Page 26 of Letters for Phoebe

“Then what keeps you from coming to know her better?” Mr. Fenwick asked, spectacles and book still in hand. “We raised you to recognize such things in others so that you would seek out the companionship of friends, and eventually a wife, with those fine qualities.”

Griffin considered the plastered ceiling with a grimace. “I do not think she views me entirely favorably. I am afraid our first introduction made me appear a fool, and I have hardly seen her since without there arising one problem or another. The theater was my first successful interaction with her since we met.” He swung his gaze down to his parents, his mother standing behind his father’s chair. “I rather wish for that impression to settle upon her before I try again.”

“And in the meantime, some cleverer chap will step in and—” His father’s unhelpful pronouncement was interrupted when Mrs. Fenwick covered her husband’s mouth with one hand.

“Your father made inquiries,” she said. “He quite likes what he has learned about the Kimballs.”

Mr. Fenwick took his wife’s hand, kissed it, then moved it to rest upon his shoulder. “Your mother made inquiries, too. We both like what she has learned about the young lady.”

Griffin looked from one parent’s knowing smile to the other. “I suppose that is a good thing?” He did not like the way they stared at him, as though they had something else to share but thought it far too delicious at present. “But what is this? You have never pushed me, either of you, to take a wife. Why all the interest now?”

“Because of your interest, obviously,” his father said.

His mother made a sound Griffin would never dare call a snort. “And because all our friends have grandchildren.”

Griffin’s mouth popped open. “Grandchildren? That is putting the cart before the horse, is it not?”

Husband and wife exchanged another look, then his mother sighed. “I was afraid we would encounter this reluctance. I forbid you to get our hopes up about a daughter-in-law, Griffin.”

“I have not—”

“And that is why,” she said, speaking over him, “I have invited Miss Kimball and her family to dinner this evening.”

Griffin nearly fell out of his chair. “You have?”

“Indeed.” She smiled and lifted her chin. “Be here at seven this evening, please. We need you to decide if we should pin our hopes on this young woman or if we ought to settle in for an even longer wait.”

Griffin opened and closed his mouth several times, then he finally laughed and rose from his chair. “Mother, you are an angel.” He crossed the room and kissed her cheek. “Father, I will see you this evening.” He shook his father’s hand, then turned and went to the door.

“But Griffin,” his mother called. “You only just arrived.”

“I have things to see to before tonight. Thank you, Mother.” He left the house with a lighter heart. His mother had found a way for him to see Phoebe, without forcing him to reveal his intentions.

He made his way to Berkeley Square, with the hope of finding another note waiting for him. To have the pleasure of a letter and Phoebe’s company on the same evening would put him in the best of moods for days to come.

* * *

To My Friend,

I have enjoyed our exchange of letters this past week. I am delighted to know you have read so many of my favorite novels. But lest you suspect I fill my head with nothing but modern fiction, I will promise you that I have enjoyed many a Shakespearian play and sonnet, too. Of course, most of my reading is quite frivolous by scholarly standards.

This evening I go to dinner with the Fenwick family. I know Mr. Griffin Fenwick is a favorite of yours, from the list you gave me. Why is that? How well do you know him, or any of the men on that list, to recommend them?

I confess, I have not sought out anyone else you named. I find I would much rather come to know you more. You call yourself my friend, but how can that be, when we are restricted to letter writing and nothing more? I have confided in one of my closest friends, a woman I have known since childhood, about our letters. She has given me the best of advice.

I should like to see you. We need not meet in secret, or indeed speak a word to one another. I thought we might both go for a walk the day after tomorrow. In Hyde Park, at noon. It is not the fashionable hour, so there will be few people about. There is a particular tree near the Serpentine—it is old and bent, with one branch forming an arch all the way to the ground. If you will walk to that tree, and carry any object of red, I will know it is you.

We need not speak, if you do not wish it. But it is unfair that you know me so well, that you have seen me and known it is to me you write, and I know not if I have ever glimpsed you.

Please say you agree.

Yours,

P.K.

* * *

Phoebe followed Caroline and Joseph into the Fenwick townhouse. It was not far distant from their own. Merely a street over.