Husband and wife exchanged another look, then his mother sighed. “I was afraid we would encounter this reluctance. I forbid you to get our hopes up about a daughter-in-law, Griffin.”
“I have not—”
“And that is why,” she said, speaking over him, “I have invited Miss Kimball and her family to dinner this evening.”
Griffin nearly fell out of his chair. “You have?”
“Indeed.” She smiled and lifted her chin. “Be here at seven this evening, please. We need you to decide if we should pin our hopes on this young woman or if we ought to settle in for an even longer wait.”
Griffin opened and closed his mouth several times, then he finally laughed and rose from his chair. “Mother, you are an angel.” He crossed the room and kissed her cheek. “Father, I will see you this evening.” He shook his father’s hand, then turned and went to the door.
“But Griffin,” his mother called. “You only just arrived.”
“I have things to see to before tonight. Thank you, Mother.” He left the house with a lighter heart. His mother had found a way for him to see Phoebe, without forcing him to reveal his intentions.
He made his way to Berkeley Square, with the hope of finding another note waiting for him. To have the pleasure of a letter and Phoebe’s company on the same evening would put him in the best of moods for days to come.
To My Friend,
I have enjoyed our exchange of letters this past week. I am delighted to know you have read so many of my favorite novels. But lest you suspect I fill my head with nothing but modern fiction, I will promise you that I have enjoyed many a Shakespearian play and sonnet, too. Of course, most of my reading is quite frivolous by scholarly standards.
This evening I go to dinner with the Fenwick family. I know Mr. Griffin Fenwick is a favorite of yours, from the list you gave me. Why is that? How well do you know him, or any of the men on that list, to recommend them?
I confess, I have not sought out anyone else you named. I find I would much rather come to know you more. You call yourself my friend, but how can that be, when we are restricted to letter writing and nothing more? I have confided in one of my closest friends, a woman I have known since childhood, about our letters. She has given me the best of advice.
I should like to see you. We need not meet in secret, or indeed speak a word to one another. I thought we might both go for a walk the day after tomorrow. In Hyde Park, at noon. It is not the fashionable hour, so there will be few people about. There is a particular tree near the Serpentine—it is old and bent, with one branch forming an arch all the way to the ground. If you will walk to that tree, and carry any object of red, I will know it is you.
We need not speak, if you do not wish it. But it is unfair that you know me so well, that you have seen me and known it is to me you write, and I know not if I have ever glimpsed you.
Please say you agree.
Yours,
P.K.
Phoebe followed Caroline and Joseph into the Fenwick townhouse. It was not far distant from their own. Merely a street over.
The uncle in Parliament would not be present, for which she was grateful. There was no one to impress. The Fenwicks had proved most kind the night of the play. And Griffin— he seemed to like her well enough.
Phoebe put her hand over the red-bead bracelet, drawing in a deep breath. She wore an ivory gown and her blue-green shawl, a red ribbon in her hair the only thing which matched her friends’ bracelet. Even if there was no one to impress, she hoped at least one person that evening would think she looked pretty.
“Mr. Kimball, Caroline, it is such a pleasure to have you both with us.” Mrs. Fenwick kissed Caroline upon the cheek after they curtsied and bowed to one another. Then she turned with a wide smile that looked very much like her son’s and extended a hand to Phoebe. “And you, Miss Kimball. I am simply delighted you could come. I so enjoyed getting to know you at the theater.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Phoebe said, then her eyes went to where the older Mr. Fenwick stood. The invitation had said their son would be present, yet he did not greet the guests with his parents?
“Griffin has not yet arrived,” Mr. Fenwick said, and she blushed when she looked back to him. At least he seemed to be telling all three guests, and not just Phoebe. “It is not like him to be late, so I am certain whatever keeps him is pressing.” He gestured to the steps leading to the next floor. “Caroline, permit me to escort you to the parlor. And do tell me how your father is doing, spending all his time in Bath.”
Joseph offered his arm to Mrs. Fenwick, leaving Phoebe to follow behind all of them. She hesitated a moment, feeling somewhat unsettled. The disappointment she felt at Griffin’s absence, even if it was temporary, surprised her.
Phoebe’s hand went to the bannister, and she took her first step upon the stairs, at the same moment the front door opened. Startled, Phoebe turned around with her heart in her throat.
With hat in hand, Griffin entered the house. He had not seen her yet. He handed his things to the footman. “Thank you, Clarkson. Have the other guests arrived?”
“Yes, Mr. Griffin. They have only just gone upstairs, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and saw her. His eyes widened, and his warm smile appeared. In three long strides Griffin was at her side, extending his hand to her. She took it without thinking, and he bowed over her bracelet as though she were a queen.
“Miss Kimball,” he said. “It seems my timing is quite perfect. I have caught you alone.”
Phoebe’s lips parted, and she looked up to see that everyone else had disappeared. Even the footman had gone, leaving her alone in the entry hall with Griffin. She looked back at him, but rather than feel startled at being alone with a man, relief made her laugh. “So you have, sir. If you have anything of a clandestine nature to reveal, now is the time to do so.”
His smile faltered, and Phoebe hastily spoke on. “Not that I think you are a secretive person, Griff—Mr. Fenwick. I only meant to jest.”
His congenial expression returned, though more subdued. “Griff. Hm. I rather like that. Are we acquainted well enough yet that I can insist you call me by that name and nothing else?” His voice was warm, but she could not call it more than friendly.
“Oh, I am afraid we have not known each other nearly long enough. Perhaps in a decade.” She attempted to keep the levity in her tone, though her heart raced. “And only if your wife does not mind.” Phoebe’s heart abruptly stopped, then everything above her shoulders went hot as she blushed. “I did not mean to suggest—that is—”
Griffin laughed, not unkindly, and offered her his arm. “It is only fair you should bungle a word or two, Miss Kimball, given how I have already had my turn at such a mistake.”
Though mortified, Phoebe took his arm. “I am somewhat out of sorts this evening, I suppose.” They started up the stairs, walking more slowly than necessary. Phoebe could not mind when it meant a few more moments to try to understand the man at her side. She did enjoy his company and simply being near him made her heart lighter.
“I am sorry to hear that. I hope you are not troubled by anything serious.” He sounded sincere, and when she looked at him from the side of her eye she saw his brow had drawn down, as though with real concern.