be more than a fool himself. Performing foolish pranks and jests in front of Society, thumbing his nose at propriety.
Yet she could not think of any man of her acquaintance, save her relatives, who had treated her with such kind attentiveness. While his humor was not what she was used to, there was nothing inappropriate about it. Not really. He had never behaved as anything less than a gentleman when near her.
For some reason, he spoke often enough about her to make his parents curious. To ask her to an evening at the theater. It was enough to make her consider, to entertain the thoughts, that Griffin Fenwick considered courting her.
The audience’s laughter filled the theater, and Phoebe forced a laugh as well. She laughed at herself. Griffin had proclaimed himself uninterested in marriage. She had heard it with her own ears. Her anonymous friend was wrong to put Griffin’s name in his list. The only reason he showed her any consideration at all was due to his friendship with Caroline. Perhaps he still thought he must make up for his verbal blunder.
Yet during the third act of the play, after the intermission wherein she and Mrs. Fenwick laughed at the plights of the confused lovers, Griffin sat closer than before. He leaned down often to make observations about the characters that made her giggle most unbecomingly. He did not seem to mind.
And at the very end of the play, for a very brief moment, his hand covered hers when the hero at last confessed himself in love with the heroine.
Chapter 9
A Friend Indeed
To P.K.,
I did see you at the theater. You appeared most lovely in your gown, reminding me of cherry blossoms in the spring, or roses in the summer. Your companions were fortunate to have you in their box. When I took my eyes from the stage, it was always to seek you out. You seemed to have enjoyed the evening’s entertainment, and I could not help but laugh when you laughed.
What thought you of Sir Francis? I rather wished I had the ability to throttle the character. Eleanor deserved someone far less reticent in telling her how he loved her. But that is the way of it at times; not everyone can wed someone deserving of their devotion.
I find I must address your curiosity now. You asked for a hint as to my identity. I fear I would choose poorly and send you on to an entirely wrong assumption. Or perhaps I would give you a hint that would reveal immediately who I am. Neither situation suits me at present.
Perhaps one day, in the future, I might tell you who I am. Until then, know that your letters are safe in my care. I have the greatest respect for you and for your family. When I wrote to you the very first time, it was the only choice I had to make you aware of the scoundrel at your door.
Tell me, did your Mr. Fenwick seem willing to introduce you to those other gentlemen I mentioned?
Your Friend
Phoebe sat in the parlor, waiting for Daphne Windham’s arrival. Somehow, Daphne had contrived to come without her mother and only a maid for company. Thank goodness. What Phoebe wished to discuss was not for Mrs. Windham’s ears. Mrs. Windham was terrible about keeping secrets, especially when they might be of use to her.
The latest letter written by her anonymous friend was in her sewing basket beneath the couch. She had already read through it several times, each time trying to puzzle out if there was any hidden meaning to any of the man’s words. The first time she read it through, she blushed and smiled, feeling he paid her compliments and perhaps even flirted. Then she read it again and thought he pushed her toward Griffin. Another reading and she had nearly convinced herself that the writer cared not at all for her, only for propriety.
“I am being nonsensical,” she said aloud.
“No one would ever accuse you of that, Phoebe. Except for perhaps those of us you convinced to swim in the pond at midnight.” Daphne had arrived in the doorway, without Phoebe realizing she had even entered the house.
Phoebe rose and went to her friend, arms extended. “Daphne. Here you are at last. Oh, my dear, how are you?” They embraced more like sisters than friends and soon were upon the couch recounting the last week to each other. All the friends wrote fairly regularly, but with Daphne so