Page 5 of Letters for Phoebe

That brought his attention back to the conversation, and to a blushing Phoebe Kimball. She appeared rather pleased with herself as she gave the man permission to visit and take tea with her the next afternoon.

Caroline was still waving her fan and seemed even less invested in the conversation than Griffin. Given that she was likely Miss Kimball’s chaperone, that did not bode well.

“I look forward to coming to know you better, Mr. Milbourne,” the unmarried miss said with a simpering smile that looked not at all natural upon her face. He had thought she had rather intelligent brown eyes, but if she sought the company of one such as Milbourne…

“Capitol. Good to see you again, Fenwick. Mrs. Kimball. Miss Kimball.” Milbourne tipped his hat to them and went on, grinning rather like a wolf who had been invited into the sheep pen.

Frowning, Griffin looked to Caroline. “You are not really going to allow an association with Milbourne, are you?”

That brought both women’s attention to him. “I do not see why not. I know nothing to concern me about the gentleman.” Caroline smiled, though the expression appeared tired or strained. She did not seem herself, really. When he looked to Miss Kimball, her eyes were narrowed.

“I do not expect you to understand someone of Mr. Milbourne’s reputation,” the young woman said, somewhat defensively. “His family is known quite well in London, and I have never heard anyone speak ill of him.”

Most likely because speaking of his sort would not be considered polite conversation, Griffin thought. It was not his place to become involved. Surely, Miss Kimball’s brother would learn of the meeting and caution his sister. Unless Mr. Kimball knew nothing about Milbourne, either. It was not as though he paid much attention to Society, now that he had procured a wife for himself. He had said as much to Griffin the previous summer.

Griffin shrugged away the troubling thought. “It is none of my business, of course, Miss Kimball. I am certain we all ought to form our own opinions of those we associate with.” He tried one of his more charming grins in an attempt to coax her back to good humor. Instead, she wrinkled her nose at him and turned away, as though interested in something on the other side of the road.

Petulant little thing, for all she had a lovely profile.

But it was none of his affair. Griffin smiled at Caroline, wishing her well, then took his leave of them both and descended from the phaeton. He strolled across the green, grinning a bit to himself when he stepped over a particularly large clump of bread dough.

He had brought laughter to more people than he had planned that afternoon. It did everyone a bit of good, he knew, to have something cheerful to speak of rather than the usual gossip or news of the Continental war. With a bit of a sigh, he mounted his horse and went home. His parents would most likely wish for an account of his afternoon before they prepared for dinner and their usual evening entertainment.

Even as he tried to decide which parts of the dough-duel to exaggerate to see his mother laugh, he could not help but think of Milbourne’s pleasure at meeting Miss Kimball. It was enough of a distraction to him that when he arrived home, he stopped to speak to the butler.

After all, no one in London knew more about the gossip of gentry and nobility both than the household servants.

“Miss Kimball, sir?” Bastion asked. “Yes, sir. The rumor is she is on the lookout for a husband with a nest as well-feathered as her own. I could not say why, of course. But I do believe this is her third season.”

“When you say well-feathered nest,” Griffin said, raising his eyebrows, “do you mean that she is wealthy? I did not think Caroline Wynncroft married into a wealthy family.”

“Not precisely wealthy, sir.” Bastion’s forehead puckered as he thought. “But I believe there was some scandal last year, when a man in search of a fortune attempted to court her. He was exposed, of course. Miss Kimball left London, likely in some embarrassment.”

That made Griffin nod slowly as he worked out the rest himself. “She would not wish to fall prey to a fortune hunter again, therefore she would look for someone not necessarily in need of her dowry. I suppose that makes sense.” He winced, thinking again of Milbourne’s rather unsavory habits. Even if the man had money enough at the moment, he might not hold on to it if he continued gambling. And keeping a mistress.

Not that it was his business. Perhaps he could pen a letter to Joseph Kimball and express his concerns. That seemed like the best course of action in such circumstances. Or pay a call on the man. Yes, that would have to do.

Griffin went in search of his mother, his grin more confident now that he had decided upon a course of action.

Chapter 2

A Little Luck

Mr. Joseph Kimball had left Town to see to a matter on his father’s estate. That was what the Kimball butler told Griffin the next morning when he asked to be admitted into the house. Griffin stared at the butler with confusion.

“What of the senior Mr. Kimball?” Surely, Miss Kimball’s father would serve just as well. He need only deliver a warning. It mattered little to whom, so long as the individual cared about Miss Kimball’s happiness.

“He did not come to Town this Season,” the butler said, somehow looking and sounding stiffer than before.

Griffin took a card from his coat and gave it to the servant. “Here is my card. Will you take it up to Mrs. Joseph Kimball? She and I are friends.”

The butler took the card, then placed it on a silver platter on a table near the door. “I am afraid she is resting and is not to be disturbed, sir.”

There were very few hours left before Miss Kimball was to entertain Mr. Milbourne. While nothing dire was likely to occur during their casual appointment, it would be best if she were warned not to schedule another. He should put her on her guard, at the least.

Leaving the house with a quick step, Griffin went directly to the rooms he kept in town. When his parents came to London, he usually stayed with them, but keeping his own set of rooms had proven quite handy on more than one occasion. Independence from one’s parents assured more felicity and understanding when he made decisions for himself without first consulting them. They loved him, of course, but Griffin needed a place all his own.

He let himself into his rented rooms inside what had once been a very elegant townhouse. Three rooms with doors opening into each other belonged to him. He used one for dining, one as a bedroom, and the largest as a place to entertain guests and relax.