Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,17

had proved far too easy.

Not that he had wanted her to cast them all aside. But he had instinctively known not a single of the six men were worthy of a match with someone as bold and intelligent as Miss Kimball. It would take a different sort of man to make her happy, of that he felt certain.

Miss Kimball retrieved her letter from the flower girl and kept walking, perhaps to complete a circuit around the square. She opened the letter and read as she walked, while he kept pace several yards behind her. He was close enough to hear her giggle. The light laugh, at something he had written, gave him reason enough to smile with satisfaction.

Griffin did not hail her until he saw her put the paper in her reticule. Then he called out, “Miss Kimball, is that you?”

She stiffened and looked over her shoulder at him. “Mr. Fenwick.” She stopped walking, and he quickened his step until he reached her side.

“We meet yet again.”

“So we do.” She folded her hands in front of her, the reticule bearing his letter dangling from her wrist. “What brings you out to Berkeley Square today?” She glanced up at the gray clouds. “In such uncertain weather.”

“A desire for a walk. I found the park here to my liking, when last we met.” He motioned to the trees and well-kept grasses. “Though it is horribly named.”

“I do not suppose Berkeley Rectangle would sound as lovely, or as though it might rival Mayfair and Grosvenor Squares.” Miss Kimball’s lips twitched, though she did not fully smile. “Mr. Fenwick, I was correct when I settled upon your birthdate at our last meeting, wasn’t I?”

Griffin bowed, theatrically. “You were most correct. I was born on February the twenty-ninth, in 1784.”

Her eyes brightened, and she leaned slightly closer, though a foot of space still separated them. “So you have been alive eight and twenty years, with only six birthdays, because the year 1800 had no Leap Day. Am I correct?”

He grinned at her. “You are.”

“You must take great delight in vexing people with that riddle.” She did not laugh, though he suspected she wished to do so. “That brings me all the way back to my original question, sir. A man of your advanced years seems oddly opposed to the idea of matrimony. Why is that?”

Griffin shrugged. “As I have said, I have not found a lady to my tastes.”

“Pity for you.” An ominous rumble rolled across the sky, causing Miss Kimball to look up and assess the clouds. “Dear me. It seems neither of us will have our walk.”

“Afraid of a little rain, Miss Kimball?” he asked, disappointed she would leave before they’d had a chance to enjoy a verbal duel.

“I am afraid of ruining my bonnet.” She touched one of the swirling green ribbons.

“Then I will walk you to your door.” Griffin glanced at the reticule on her wrist as she put her hand upon his arm. “Are you not particular about your choice of gentleman, Miss Kimball? I imagine you are on the hunt for a husband, as every single woman in London is on the hunt.”

“You make it sound as though I actually have a wide variety of choices.” She shook her head, her eyes upon her house rather than on him or the park. “No woman truly does, you know. I am limited by my family’s position in Society—”

Griffin interrupted. “Which is fair, given your address.” Berkeley rivaled Grosvenor when it came to fashion.

Her eyes narrowed. “My father was fortunate to purchase the house at a time when it was quite affordable. But as I said, my family is not noble; my father is only a gentleman. That narrows the options. Then there is the matter of my dowry; it is too small to tempt those looking to increase their riches or save themselves, yet my family connections are not remarkable enough to entice those that are solvent and only looking to better position themselves in society. We also must take into account my age and appearance. The pool of gentlemen narrows still more with other factors, such as my determination to have intelligent conversation rather than simper at a man as most would desire.”

Griffin laughed, a hearty sound that made her shrink and look about as though to make sure he had not drawn attention to them. They crossed the street to her house, but Griffin did not give up her arm immediately.

“Any man who would censure you for speaking