Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,21

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