He rolled his eyes. “Your sister doesn’t.”
“That’s because Alex doesn’t have any respect for the peerage.”
A very undignified snort erupted from him. “And you do?”
Phoebe had spent enough time among people who thought that because their great-great-great-grandfather had been Groom of the Stool to Charles II or some other such nonsense that they were entitled to act however they wanted whenever they wanted to whomever they wished. She and Will had once mocked such people, until he became one of them.
“Touché.” She lifted a shoulder. “Very well. I will call you Ellis. Is that better?”
“No,” he said sullenly.
She couldn’t help smiling at the trace of petulance in his tone. He didn’t really expect her to call him Will anymore, did he? That was a relic from a far different era she would rather not revisit. When nobody knew he would become a duke and Phoebe could still delude herself into desperately hoping these feelings weren’t hers alone.
“But Ellis is your title.”
He gave an unduke-like shrug and turned back to the window. “I’d prefer Margrave.”
Then he fell into a short brooding silence and Phoebe was grateful she could look freely upon him for a moment. As the carriage took a turn, a beam of late afternoon sunshine illuminated his face to devastating effect and drew attention to his sharp cheekbones. Really, it wasoutrageousthat a man would possess such cheekbones. One could allow the chiseled jaw and the full lips, but the cheekbones were simply too much. A lock of his thick, dark hair fell across his forehead and as Will absently pushed it back, Phoebe’s heart twinged at the familiarity of the movement. She wasn’t sure what angered her more, that he still retained themannerisms of his former self or that she still remembered so very much.
“Doesn’t this girl have parents?”
She startled at the question and met Will’s eyes. He raised a brow, waiting for a response. Had he noticed her staring at him? And if so, for how long? Phoebe cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment.
“Ah, no. She is an orphan. Her mother had been sick for some time and passed on earlier this year, while her father died when she was very young. No other family to speak of.”
“Do you know such intimate details ofallyour students?”
Phoebe lifted her chin at the disapproval in his tone. “Unfortunately Miss Clarke is hardly an outlier. There are many girls in similar situations. The school tries to provide as much assistance as possible, but funds always fall short of the need.” She then gave a pointed look around the grand carriage.
Will shifted in his velvet-clothed seat. “Not that I need to explain myself toanyone, but I inherited this conveyance.”
“And I suppose you inherited your cashmere coat and silver-handled walking stick as well?” Phoebe smiled widely as she said this. She may not have much respect for the peerage, but she usually saved this level of sarcasm for only her sisters.
Will gave her another narrow-eyed look. “All right. You’ve made your point, Atkinson.”
“Is that how you’ll address me?” She was far too pleased by the idea, not that she could ever admit it.
“Seems fitting given your sister refuses to be called Alexandra.”
“Yes, but as you know only a select few are permitted to call her Alex.”
His mouth curved in the faintest hint of that lopsided smileat the mention of his dear friend, and Phoebe felt a distressingly familiar pang of jealousy. As a girl, she had often felt like the odd man out in their company, though Will had always tried to make her feel welcome even when Alex did not. Yet another old memory she did not wish to revisit. “Have you heard from her lately?”
“I received a letter last week.”
Phoebe hesitated for a moment. “Is she enjoying New York?”
He cocked his head at the question. “Don’t you know?”
“We had a disagreement before she left,” she admitted. “I… I don’t suppose she said anything to you about it?”
Will turned thoughtful. “Even if she had, I wouldn’t break her confidence.”
Phoebe let out a breath and nodded. “Good. I’m glad she has you,” she added quietly.
Alex didn’t have many friends. Not that she seemed to notice. Or care. She preferred financial portfolios to people. It was her single-minded dedication to profitability at any cost that had led to their argument in the first place. Still, Phoebe didn’t like fighting with her. She could always send a letter rather than wait another month until Alex returned to London, but it was nearly impossible to gauge her sister’s mood over correspondence. One felt as though they were conversing with a letter-writing machine rather than an actual person. No, definitely better to wait.
Will was giving her that piercing look again. The one she could feel in her chest. “And how is Cal?” she asked a tad too brightly. “I haven’t been back to Surrey since Christmas.”
