Page 8 of Letters for Phoebe

“Does everyone know about his gambling habits?” she asked quietly, notes of anxiety in each word.

“Everyone who pays attention to such things.” He shrugged, wincing on her behalf. What would it feel like to be the last one to hear such a thing? At least she had made no commitment to the gambler.

“Gambling is a popular pastime among gentlemen, though,” Miss Kimball said quietly.

Griffin shrugged again. “That is not the least of his vices, I am afraid.”

She groaned and dropped her face in her hands. “Duped. Again.” Without raising from her slumped position, Miss Kimball spoke through her fingers. “Thank you for your time and insight, Mr. Fenwick. You may go.”

Could he, when she was obviously in distress? “Miss Kimball, I could see you home if you like—”

Miss Kimball sat up abruptly, her spine straight as a needle and her tone just as sharp. “That is unnecessary.” She opened the door to the hackney. “Thank you for your concern. Good evening.”

Her swift dismissal, made with a cold tone and her nose in the air, gave him pause. Yet he tipped his head to her, stepped out of the coach, and shut the door behind him. Some people did not know how to show gratitude. Not that he needed effusive praise, but something more than being turned out onto the street as though he had been the one performing a questionable act did not sit well with him. It nearly brought his temper to the surface.

Irritating, unreasonable woman. As much as he had admired the gumption it took to spy upon someone, and the bravery besides, he would not allow himself to like Miss Kimball. He had done her a good turn, nothing more. Griffin was determined to think no more of her, even as he walked into the darkness of the street and heard her hackney pull away.

Chapter 3

A Sparring Match

To My Friend,

You have saved me from great humiliation and subsequent despair. I thank you, with all my heart. You cannot know what it means to me to receive your warning at such a time when no one else could advise me. I have made certain Mr. M. will have no reason to believe himself welcome in the future.

Truly, I cannot express the depth of my gratitude. May God bless you.

Sincerely Yours,

P.K.

* * *

Griffin arrived at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Carew, and their three sons, barely in time for dinner. He’d been abominably late to all of his appointments that day, ever since he had received the note from Phoebe Kimball. He’d read and reread her words, studied the swirls of her handwriting, and tried to discern how the young woman who had pushed him out of a hack could possibly be the same one who wrote such warm words with an elegant and gentle hand.

The woman was more than the stuffy socialite he had first thought her.

He paused in the foyer of the grand house on Brook Street, making certain his cravat remained presentable. With a quick grin at his own reflection, Griffin followed a footman to the upstairs parlor. The doors opened and Griffin strolled in, ready to find entertainment or make his own.

His eyes landed almost immediately on a woman dressed in pale blue, with flashing gemstones in her hair and a placid expression upon her face.

Miss Kimball.

Fortune had smiled upon him, giving him another opportunity to take her measure. Griffin went immediately to where she stood, listening to Phillip Carew wax eloquent about architecture. Phillip was the second Carew son, the one nearest Griffin in age and a personal friend. The poor fellow had reverted to the topic on which he could speak for hours, long after the eyes of his listeners glazed over.

It could only mean Miss Kimball had done something to make Phillip nervous.

Griffin had better save his friend. “Good evening, Miss Kimball. Phillip.”

Dark lashes lowered, Miss Kimball’s lips turned down when he addressed them. “Mr. Fenwick. I did not know the Carews were a mutual acquaintance.”

“Nor did I.” Griffin grinned wider when her frown deepened. Though she appeared to dislike him, he suspected there was a great deal more to her regard for him than that. He would discover it, too. “It is a pleasure to see you again so soon after our last meeting.”

Ah, that caused a greater reaction.

The woman’s dark eyes widened, momentarily turning fearful.

“A pleasure,” she repeated, her eyes cutting to the side as though looking for an escape.