Biting her bottom lip, Phoebe took up the pen.
Chapter 6
An Evening of Dancing
My Dear Friend,
I am not certain many would call me clever. How clever is it, for example, to write out one’s hopes and wishes to a complete stranger? I will have to trust to your honor, sir, whoever you might be.
I suppose I wish for the usual things in a gentleman, in terms of health and general good nature. But when I think on those things that I most hope for, that I want to be part of my life, I find myself hoping for a generosity of spirit. I also wish to find a man who will be an attentive and kind father, as my father was, yet how can one know such a thing? I would hope for a gentleman who will view me as his equal in our marriage.
As you can see, these things are quite impossible to know about a gentleman. No amount of afternoon carriage rides, ballroom meetings, or afternoon teas will reveal so much about a person’s character.
But worry not. I do not expect you to find such a companion for me. For now, if you might point me toward someone of honor and financial stability, I will be pleased enough. This will be my last Season in London. I suppose I ought not be too particular.
With all my gratitude,
P.K.
To The Charming P.K.,
Allow me time to ponder on your requirements. I do think they ought to be requirements, as each item is most reasonable and understandable. Why should any woman settle for less than a gentleman with whom she can have happiness as well as mutual respect and devotion?
You mentioned this is your last Season. Might I be so bold as to ask why?
Yours, Etc.,
A Friend
Phoebe bit her lip in an attempt to darken it from a shade of coral to something more like cherries. She stood before a mirror in a withdrawing room at the Countess Vailmoore’s annual ball. Then she turned to inspect her hair, pushing a stiff curl back into a pin.
“Phoebe, you look lovely. Do stop fussing.” Caroline took Phoebe’s hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Your brother is waiting for us in the ballroom, and you know how Joseph dislikes balls. We ought not leave him to his own devices too long.”
“Of course.” Phoebe turned away from the mirror, her stomach twisting. It was no use delaying; she had to go up to the ballroom. Her brother was not the only one who disliked swirling about in a crowded room, filled with the smells of too many perfumes and the noise of a hundred or more people.
But ballrooms were where matches were made. Phoebe needed to meet new gentlemen and construct a new list, with her old list pulled apart by her mysterious friend. As his advice on bachelors had proven correct twice, Phoebe trusted the man knew what he was doing when he gave her warning. Though she did not know exactly how to avoid settling for less than her ideal gentleman. Not if she hoped to be wed that year.
Starting over again when the Season was half over daunted her. Not that anyone would suspect as much, given her poise. Or so she told herself.
Before she entered the ballroom, Phoebe touched the bracelet, this time hidden beneath her long, ivory gloves. Tonight she wore a gown of yellow, trimmed in lace. The cheerful color reminded her of daffodils, her favorite flowers.
Phoebe came to the foot of the staircase where her hand landed upon the rail. She swallowed once, twice, and then looked up to begin her ascent.
Griffin Fenwick stood at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail on one elbow as he watched her. One corner of his mouth went upward when their gazes connected. He wore a rich brown coat that reminded her of chocolate and a yellow waistcoat that nearly matched her gown. His hair had been tossed about expertly, given it a windblown look that only increased the charm of his appearance.
Not that she would be charmed. Not when she remembered too well the insult he had given her when last they had spoken. He thought her conversation amusing, not to be taken seriously, and for a woman to speak her mind—well. Dwelling upon that would not improve her mood.
Setting her chin at a level a notch or two above where she normally held it, Phoebe took up her gown in one hand then allowed the other to glide along the banister as she walked up. Let him make light of her intelligence if he wished. She would not spend another moment entertaining Mr. Fenwick.
He pushed away from the rail as she approached and bowed when she attained the landing. “Miss Kimball, good evening. I am pleased you could come.”
He spoke as though he had issued the invitation rather than the countess.
“Mr. Fenwick,” she said, not even bothering to meet his gaze. She stared past him toward the ballroom. “I had no idea you would be present.” Though tempted to sweep by without another word, Phoebe had no desire to give anyone the cut direct. There were enough other people standing about in the hall to notice if she behaved that rudely.
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Caroline did not tell you?”
Phoebe winced and finally looked at him. “What ought my sister-in-law to have told me?” She knew, when she saw his smile reappear, that he’d had something to do with the invitation that had surprised her when it had arrived.
“The countess is a friend to my mother, and she has met Caroline often enough that when I suggested she extend the invitation to your family, she agreed at once. I am delighted you are here.” He did not seem to boast. The cheerfulness in his tone sounded genuine.
How could the man prove both irritating and charming?
Gritting her teeth, Phoebe offered him a tight smile. “Most kind of you to think of us, Mr. Fenwick.”
He offered his arm, and she had no choice but to take it. “Might I secure a set of dances with you, Miss Kimball? The next set to begin, if you have not yet promised them elsewhere.”
Dreadful man. Unless she wanted to spend the whole of the evening in a chair, she had to agree.
“My first set is yours, Mr. Fenwick.” If only he did not appear so pleased, she might have forgiven him. He did not seem to understand, not in the slightest, that she held him in some contempt.
They had barely entered the ballroom, which was actually several large rooms with doors flung open to connect them all, when the music ended. Their first engagement upon the dancefloor was to begin at once.
Phoebe saw Caroline and Joseph standing near the wall. When they spotted her, Caroline’s expression changed from merely cheerful to something bordering on excitement. Joseph, ever the protective older brother, merely raised his eyebrows. If Mr. Fenwick noticed them at all, he gave no indication as he swept her toward the couples arranging themselves upon the floor.
The countess never gave out invitations on a whim, as all of Society knew, so her ball could not be called a crush. But thirty couples stood ready to dance, and more lined the walls. A set would easily take up half an hour, and perhaps a quarter more depending on the forms. Giving so much time to Mr. Fenwick made Phoebe sigh as she took up her position. Finding enough gentlemen to repopulate her list of eligible bachelors in a single evening had already felt like a challenge without such devotion of time to someone completely unsuitable.
As she stood across from the gentleman, Phoebe kept her expression bored. The man seemingly went through life with the goal of self-amusement. She would give him nothing to laugh over that evening.
He grinned at her anyway.
“I have been pondering something, Miss Kimball.” He stepped forward and took her hand, raising it above them both and stepping back again.