“I’ll take it,” Freddie said with a grin.
“I will see you next week then,” he said as they shook hands. Then he gave Phoebe a wink as he strolled past her and inclined his head. “Mademoiselle Atkinson, always a pleasure to see you.”
“And you, Monsieur Laurent.”
Freddie rolled her eyes and sat down on a bench. “You’re blushing.”
Phoebe turned back to catch one last glimpse of the man in his tight fencing whites as he headed down the hall. “Can you blame me?” Then she faced her sister. “He really is so charming.”
“It’s the accent,” Freddie said as she unbuttoned the collar of her fencing jacket. “He’s an absolute monster.”
Phoebe laughed and joined her on the bench. “You’re getting awfully good though.”
“Oh, he’s a splendid teacher. I can’t fault him there. His kissing, however, was quite lackluster.”
“Freddie!”
“It was nothing,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We both agreed it was a mistake that will not be repeated.”
Phoebe frowned at her impertinence, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Freddie didn’t place much importance on kisses. Or men in general. She had barely entered her first season when she became engaged to a young marquess—and the most eligible bachelor in London at the time. But then she just as quickly called it off, and blamed her initial acceptance on the novelty of being proposed to which had dimmed considerably once she considered the reality of being a wife.
It had been a shocking turn of events and their mother had taken her abroad the following year rather than risk another scandal. But unfortunately Freddie was even more popular on the Continent and collected proposals from an Italian prince, an aging Texan oilman, and a chap claiming to be one of Napoleon’s descendants before Mother hauled her back to England. Since then Freddie had behaved. Mostly. Or at least learned to keep her indiscretions well under wraps.
She pulled the jacket off and dropped it on the floor. “Much better,” she said as she fanned herself with her hand. “Now then, what are you doing here?”
“I can’t visit my favorite youngest sister?”
Freddie huffed. “You never want to come to the house anymore. I always have to meet you somewhere.”
Phoebe bit her lip. She may be at odds with Alex, but she had always gotten along with Freddie.Everyonegot along with Freddie. She made it impossible not to. “I needed to speak to Mother, actually.”
Freddie raised one dark brow. “Oh?” While Phoebe’s lighter coloring favored their father, both her sisters shared their mother’s raven hair and brown eyes. But whereas Alex was tall and willowy, Freddie was shorter with enviable curves. “Do tell.”
Phoebe explained the situation with the school and her intention to hold a charity bazaar. Freddie’s eyes lit with interest.
“That’s a splendid idea! I’ll donate a fencing lesson.”
“Really? That would be wonderful.”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised. I’d love to help.”
Phoebe lowered her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… you know how disapproving Father has been about the school.”
“He’s been anass.”
Phoebe chuckled. “Yes, well, I suppose I’ve also liked having something all to myself. And it’s nice to go somewhere where people don’t know that I’m the great Philip Atkinson’s daughter, or the extraordinary Alex Atkinson’s sister. You know?”
“I do,” Freddie said softly. “Seeing as how you’re the unconventional Phoebe Atkinson.”
“I thought it was theunnaturalPhoebe Atkinson.” She tried to say it lightly, but the bitterness bled through. She had heard all manner of jeers both whispered and not during her London season. It was why she now avoided society as much as possible.
“To some, perhaps,” Freddie said with a shrug. “But you’re trying to do good in this world. There are plenty of people who find you admirable, besides me of course.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said dumbly.
Freddie gave her a pointed look. “NoteveryoneI socialize with is a spoiled ninny, you know.”
“Sorry, Freddie,” Phoebe mumbled.
