“Very good,” Will said hurriedly as he pushed his chair back. “Do let me know when you hear from him. In the meantime, I think I’ll take a turn about the garden. Get some fresh air, check on the roses. That sort of thing.”
Mr. Flynn gave him an odd look, as if Will had just climbed onto his desk and burst into a rousing round of “God Save the Queen.” Couldn’t a man go look at his damned flowers? “Er… of course, Your Grace.”
Will then lifted his chin and hurried from the room before he could say any more ridiculous things.
Phoebe gazed up at the front of Park House. It was a misty spring evening and every window glowed with warm, golden light while the sound of guests enjoying her parents’ legendary hospitality could be heard from the pavement. Together, it created an invitingly cozy scene that anyone would long to be a part of and yet a little sigh escaped her. All she wanted was to fill her stomach and fall into bed. The last week had been exhausting, and to her increasing frustration she hadn’t slept well since Will spent the night.
It had been cowardly of her to leave while he had still been asleep, but when she had slowly awoken that morning, like a winter fog lifting off the Serpentine, to find Will’s warm body nestled beside her own, her heart had cried out to stay with him forever. And that alarming thought had spurred her to her feet.
Since then, she had made sure to stay as busy as possible, preparing for the bazaar and keeping her students on task. And yet, she had still thought of him every day. And every night when she climbed right back into that bed, where she would awake feeling a little more restless and raw each morning.
Though Phoebe had meant what she said about trusting him with her body, she hadn’t taken into account her foolish little heart which had burst open for him anew during the night they had shared, and would now have to stitch itself back together once again.
It will.
Itmust.
For she refused to walk that well-trodden path once more. Of wanting what she could never have. So Phoebe was determined to avoid Will as much as possible, but that should be easy enough. They had gone how many years with barely a meeting? Phoebe couldn’t remember. Shewouldn’t.
As she entered the house, Alex rose from a chair in the antechamber. She looked her usual stern self but wore a rich green evening gown with a high neckline trimmed in matching lace. A small bustle in a cascade of perfect folds unfurled with her movements, while her dark hair was arranged in an elegant chignon.
Phoebe removed her hat and then cocked her head. “Were you waiting for me?”
“The Americans are here,” Alex grumbled in response and crossed her arms, which only emphasized the flattering cut of the gown.
Excellent tailoring,Phoebe observed with a flash of envy.
Alex always insisted she cared nothing for clothing, but that was easy when one possessed her striking natural beauty and a motherwho studied fashion plates. Phoebe, still wearing her school clothes, suddenly felt like a hopeless dowd.No, she reminded herself. Her clothes were functional, not frivolous. Even still, she couldn’t help one last longing glance at the dark emerald beading that ran along the hem of Alex’s gown. Perhaps she should take up her mother’s offer for an afternoon of shopping. Just foronenice dress, so she could stop borrowing ill-fitting gowns from Freddie…
“Did you hear me?”
Alex’s sharp voice cut through her meandering thoughts. “Sorry, yes.” Phoebe pursed her lips as she unbuttoned her coat and handed it to the waiting footman. “The Americans.”
As they headed toward the formal drawing room, Alex filled her in. “They’re horribly vulgar, which Father thinks is hilarious. Mother is appalled, but doing her best to be hospitable. The son is already infatuated with Freddie and she is encouraging him, of course.”
Phoebe hummed in agreement. Freddie was a terrible flirt—not that anyone neededmorereason to fall in love with her.
Alex then hesitated right before the drawing room entryway. “And I invited Will.”
Phoebe nearly tripped over her own feet before she recovered. “Oh? That’s nice,” she croaked.
Alex watched her carefully, but otherwise her expression remained neutral. “Yes. Almost like old times, isn’t it?”
Phoebe managed a weak hum of agreement. If Alex noticed her reticence, she did not comment on it and tugged Phoebe into the room. The guests all turned to them, but Phoebe kept her eyes on her father. She could not look at Will just yet.
Mr. Atkinson had always been a tall, hulking man with a heavy beard and a full head of hair. And though his figure had grownmore portly with age and his hair had long gone gray, he was still a commanding presence in any room. As her mother often said with great fondness, he was the very picture of a lion in winter.
But as Phoebe well knew, a lion had sharp teeth.
“Hello, Father,” she said as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss his bristly cheek. “How was your trip to New York?”
“Profitable,” he grunted, then immediately turned to the older man beside him. “This is my middle daughter, Phoebe.”
The elder man extended his hand. He was a head shorter than her father and his hair pure white, but his blue eyes twinkled with kindness. “Hank Ericson. A pleasure to meet you, dear.”
Phoebe smiled as she shook his hand. “Good evening.”
“And this is my son, Hank Junior,” he added, gesturing to the younger man next to him. He was slightly taller and blandly handsome, with light blond hair, and blue eyes to match his father’s. Hank Junior immediately stepped forward and took her hand with another firm shake. “The pleasure is all mine.” Phoebe returned his rather forward grin even while the hairs on the back of her neck rose. One could never trust a man who smiled quite so much.
