Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,2
far removed from the story they had read aloud to each other for weeks. The reality was likely that Phoebe would be introduced to some stuffy gentleman at a ball who might take enough of a liking to her to send her flowers the next day.
How dull.
Marah snorted at Daphne’s words, but Isabel only squeezed an arm around her shoulder. “I will always love you, Marah. And you, Mrs. Vernal.”
Lavinia laughed, but Phoebe’s mind grew serious as she turned about her thoughts of the future. What if their future could have romance in it? Something more than the cold formality of a Society courtship?
“As foolish as we are behaving now,” she said, “it would mean a great deal to me to know each of you finds a love like that. I cannot like the idea of any of you marrying someone who does not treasure you.” Someone who would only see their dowries, or their pretty faces. Each of her friends deserved a husband who would see their goodness and their hearts.
Lavinia took up the idea with an eager nod. “We should make a pact. A promise. To marry for love.” Phoebe held her breath, looking to the others. She hadn’t expected Lavinia to take up the idea so quickly.
“To marry only for the truest love,” Daphne said into the quiet that had settled upon their gazebo. “A love that withstands every challenge and trial.”
Isabel’s eyes grew serious. “To men who treat us as equals.”
“Who can make us laugh even on the worst of days,” Phoebe added, some of the heaviness lifting from her heart.
“Who would stop at nothing to win our hearts,” came Lavinia’s soft voice.
Phoebe turned her gaze to Marah, as they all did. Marah only stared at her feet. “Love is a luxury some cannot afford.”
Lavinia, ever kind and nurturing, took Marah’s hand. “Come, Marah, we are dreaming right now. Tell us what you want in a man.”
Marah hesitated a moment longer then let out a long breath. “If I could have a man who sees me not for my economic value, but simply for me, I think I should be happy.”
A lump formed in Phoebe’s throat. She looked around the circle of girls, meeting their eyes in turn. “We must promise to try.”
Lavinia held out the bracelet, the red beads a glimmering circle in her palm, reflecting the weak moonlight. Daphne reached out first and touched the bracelet, Isabel’s and Phoebe’s hands following soon after. Her eyes prickled, and she raised her head to look at Marah, watching them.
“All of us,” Daphne said gently.
Marah sighed, then scooted forward to touch a tentative finger on the bracelet.
“A pact for love,” Isabel said, “for each other, and the men we choose to stand beside us.”
They nodded together, the solemnity of the moment settling heavy in the air around them.
This could not be the end. Phoebe could not accept that this would be the last time she met with her friends, speaking their secrets into the night. Somehow, they would come together again. A bond such as theirs would not be easily forgotten, nor dimmed by time.
“Give me your hand, Marah,” Lavinia said, and they all sat back save for Marah. Lavinia slipped the bracelet around her wrist, securing the gold fastener.
Phoebe had to busy herself with something else before she cried. She uncovered the Chelsea buns and Marah smiled for the first time that night as they laughed, their hands becoming sticky messes as they ate their stolen treats. Even if Cook found out, even if Phoebe had to help first years practice their German vowels for a week, it would be worth it for that shared moment of happiness.
As they settled back onto the blankets, Isabel once again held up their prized leather book. “Huddle close, ladies. The Love of Count Rudolph, the final chapter.”
Lavinia put an arm around Marah, and Phoebe scooted closer to Daphne, wrapping a spare blanket about both their shoulders. They watched Isabel expectantly as she opened the book and paused dramatically.
“The clouds over Mount Morocco made the silvery moon seem like a ghost, and Esmerelda heard the howl of the wolf pack from a far off and shivered. Where was her handsome Count? Would he come for her? She fingered the battered locket at her chest. He’d promised his love would stretch across oceans. Was a mountain too far?”
Chapter 1
April 1, 1812
The crowd at the park had reached ridiculous proportions, which kept Phoebe seated squarely in her small phaeton. Her driver sat