger woman’s hand. “You need not come to a dinner full of strangers. I will make your excuses. If Mrs. Fenwick and Griffin will take you in their carriage, I believe you will be well chaperoned and looked after. There is no reason to miss a play you will likely enjoy.”
Phoebe’s warm brown eyes brightened, and she met Griffin’s gaze with a most exuberant smile that caused his heart’s tempo to pick up in speed. “I should very much like to attend with you, Mr. Fenwick, if you do not mind Caroline’s absence.”
He did not mind in the slightest. “Then I will come here for you tomorrow evening, Miss Kimball.”
Tea arrived at that moment, and Caroline poured each of them a cup. They spoke of inconsequential things, of mutual friends, while Phoebe sat quietly nibbling upon a small cake. Strange, he had not thought her at all shy on previous occasions. But her mind may have turned to other matters, and Griffin had to hide his smile behind his cup when he saw Phoebe’s hand reach for the book at her side. She laid her palm upon it, and a blush returned to her cheeks.
Griffin took his leave with a feeling of lightness he had never experienced. Never before had he looked forward to an evening enough to wish the present time away. With his mother as chaperone, Griffin would sit next to Phoebe for an entire evening’s entertainment. If he was very lucky, he would move to the top of her list of suitors before the play ended.
Chapter 8
The Play is the Thing
To My Friend,
Tonight I go to see the very play you have mentioned, and perhaps you will see me there. I am escorted by one of the gentlemen you named to me, Mr. Fenwick. He is acquainted with my sister-in-law and her family, so I have more than your reference to know he is a good man. But I do not believe he is a man with any interest in matrimony at present. Rather, I hope he will know the others you have presented.
I find that I wonder if you and I are acquainted at all, sir. Perhaps you know my family. Though if that was so, why did you write to me a warning when you might have approached my brother? I confess that I am confused as to how you came to an awareness of my situation and interests. I understand why you must remain anonymous now, of course. We have exchanged enough letters to scandalize even the most lenient of chaperones.
But would you give me a hint, even the very smallest hint, as to your identity? On my honor, I promise I have no wish to cause you shame or anything unpleasant. I am merely curious.
Perhaps you will write to me after the play and tell me what you thought of the performance. I will happily share all my thoughts with you, my friend. I must send this letter on its way to you and prepare for an evening of great enjoyment.
Yours, etc.,
P.K.
Phoebe checked the arrangement of her hair once more in the parlor mirror. Mr. Fenwick would arrive at any moment to escort her to Covent Garden. She had eaten dinner alone, and early, in her room. Caroline and Joseph had left hours earlier, before she had even finished dressing for the evening.
She wore an amber cross and her bracelet, and red ribbons in her hair. Her gown was ivory with a red-net overlay that would shimmer in the soft gaslight of the theater. In her reticule she carried a red silk fan and Caroline’s opera telescope. After smoothing her dress and checking again that she had all she needed, Phoebe paced from the window to the hearth.
Her stomach felt rather full of loose feathers, tickling her until she could not sit still. What made her nervous, she could not tell. There was the excitement of the play, of course. Perhaps in part it was due to the anticipation of an evening with a handsome gentleman—for Griffin was quite handsome, even if he was not a serious suitor. But the idea that her anonymous friend could be present, that she might see him and not even know, set her to fidgeting. But what if she did recognize him? Perhaps he would give her a secret sign, or come upon her in the theater corridor and she would simply know it was he?
“The Fenwick carriage has arrived, Miss Kimball.” The butler’s pronouncement nearly made her leap out of her satin slippers.
“Oh. Thank you.” She smiled shakily and went to the door which opened at the same moment she stepped into the foyer.
Griffin stepped inside, his customary grin in place, until the moment he spied her. His grin faltered, his eyes grew wider, and Phoebe hastily put her hand upon her stomach to calm the dratted feathers.
“Miss Kimball.” He did not seem to know what else to say, as he simply stared at her. Phoebe’s cheeks warmed beneath his rather fierce gaze.
“Mr. Fenwick. Is your mother waiting for us in the carriage?”
He jolted back into awareness, his smile appearing almost pasted on. “Yes. Of course. Here, allow me.” He took her shawl from the butler and held it out to assist her.
“Thank you.” Phoebe turned to allow him to lay it over her shoulders. Despite the layers of fabric between them, the warmth of his hands lingered a moment after he removed them from her arms.
He cleared his throat, and when Phoebe looked up she saw his good-natured grin had finally returned. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“Yes, please.” Phoebe walked out the door upon his arm, and her eyes went to the very fine vehicle waiting in the street.
“My father decided to come as well,” Griffin said, voice low. “Once he realized Caroline could not come. We have a box to ourselves, and he is not one to miss an evening in my mother’s company if he can help it.”
Phoebe tilted her head up to look at Griffin’s rather calm expression. He did not look as though he had just said something extraordinary. “Your father and mother enjoy one another’s company that much?”
Griffin chuckled. “They adore one another, Miss Kimball.” He paused outside the carriage and took her hand to help her in. He gave her fingers a gentle press. “You will see.”
Phoebe entered the carriage and took her seat next to a woman of median age and a fine figure. The immediate welcome the woman gave, along with a warm smile, reminded Phoebe of Griffin at once.
Mrs. Fenwick’s tone was as playful as her son’s. “At last we meet you, Miss Kimball. Griffin has mentioned you so often these last several days that I confess myself most curious about you.”
Griffin, who had barely sat down next to his father in the rear-facing seat, groaned. “Mother. You promised.”
“Oh, pooh.” His mother waved a hand at him. “Miss Kimball must know she is a lovely woman. I am certain she is used to the attention.” Mrs. Fenwick gave Phoebe’s hand a maternal pat. “Do not mind him, dear. Griffin is far too sensitive.”
A giggle escaped Phoebe’s lips, and she looked at Griffin in time to see him appear surprised.
Mr. Fenwick chuckled. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Kimball. I do hope my wife and son will not drive you to distraction this evening. They both delight in teasing.”
Griffin and his mother immediately protested that statement, amusing Phoebe enough that she relaxed in their company. An evening with such company promised entertainment, even if the play proved unamusing.
When they arrived at the theater, their carriage near the entrance, throngs of people already lined the walk and the steps to the entrance. The grand columns never failed to elicit admiration of its grandeur in Phoebe. When the original theater had burned down, though she had not yet been out in Society, she had mourned its loss.
Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick stepped out of the carriage first and waited arm-in-arm for their son to exit the vehicle. Griffin’s shoes hit the pavement and he immediately turned back to her, his smile broad, and held out his gloved hand.
A thrill of excitement, like an electric bold, went from Phoebe’s fingertips to her toes when she took his hand. Such was her love for the theater, of course. The tingling sensation had nothing to do with the way Griffin’s eyes gleamed with admiration. Though not a great beauty, Phoebe had enough self-assurance to call herself pretty. But to be the object of a gentleman’s favorable assessment was rather enjoyable.
“Come, come. We need to get to our box.” Mr. Fenwick led them forward with his head held high. He had to be nearing sixty years old, but he stood at the same height as his son.
“He is a spry old chap,” Griffin murmured in her ear, as though he had read her thoughts. “I think the rest of us are lucky to keep up with him.”
Phoebe’s mind turned to her father, home at their country house tending to her mother. “You are fortunate to have parents in such good health that they actively seek an evening out with each other, and with you.”
Griffin chuckled, a low sound she found she rather liked. “Come now, Miss Kimball. While I admit that they would both do very well on their own this evening, we will not pretend they are here for my sake at all. They both wished to meet you.”
Her cheeks warmed and her stomach tightened into a knot. “Me? Oh dear. Why would I matter?”
They entered the theater where the lights blazed in wall sconces and a chandelier. It was louder inside, with people calling to one another and an excited hum grew into rumblings. The noise necessitated that Griffin draw closer, leaning down so that she felt his warm breath upon her neck when he spoke. “Meeting you is rather important to them, given that I have never before extended an invitation for a lady to accompany us to the theater.”
She had to protest. It simply would not do that she interpret his remark as anything of importance. “You invited Caroline—”
“Only as an excuse to invite you, Miss Kimball.”
Phoebe turned quickly to look at him, to measure the truth in his words, at the same moment someone bumped him from behind. Griffin moved forward, and their noses collided. Phoebe yelped and immediately put a hand to her stinging nose, while Griffin straightened and barked a protest at whoever had come up behind him.
Then he had her arm and pulled her along to the steps, but rather than go up as his parents had, he took her to the side where a lamp glowed in a wall sconce. He turned her toward the lamp, then his gloved fingers skimmed against her jaw, coaxing her to tip her face up toward him and the light.
He was studying her nose.
“Are you hurt, Miss Kimball?”
He had to stand close to do so, his stare rather intense with his eyebrows drawn down sharply and his lips pressed tightly together.
“It only stings a little.” The unpleasant sensation had nearly entirely gone.
Never had Phoebe seen Griffin without a smile upon his face. He perpetually showed good humor, even in surprise. But all it took was one moment of concern for a more solemn expression to appear.
As handsome as Griffin was when he smiled—and as preferable as she found his wide grin to his frown—a more serious mien looked just as well upon him.
He stared down at her, not moving away, and Phoebe thought he meant to come closer—and she could not remember why that would be a bad thing.
Until someone laughed, loudly, breaking whatever trance Phoebe and Griffin had fallen under. He blinked as rapidly as she when he stepped back, looking over his shoulder. No one appeared to see them, to give any heed to them at all. Everyone was moving into the theater’s entrances, backs to the little corner Griffin had found to tend to her.
Phoebe cleared her throat, then turned away from him. “We had better find your box. Your parents will wonder what became of us.” At least they were in a public enough place that she need not worry about her reputation.
“You are right, of course. Miss Kimball.” He offered his arm again, and she took it, avoiding looking up into his eyes.
For one wild moment, she had thought he might kiss her. While that ought to have disturbed, Phoebe found herself wondering instead if she would have liked it. The feathers returned to tickle her insides, and her cheeks warmed enough that she wished for her fan to cool them.
Griffin’s parents were already seated in two chairs, with two more in front of them closer to the rail. Phoebe took her seat slowly, listening as Griffin made their excuses.
“We had a small mishap, but I see we have not missed so much as the pantomime.”
“Have you heard anything about this play, Miss Kimball?” Mrs. Fenwick asked, her tone cheerful. “I was fortunate enough to see it performed more than a decade ago. I am most interested to see if it is as amusing as I remember.”
“The story is about several couples making a hash of courtship.” Mr. Fenwick took his wife’s hand as he spoke. “Of course we will enjoy it. For it all ends happily enough.”
Griffin at last sat down next to Phoebe, his smile returned to his lips. They were in a top box, to the right of the stage, and near the center of the room. Phoebe removed her small telescope from her reticule, along with her fan, and put the items upon the empty chair on her other side.
Letters for Phoebe (Promise of Forever After Book 1) Page 7