Let me know when you grow tired of reading nursery rhymes to street urchins and are ready to join your sister and do somerealwork.
Phoebe chose to avoid him instead. Besides, even if shehadwanted to work for their father, it only would have caused more strife as she could never measure up to Alex, who had started working for him while still in the schoolroom.
At first it was something to occupy her busy mind when she grew bored with their governess’s admittedly limited knowledge and Father found her in the library halfway throughThe Wealthof Nations. But not only was Alex brilliant, she had an uncanny knack for spotting incredibly lucrative business ideas. It was largely thanks to her that Atkinson Enterprises had grown into one of the top financial firms in the country.
But Phoebe didn’t have a head for numbers like her sister, and she certainly didn’t care about enriching their father’s already wealthy clients. Alex viewed it as a kind of game, but to Phoebe it felt like the worst sort of excess. And recently, in a moment of frustration, she had told her sister just that.
Well thatexcess, as you call it, helped pay for your education.
The immediate rejoinder, delivered in Alex’s famously cold, crisp voice, had been haunting her for weeks now. Phoebe’s tendency to reverse numbers ensured that she would never follow her sister to Lady Margaret Hall at Oxford, but Bedford College had been all too happy to have her—and her family’s money.
“I’ll help you, Bee.” Her mother’s warm words cut through the ugly memory. “Only let me give it a think. I’ll speak with Lady Kirby as well. She has far too much money as it is. She may as well spend some of it on a school instead of that racehorse she keeps going on about.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Mrs. Atkinson held up a hand. “Before you agree, there’s something I’d like from you in return.” Phoebe braced herself. She knew what was coming. “When your father and Alex come back home, I want all of us to have dinner together on Fridays. Like we used to. Andnoarguments.”
Phoebe’s cheeks flushed. “Then tell Father to respect my job and stop acting like I’m a glorified nanny.”
“I will speak to him about that,” she promised. “But you must admit that calling him morally bankrupt didn’t exactly help.”
Phoebe winced. God, Christmas had been awful. Cook had made the punch stronger than usual and it had loosened all their tongues.
“I only said that because he called my students street urchins. And even if they are, what of it? Don’t they deserve to learn to read?”
“They do,” her mother agreed. “And your father did apologize for saying that. You don’t have to like everything he does, but all of you need to be more respectful of each other. Your father and Alex both work hard, and though you might not see it, they try to do good in their own way.”
Phoebe sensed she wasn’t going to win this argument and simply nodded in reply. Her mother looked relieved.
“Oh, I’msoglad. I’ll start planning the menu tonight. We’ll have everyone’s favorite dishes. You do still like lobster patties, don’t you?”
Phoebe couldn’t help but smile at her mother’s enthusiasm. “Yes, that sounds nice.”
“Wonderful! Even Cook will be excited.” Mrs. Atkinson then glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’m sorry, darling, but I really must be going. Lady Kirby will have likely fallen asleep in her chair waiting for me.” Phoebe rose with her mother and accepted her cheek kiss. “Now make sure to see Freddie before you leave. She’ll be terribly put out if you don’t say hello.”
“I’ll go right now.”
Mrs. Atkinson patted her cheek. “That’s my dear girl. Be well! And come again soon!” she called over her shoulder as she glided down the hall with an enviable combination of purpose and grace.
As Phoebe made her way to the ballroom, she could hear Freddie arguing with Monsieur Laurent from down the hall—but that was nothing unusual.
“You dropped your arm.”
“I did not!”
“You did,” he calmly insisted in his delightful Parisian accent.
Then the sound of foils clinking commenced. Phoebe paused in the doorway and watched as her sister smoothly dropped to the floor to avoid Monsieur Laurent’s lunge and thrust her foil against his chest. She let out a triumphant cry as she rose.
“That wasperfect!” Freddie tore off her mask.
“It was better,” the monsieur allowed as he much more gracefully removed his own mask and ran a hand through his dark hair. Then he noticed Phoebe and bowed. “Mademoiselle Atkinson.”
Freddie turned and gave her a wide smile. “Did you see? We’ve been practicing that move all afternoon.”
“Very impressive,” Phoebe answered honestly.
Freddie immediately turned back to her instructor and gave him an arch look. Even the formidable Frenchman couldn’t completely suppress a smile. “It was better,” he repeated.
