“Have you?” Phoebe refused to show interest, pretending to concentrate on the movements of the dance.
“Yes. Your name.”
She did not trip, but she did narrow her eyes at him. She lightly skipped to one side as the steps called for. “I cannot see how my name could possibly give you more than a moment’s thought.”
“Your Christian name is quite lovely and unique. I cannot say I know of many ladies with such a name. It comes from mythology, I believe. Is it not the name of a Titaness? The first ruler of the moon, according to the Greeks.” He smiled as though he had said something particularly clever.
Phoebe felt her nose wrinkle before she hastily reminded herself such an expression was not ladylike. “I do know the origins of my name, sir.”
“Of course. But I wonder how it came to be chosen for you. Knowing such things, I believe, is telling.” He did not appear the least put off by her expression. The dance took them away from each other for several moments. When she returned to stand before him he spoke as though there had been no interruption. “Who named you? Your father or mother?”
Though reluctant to engage in any conversation which might be perceived as meaningful, Phoebe knew he would not allow her to ignore the question entirely. “My mother suggested it. Her Christian name is Mary. She never liked that there were a great many who shared her name.”
“She wished your name, and you, to be unique.” Mr. Fenwick nodded sagely, though his eyes brightened. “My mother named me with the same thought. Everyone on my father’s side argued with her, thinking I ought to be named something sensible like William.” His grin flashed as he walked around her and bowed to another lady before returning. “She said, and my father agreed, that she should like me to stand out among gentlemen rather than merely be sensible.”
“Given what you were up to the day we met, I should say you succeeded in fulfilling her expectations.” Though likely not the way the woman had expected. Despite her earlier commitment to avoid being amused by the man, Phoebe had to smile a touch at that.
He laughed aloud, drawing attention from other dancers, including smiles from several females.
A gentleman with such open good humor was rather rare, especially in a ballroom where every man was either hunted or on the hunt himself. Mr. Fenwick’s above average good looks likely contributed to the indulgence of his humor. His bright eyes and dark hair, his lean and tall stature, would pull eyes in his direction even had he frowned.
“Griffin is still more unlikely a choice than a Greek god’s name.” Phoebe snapped her mouth shut over the observation.
“I know.” He took her hand again and moved in close, staying so a second longer than the other gentlemen in the line of the dance. As though he had rather be near her than keep perfect time. For an instant, his grin turned into a soft smile, and an emotion she could not name appeared in his eyes. Whatever it was, it made her heart skip most traitorously.
He stepped away, and she released her breath without knowing when she had begun to hold it.
His merry smile reappeared. “My mother was rather enamored with a Grecian fresco with a griffin standing guard over a fallen man. She and my father brought me up to be a protector, as all gentlemen should be, of those who stand in need.”
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.