Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,36

eyes studied him. “I rather felt for Elinor during the whole of the novel. As practical as she was, the plans she tried to make, it must have been difficult to have everyone about her constantly undoing her careful work.”

“It is impossible to plan everything, though,” he said.

She lowered her chin and glanced away, her cheeks turning pink. “So I am learning.” She gave him such a look at that moment, her eyes warm and soft, her smile delicate and almost uncertain, that his heart twisted. He would give himself away if he lingered upon how she looked. His heart was hers for the taking.

“What else do you enjoy reading?” Griffin asked, desperate to change the topic from the novel they had written about in their notes. They were at a dinner table with his family and hers. It was not the time to stare at her like a besotted calf.

“Oh, I cannot think you and I have many more favorite books in common,” she demurred, lifting her fork with some haste. Perhaps she had sensed the danger, too.

Griffin relaxed. They both wished to leave the dangerous waters. The others at the table had continued on another topic of conversation, leaving the two of them to murmur quietly to each other. “I imagine we might. Most of my reading is quite frivolous, too.”

Phoebe’s fork fell from her hand to clatter upon the plate, then slid completely off onto her lap. She yelped and jumped to her feet, but the food upon the fork had already made a streak of color down her dress.

Griffin rose, mouth agape. He realized too late what he had done. Her letter.

“Of course, most of my reading is quite frivolous by scholarly standards.”

He had thought on it and responded as though she had spoken the words to him rather than written to the anonymous him. If she was not suspicious before, she certainly would be now. But perhaps not. Coincidences happened.

His mother stood too, napkin in hand. “Oh, dear girl. Here, let me help with that. Come, right this way.” She took Phoebe’s arm and led her from the dining room, obviously to tidy her up.

Just before the door closed upon them, Phoebe looked back, her eyes as wide and large as a full moon.

She knew.

“Most of my reading is quite frivolous, too.”

Phoebe had never admitted to having such habits, using such words, to anyone before she had written that letter. When Griffin had said that single word, frivolous, everything in her mind had come together. By the time his mother had finished helping her clear the stain, and then the damp, from her dress, Phoebe had a clear picture in her mind of what had happened.

Griffin had introduced her to the gambler, Mr. Milbourne, before understanding why she wished to meet him. As a favor to Caroline, and perhaps out of guilt for performing the introduction, he had written that first note. And he had been present when she spoke with Mr. Peter Carew, so he had seen the shift in her interest and had warned her away again. She had mentioned loving the theater in a letter, and then Griffin had invited her to see a play. He even dared write, anonymously, to tell her he had seen her present. She had shared a favorite book, and then Griffin had read it and given it to his mother to read, too.

That very day, she had written and asked to meet him, only for them to have dinner together. Griffin was her mysterious friend. He had to be. Everything aligned perfectly.

And I was too stupid to see it.

Mrs. Fenwick surveyed Phoebe’s gown again. “There we are. No one would ever know. Come, let us go back to the table. It is nearly time for dessert.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Phoebe followed her hostess as slowly as she could. What was she to say, or do, when she put eyes upon the man again?

What had he been thinking, writing her so many letters? Even putting forth his own name as a suitor! And to think she had been halfway in love with the letter writer, and certainly rather smitten by Griffin himself.

When she entered the dining room, she immediately lowered her eyes. What if she looked at him and saw laughter in his eyes? He had to know she had discovered the secret at last. Surely, he knew, and thought her a dull, foolish girl to have not realized it sooner. Perhaps he had even been laughing at