He returned his gaze to the window yet again. “Fine. Not much changes with him.”
Will’s younger brother had been a promising art student when he was injured in a terrible carriage accident that claimed the lifeof his best friend and left him with a debilitating shoulder injury. As far as Phoebe knew, he hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in years.
“I don’t see you around town much,” Will continued, deftly steering the subject away from his younger brother. “Though Winifred is everywhere I go. I’m not sure that girl even sleeps.”
Phoebe had wondered the very same about her vivacious younger sister.
“Yes, well, that is because Freddie is the only Atkinson sister who actuallyenjoyssociety. And thank God for that. She keeps Mother occupied so Alex and I can do as we please.” Will smiled at that and Phoebe ignored the answering shiver of interest again. “I mostly keep to my corner of London. There is little to tempt me to venture towards Belgravia and beyond.”
“Aside from your family, you mean.”
She offered a half-hearted shrug in response. That was a thorny topic these days. Her mother was the granddaughter of an earl, but had committed a grave faux pas when she married Phoebe’s father, the brilliant, dashing son of a successful accountant-turned-banker—andnewmoney. Then, instead of being ashamed of their poor match, her parents had the audacity to be happily married, even when they had only three daughters and no sons. Some of the more conservative members of society still snubbed them to this day, but they didn’t much care. Thus the family was considered, well, a bit eccentric. Their reputation had helped create a close-knit, nurturing atmosphere at home that, as Phoebe found, could quickly become suffocating.
Will gave her a searching look but didn’t press further. “What will you do about Miss Clarke now?”
“I’m not sure,” Phoebe said with a sigh. “If I wait for the police, nothing will ever happen.”
“That detective seemed like a competent fellow.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt Miss Clarke will be much of a priority to him.”
Will frowned. “You’ve become quite cynical, Atkinson.”
Phoebe held her tongue as anger flared inside her, hot and quick. That was rich, coming from him. Men like the duke were the very reason it was so blasted hardnotto be cynical these days. “I’m merely a realist.” She glanced out the window and noticed they were close to her flat. “Drop me off here, please.” This unexpected reunion had grown tedious.
Will followed her gaze. “But we haven’t reached your street yet.” Even still, he tapped the handle of his walking stick against the ceiling and the carriage slowed to a stop.
She mustered a coy smile. “You can’t possibly think I can be seen by my neighbors alighting from a duke’s carriage. I’m simply trying to preserve my reputation. And yours.”
His frown deepened as he moved to open the door for her, but she was faster.
“Nice to see you again, Margrave,” Phoebe called over her shoulder as she practically leaped onto the pavement. She almost meant it too. “And thank you again for your help.”
He called after her, but she didn’t turn back. The words faded into the street noise as she lifted her chin and made her way home, alone once again.
As Will watched Phoebe march down the street like a woman who had not just spent the better part of the day in police custody, his mother’s long-ago warning echoed through his mind:That Atkinson girl is not for you anymore.
She had been referring to Alex—for Will couldneverconvince his mother that they were only friends—but the words had been an unsettling reminder of all that had changed thanks to a fearsome Sicilian’s dagger and his degenerate cousin’s habit for cheating at cards.
His father had never once spoken of the possibility that the dukedom might fall to him before his own early death, and his mother was just as shocked as Will by the news. She had been estranged from her late husband’s family upon their marriage, as Will’s grandfather expected his only son to marry the daughter of an important business associate, not an impoverished country squire in London for the season. But they had happily settled in Surrey and Will’s father had become a successful country barrister in spite of the estrangement.
On occasion when his father had too much brandy at Christmas he spoke of his grandfather’s distant cousin descended from a more illustrious branch of the Margrave tree, but it was treated like just another fairy tale: “Hansel and Gretel,” “Briar Rose,” and the Duke of Ellis with a dozen estates. What boy could imagine all that? What man? Will’s imagination hadn’t been big enough.
So although the Atkinsons may have been a perfectly acceptable family to unite with when he had been Mr. William Margrave, gentleman’s son, they were not the right sort for a future duke. They had money and connections, but their blood simply wasn’t blue enough. Only Mrs. Atkinson, the granddaughter of an earl, could claim a direct line to the aristocracy. Will knew nothing of Mr. Atkinson’s ancestry, which said enough. He was meant for more now. The daughter of an earl or better would be ideal. Someone to help him adjust to his new station. Someone who had beenborn and bred to understand what it took to be a duchess. Someone like Lady Gwen.
Will snapped the curtain shut and sat back in his seat. He didn’t need any reminders of how limited his choices were. That knowledge had followed him for years. He let out a sigh and checked his pocket watch. There was still time to pay Lady Gwen a short call, though he would have to come up with some reason to excuse his absence. Will winced. They weren’t even engaged yet and he was already lying to her. That wasn’t exactly an auspicious beginning, but he could hardly tell her where he had been all afternoon, could he.
Because you don’t trust her.
The wince turned into a grimace. Damn that Phoebe Atkinson. Will didn’t need more complications in his life, especially now. He needed to focus on his future and all the great things that lay ahead, not waste time wading through past memories—and Phoebe wasfirmlya part of his past.
Will instructed his driver to take him to the Fairbanks’ home and reached for the satchel on the seat beside him. Now seemed as good a time as any to go over Parliament business. He didn’t agree with many of the positions of the Conservative party, but the old duke had been an important fixture and a confidant of Lord Salisbury, the current prime minister. Upon his death, it was just assumed that Will would take his place and he had been too overwhelmed at the time to give it much thought. Besides, he wasn’t a young idealist anymore, but a man with responsibilities. With dozens, nay, hundreds of people who depended on him for their livelihoods. And Will couldn’t leave anything to chance, which meant following the guidance of the old duke’s friends like Lord Fairbanks.
However, as the years passed and Will slowly found his footing, he began to bump up against the barriers constructed by powerful men who wanted the world to remain as it was. So Will chose his battles carefully, strategically, so as not to arouse any suspicion. If he was labeled a radical, those doors that had opened for him with such reluctance would slam shut and he could lose what little power he had amassed. This way he could advocate for gradual change from the inside. He was being pragmatic.
I’d say a coward.
Will gritted his teeth as Phoebe’s contemptuous gaze flashed through his mind. This was insupportable. He flicked the curtain aside to glance out the window. They were still a good mile away from Mayfair, but Will banged on the roof. He couldn’t sit here any longer. And certainly not while Phoebe’s scent still hung in the air. Somehow it was more cloying than any perfume. As soon as the carriage came to a stop, he threw open the door and stepped down onto the pavement to the bewilderment of his coachman.
