Page 18 of Letters for Phoebe

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 had 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.