Page 7 of Letters for Phoebe

The words it contained might be a lie. Or she might be at risk of being misled by a man. Again. What had Caroline said yesterday?

April is the month of fools.

“I will not be taken in again,” Phoebe whispered. She hurried to her room to fetch her spencer and bonnet. If she made a few calls, she could find the truth for herself.

* * *

Griffin walked down St. James’s, grinning to himself. He had left his club where several of his friends had recounted his dough-ball duel back to him, laughing all the while. They were placing bets as to what sort of foolish thing he might do next. Some thought he would release an animal from the menagerie, or perform on stage at the Royal Theatre. The betting book had appeared, amid much ribbing, and Griffin quite enjoyed the attention, as anyone would.

He intended to walk a distance before finding a hack to take him home for the evening; any number of black carriages waited on gentlemen who had not brought their own vehicles that evening, but the closest conveyance was not the one Griffin sought. He peered into a few as he walked, looking for signs of age. He preferred to give his funds to those most in need, not the few who had managed to claim the choicest positions near the front doors of gentlemen’s clubs.

The flash of a pale face inside one vehicle gave him pause. He took a few steps backward and looked again, certain he was mistaken.

A woman waited in the hack. He looked up at the driver, who purposefully ignored him, then approached. Poor thing had likely come looking for a relative and did not know how to go about getting them out of the club without causing a scene. Women were not allowed, of course, and usually sent servants to deliver important messages to husbands.

Griffin knocked on the window, purposefully looking away. “Madam, if you will tell me who you are waiting for, I will happily fetch the man for you.”

There was a yelp from inside, then the window dropped open with a bang, startling him into looking up. Directly into Miss Kimball’s face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her dark eyebrows raising comically high.

“What am I doing here? My club is here. What are you doing here?” Griffin stared at her, then looked deeper into the shadows. “Do you at least have a maid with you?”

She gasped. “That is none of your concern.”

She was alone. Griffin shook his head. “What are you doing out here, Miss Kimball? Your reputation—”

The door opened, and she reached out to grab the lapel of his coat, stunning Griffin enough that he complied when she pulled him into the coach. He realized what he had done when she shut the door behind him.

“See here, Miss Kimball, I will not be forced into a compromising position with you.”

A bark of a laugh followed her momentary silence. “Me? Compromise you? Why ever would I do such a thing?”

That ruffled his pride a bit, but Griffin shrugged. “Who knows? Women are mysterious creatures. For instance, I have absolutely no idea why you would pull me into a dark carriage if you did not have nefarious purposes.”

She leaned forward in her seat, allowing the lamplight from outside to illuminate her face. “Nefarious?” She smiled enough to make him almost like her. “I suppose I am behaving rather unusually, but I assure you, my being here has nothing to do with you. I merely had no wish for you to stand there and give me away. I am here for a very specific purpose.”

“What might that be, that it requires sitting all alone on St. James?” Griffin adjusted his posture first, his hat second, and then smoothed the lapels of his coat. “Caroline would have a fit, I am certain. She cannot know that you are here.”

“No one knows I am here,” she stated coolly, looking out the window again. “And I will thank you to tell no one about it. You may leave now, if you wish. No one is upon the street at present.”

“What is it you are waiting for? Or whom are you waiting for? Perhaps I can help.” That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, of course. The satisfaction of his curiosity was an additional benefit. After the way Miss Kimball had treated him the day before, he had thought her entirely too bent upon propriety to be the adventurous sort.

For several seconds, she bit her bottom lip and stared out the window. Her eyebrows were drawn down, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to think. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, then sighed. “I suppose the fact that Caroline knows you so well ought to count in your favor. Very well. I am waiting on Mr. Milbourne. You may remember introducing us yesterday.”

“I do, yes.” He looked out the window, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. “Are you meeting him here?”

“Heavens, no.” She appeared genuinely startled. “I intend to spy on him.”

His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Spy on him?” He sat back in the seat and took her in with entirely new eyes. He had thought her prim and proper. Arrogant or conceited. But here she played at espionage. “I have seriously misjudged you, Miss Kimball.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not surprised.” Whatever she meant by that statement, he could not say.

“At least I can be of some service to you,” he said at last, the world trying to right itself in his mind. “Mr. Milbourne will not come out for a few hours yet. He is playing cards.”

Her shoulders sunk. “Hours? It is midnight now.”

Griffin nodded slowly. She was acting on the information in his anonymous letter. While he had not expected such a dramatic reaction, Griffin’s relief she had taken him seriously made him relax. “The game is easily worth a few hundred pounds at the moment. He will play until it is over, then he will play again, whether he wins or loses.”