Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,11

returned, Phillip would win the general’s favor and his daughter’s hand.

Until then, Griffin and a few select friends were under orders to help Phillip avoid other young ladies and matchmaking mothers.

Miss Kimball continued to glare at him, brown eyes frostier than New Year’s Day.

“Mr. Fenwick, though I am certain you mean well, I cannot agree with you.” She moved the fan with enough fervor that the curls above her ear fluttered in the breeze.

Griffin shrugged and tucked his hands behind his back. Perhaps he had misread her letter, somehow. The woman did not have a grateful bone in her body.

“I apologize, Miss Kimball. It was never my intention to cause you distress.” He could not simply walk away and leave her alone. Not without being rude.

She nodded her acceptance of his apology, and when their eyes met again, her expression softened somewhat. Then her lips parted as though she might speak—

“Mrs. Carew, dinner is served.” The pomposity of the announcement had everyone turning to face the butler who then opened a set of double doors into the dining room.

The line formed, and Griffin found himself escorting the eldest daughter of a wealthy gentleman. As an heir to a most comfortable estate, he ranked a bit higher than other men present. He almost looked over his shoulder to see where Miss Kimball fell into the line, but nudged that bit of curiosity out of his brain.

Griffin took his seat, all smiles for the lovely woman on his right, then he looked to his left and froze. Phillip assisted Miss Kimball into the seat beside Griffin.

Meeting his friend’s eyes, Griffin very clearly saw Phillip mouth, “Help me.”

Drat the man and his covert romance.

Griffin forced his smile brighter. “Miss Kimball. We meet again.”

“So it would seem, Mr. Fenwick.” Phoebe knew her tight-lipped smile was not precisely polite. Yet who would blame her, given all her disappointments of late?

As a second son, most would not think Phillip Carew a likely match for someone with a modest fortune. But Phoebe had discovered that Phillip stood ready to inherit his maternal grandfather’s architectural firm, and eventually the old gentleman’s estate. He was also single and had yet to show any interest in a woman during the current Season.

Though she had been thwarted once by Griffin Fenwick’s appearance, Phoebe intended to spend the evening getting to know Mr. Carew better.

Phoebe removed her gloves in order to eat, as did the other women at the table. She lifted her spoon and caught the subtle gleam of candlelight on the red beads at her wrist. They did not match her ensemble at all, yet she had slipped them on in a moment of uncertainty. The beads might be unnecessary for good luck, but they were a perfect reminder of her dearest friends.

If only one of those ladies sat next to her, rather than the handsome Mr. Fenwick.

Perhaps she could ignore him and devote her dinner conversation to Mr. Carew.

Griffin Fenwick leaned ever so slightly in her direction. “Miss Kimball, you must tell me how you have enjoyed the Season in London thus far.”

Confound it.

“I have been positively delighted and diverted, Mr. Fenwick. There are always so many things to do in Town this time of year.” Phoebe took a delicate sip of her soup. Pea soup, with some sort of fowl. It took a great deal of control not to wrinkle her nose.

A new voice, from the other side of the gentleman, spoke up. “You must have quite a list of favorites, given that this is your third Season out.”

Heat rushed up Phoebe’s neck and into her cheeks, and her gaze darted up to see a girl with gold ringlets lean forward in her chair just enough for the wicked light in her eyes to be seen. Miss Applegate. Daughter of a baronet.

Mr. Fenwick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his cheerful demeanor faltering for a moment.

Never mind. Phoebe could handle herself. She tried on a smile, the sort one wore to cover a secret. “Indeed, Miss Applegate. I should be happy to give you a list of my recommendations on appropriate entertainments for one so lately come from the schoolroom.” It might not be her most subtle barb, but Miss Applegate turned a motley pink before giving her attention to her soup.

Her gaze caught Mr. Fenwick’s by chance, but she saw the twinkle of amusement there, and the way his lips turned upward. He tipped his head, as though in salute.

Phoebe suppressed her smile and gave her soup another