Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,15

she sensed his eyes upon her, studying her. “Dotage, Miss Kimball? I’ll have you know I am younger than you are.”

Phoebe stopped walking and turned toward him, releasing his arm. “Sir, I cannot believe you would say such a thing. You are not. You must be nearer thirty than twenty.” She narrowed her eyes and studied the charming, tiny lines near the corners of his eyes; they grew deeper as he smiled. At her. He had a rather nice smile.

“I will have you know that I have only marked my birthday on six occasions.” His eyes glittered, bluer than gray in his amusement.

Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest. “That is absurd. Indeed, the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”

He mimicked her stance. “I swear to you, on my honor, it is the truth.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again and stared hard at him. There was a puzzle in his words somewhere, and she would find the answer. Perhaps his family had not done anything on the anniversary of his birth to mark the occasion. That might be what he meant. Yet she had heard, from Caroline, all about the Fenwick family. They sounded as though they were all quite close, and if they had produced someone such as the gentleman before her, they likely did not ignore excuses to celebrate.

“Six birthdays.” She wrinkled her nose.

His grin turned almost cocky. He offered his arm again. She accepted it. “Six,” he confirmed. “I will wager you have celebrated twenty years of your life passing.” Their walk continued, even slower than before.

“I have.” Drat and bother. “Six marked birthdays. What happened during the unmarked anniversaries?” She ought to hate how curious he had made her. Yet she had always had a weakness for riddles. Especially those with logical conclusions.

“There were none. Only the six have passed since my birth.” He chuckled, sounding far too certain of himself.

Phoebe sighed. “I will think on this, sir.”

“Do. Take whatever time you need.” He was leading her around the square, she realized. They had passed Number Fourteen several houses before.

“Mr. Fenwick,” she said, turning to look up at him. He was taller than she by a head. “Are you very well acquainted with the Carew family?”

His smile momentarily faded, and though he did not look down at her, she sensed caution in the way his eyes narrowed. “Yes. Very well. I consider Phillip to be one of my oldest friends.”

“How fortunate for me. I have a question I must ask. A delicate question.” She cleared her throat and lowered her eyes to the path upon which they walked. “Is Mr. Phillip Carew already—that is to say, are you aware if he might already have bestowed his affection upon a young lady?”

The gentleman paused, and when she looked up, she saw, for the first time, a very deep line creasing his forehead and a frown upon his face.

“I do not mean to pry,” she said hastily. “Or ask you to betray any confidences. I need not know her name. Only if she exists. You see, I had thought to come to know the gentleman better, but if friendship is all that is possible, I should like to know.”

He glanced away from her, presenting a profile of a long, elegant nose and strong jaw. He took in a deep breath which expanded his chest, then released it with his answer. “Yes. There is someone Mr. Carew has set his hopes upon.”

A flicker of disappointment made her shoulders sag. Her mysterious correspondent had told the truth. She ought to write her thanks again, except she already had, in a way, even before confirming his news.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. The day had grown dimmer, and she drew a line through Mr. Carew’s name upon the list in her mind. “Would you be so kind as to walk me home, Mr. Fenwick?” She gestured behind them.

“Of course.” He turned and offered the opposite arm for her to take. The maid who had been trailing behind them squeaked and hurried to step aside so they might pass her.

Mr. Fenwick was quiet for some time, all the way up until he assisted her across the street. Delivering her to the very door of Number Fourteen, he released her arm and bowed. “Thank you for your company, Miss Kimball. I enjoyed it.”

Though distracted by the rearrangement of her plans, Phoebe curtsied and said what was proper. “It was pleasant to spend a few moments with you, Mr.