Page 13 of Letters for Phoebe

“How fortunate for me. I have a question I must ask. A delicate question.” She cleared her throat and lowered her eyes to the path upon which they walked. “Is Mr. Phillip Carew already—that is to say, are you aware if he might already have bestowed his affection upon a young lady?”

The gentleman paused, and when she looked up, she saw, for the first time, a very deep line creasing his forehead and a frown upon his face.

“I do not mean to pry,” she said hastily. “Or ask you to betray any confidences. I need not know her name. Only if she exists. You see, I had thought to come to know the gentleman better, but if friendship is all that is possible, I should like to know.”

He glanced away from her, presenting a profile of a long, elegant nose and strong jaw. He took in a deep breath which expanded his chest, then released it with his answer. “Yes. There is someone Mr. Carew has set his hopes upon.”

A flicker of disappointment made her shoulders sag. Her mysterious correspondent had told the truth. She ought to write her thanks again, except she already had, in a way, even before confirming his news.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. The day had grown dimmer, and she drew a line through Mr. Carew’s name upon the list in her mind. “Would you be so kind as to walk me home, Mr. Fenwick?” She gestured behind them.

“Of course.” He turned and offered the opposite arm for her to take. The maid who had been trailing behind them squeaked and hurried to step aside so they might pass her.

Mr. Fenwick was quiet for some time, all the way up until he assisted her across the street. Delivering her to the very door of Number Fourteen, he released her arm and bowed. “Thank you for your company, Miss Kimball. I enjoyed it.”

Though distracted by the rearrangement of her plans, Phoebe curtsied and said what was proper. “It was pleasant to spend a few moments with you, Mr. Fenwick.”

The butler opened the door. The maid had already disappeared through the servants’ entrance below street level. Phoebe stepped inside, but the instant before the door shut, she had a bolt of understanding.

Phoebe threw the door open again and went to the top of the steps. Mr. Fenwick had already attained the pavement.

“Mr. Fenwick,” she called.

He spun, looking up at her. He took a step closer. “Is something the matter, Miss Kimball?”

When her grin burst across her face, her elation taking hold of her, he froze as though stunned. Good. A man like him ought to be surprised once in a while. Phoebe delighted in his full attention as she solved his riddle.

“You were born on a leap day. Then you would be near thirty, but with only six birthdays celebrated.”

His grin flashed, and he bowed to her, right there upon the street. Phoebe laughed, then covered her mouth with one hand. What would the neighbors think?

“Good day to you, sir.” She spun on her heel, walked into the house, and did not look back as the befuddled Lawler shut the door behind her.

Chapter 5

List of Suitors

To My Unknown Friend,

I have confirmed what you told me, sir. I must thank you again, even as I cross Mr. Carew’s name from my list. That must sound callous to you, that I keep a list of potential suitors. Or perhaps you understand. I am inclined to think you a sympathetic man, given your kindness to me thus far. You must know something of what it is like for ladies, to risk our future happiness upon men we hardly know by more than reputation.

It occurs to me that I might save myself time, having a friend such as you, by sharing my list. If this is presumptuous, do forgive me. But this may save you from future correspondence with someone as woefully uneducated on the bachelors of London as I seem to be.

What think you of these gentlemen? I have listed them alphabetically by surname.

Mr. Henry Brockton

Sir William Carter

Mr. Bartholomew Kenley

Mr. Howard Lambleigh

Lord George Pewton

Mr. Alfred Waymont

Yours Most Gratefully,