“Turf and thunder,” he muttered, tearing yet another letter to pieces. “Botheration.” Truly, the situation merited more colorful language, but Griffin had no desire to add to his sins, at present.
Dawn crept into the room through the window, with him slumped in a chair before the embers of a fire. Cream-colored balls of paper were scattered about the room, or torn to bits and laying about like forgotten snowflakes.
“It shouldn’t matter this much.” He addressed his comment to his stockinged feet. He’d kicked his shoes off and tossed his cravat over a chair at some point in the night. But the sheer panic with which he had written and scratched out an explanation for what he had done, for writing her and then deceiving her, proved that he could not cast his worries aside. He needed to ask himself a different question entirely. “Why does it matter this much?”
He had begun to consider courtship, and to consider what it might mean to enter into a formal commitment with Phoebe. But he’d hesitated in declaring such intentions. He had never courted anyone, because that meant making plans. Making plans hinted at a level of seriousness he had never felt quite prepared to accept. There would always be more time, another year, and plenty of women in England to consider.
Except for the last fortnight, he had only thought of Phoebe. He had laughed over her letters, admired her determination, and found her irresistibly intelligent and beautiful. He wanted to be near her, to come to know her better.
The last letter she had written him, before the fiasco of a dinner, she had asked to meet her anonymous friend. Perhaps he could convince her to meet him, still. Rather than explain in another letter. If he visited her home, the chances of them having a private audience were slim.
But if they met in the park, perhaps he could make things better.
He went to the curtains in his room, already open enough to allow a trickle of sunlight inside. He threw them open, wincing a bit. Then he took the edge of his desk and pulled it into the light. He had used all the paper, but he found a piece he could trim down and uncrumpled it on the flat surface.
Griffin chewed on his bottom lip, tapping his fingers with the pen between them upon the desk. Then he wrote.
To P.K.,
I understand that you are upset. I understand if you are angry. But please, will you give me the chance to explain? We could meet, as you suggested, at the tree in Hyde Park. I will be there.
Please come, as I remain, with my whole heart,
Your Friend
He sealed the note, the shortest he had ever written Phoebe. The rampant lion appearing rather angry with him.
Griffin found his cravat and tied it on rather sloppily, then went in search of his shoes. The flower girl would be there even that early. She had an entire cart of flowers in the mornings, so grand houses might put flowers upon ladies’ breakfast trays and upon dining tables.
He flew out the door, uncaring that his appearance might startle anyone of his class who saw him. The only person whose opinion mattered was the recipient of his note.
Phoebe stayed in bed as long as possible. She had not slept much. Mostly she had tossed about in bed, trying to recall every word she had written to her anonymous friend. Had there been anything truly embarrassing? Anything that would compromise her standing in Society besides the letters themselves?
Not that she thought Griffin would attempt to expose her in any way. Not intentionally.
She pulled a pillow over her face, ignoring the sounds of life outside her window. “I cannot trust anything he said. Because he lied.”
Another part of her mind argued that her statement was false. Griffin had never spoken or written a falsehood. She had reread all his letters in the middle of the night, then folded them up and retied them in the red ribbon.
Even without the lying, Griffin had deceived her. What she could not understand was why he had kept writing once he had accomplished his purpose of warning her, or why he had continued to try to see her, in the park, and then escorting her to the play.
Her aching heart rather hoped he still wanted…something.
A knock on her bedroom door made her groan, then cast her pillow aside. “Who is there?”
“Caroline.”
Phoebe pushed herself up in bed, pushing a few strands of hair that had come loose in the night behind her ears. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Caroline came in with a maid behind her, carrying a breakfast tray. “You must eat, dear, even if you feel poorly. I have some tea with honey and lemon, and here is toast and some lemon cake.” Another maid entered, holding a vase full of scarlet roses. “Oh, and someone sent you flowers. There is a note.” The maids put their burdens on the dressing table, curtsied, and left.
Phoebe stared at the flowers from her place in bed, her heart picking up speed until it reminded her of a galloping horse.
“Thank you, Caroline.” Phoebe slid from between her sheets and went to the flowers. A note had been left tucked inside the stems. She pulled the paper out and went to the window, holding it up to the light.
The rampant lion upon the seal challenged her, glaring fiercely from the wax. She swallowed.
“It is kind of Griffin to send you flowers,” Caroline said.
Phoebe nearly dropped the letter, but instead pressed it to her racing heart and turned to her sister-in-law. “How do you know it’s from Griff—Mr. Fenwick?”
Caroline sat in Phoebe’s chair near the hearth, tucking her legs beneath her. “The seal. His family has used the rampant lion for years. They have two statues like that, guarding the gate of their country estate.”
Phoebe swallowed, then opened the note. She read it over twice in just a few seconds. The brevity in his words gave away nothing. Yet, she found herself relieved he had not attempted to explain, or make excuses, upon the paper. She folded it up and winced when she saw Caroline’s expectant expression.
“He hopes I recover and that he will see me soon. Nothing else.”
“Of course not. It would be inappropriate to say anything else.” Caroline’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Although I have heard a rumor that there have been a few letters with this seal coming into the house before.”
Phoebe’s cheeks blazed with heat, then she went cold all over. “Who said such a thing?” She laughed, the sound weak and unconvincing to her own ears.
Caroline’s grin widened. “Very loyal and honest servants. But never you fear, darling. I have nothing to say on the matter. I trust you. I have always known you to be practical, and Griffin is a gentleman for all that he behaves ridiculously at times.”
Phoebe swallowed and nodded tightly. “Thank you. For not saying anything.”
“I did sense that something was amiss between the two of you last evening. I do hope whatever happened will not cause a permanent wedge between you. He is a good friend of mine, do not forget.” Caroline rose, and her face went pale. “If you will excuse me. I am afraid my own breakfast has not entirely agreed with me.” She put a hand over her abdomen. “Actually, might I have one of your slices of toast to nibble at?”
Phoebe hastily picked up a square of bread and handed it to her sister-in-law.
“Thank you.” Caroline took a small bite, forced a smile, and hastily left the room.
As much as her sister-in-law wished to help, her delicate condition had rather limited her ability to do much of late aside from rest and avoid becoming sick after every bite of food.