She tried to catch her mother’s eye as she headed to the other end of the table on Will’s arm, but was pointedly ignored.
Phoebe hesitated a moment before taking her seat.
Into the frying pan, then.
Hank Junior was to her right, but the man was already preoccupied with Freddie to his right. Only one empty seat remained…
Phoebe’s breath caught as Will settled in next to Alex. He glanced over and their eyes met. Phoebe, having blatantly been caught staring at him, looked away only to find Father now eyeing her. He cleared his throat, then addressed Will.
“Haven’t seen you at the club this week, Duke.”
Ever since he inherited, Father only ever called Will “Duke.” Phoebe now strongly suspected Will must hate it. How much he hid from the world behind that polite smile.
“I’ve been busy with something that has taken up a great deal of my time.”
“Well, it’s always good to be busy with business,” her father replied. “Anything I’d be interested in?”
“No,” he nearly barked, then gentled his tone. “That is, this was… personal.”
Phoebe immediately looked down at the steaming bowl that had just been placed before her. No one had ever been so interested in cream of celery soup.
“Of course, of course,” Father chuckled. “I’ve heard you’re to marry the Fairbanks girl.” The warm approval in his voice made Phoebe’s stomach turn to ice.
Will choked a little on his water. “I’m afraid not,” he said once he had recovered. “That is only gossip.”
Phoebe couldn’t help the soft sigh of relief that escaped her while Father frowned. “Hmm. The earl won’t like that.”
“Oh, leave him alone, Philip,” Mother said from the other end of the table. “Lord knows no one approved ofyouwhen we married.”
To this he let out a booming laugh. “And I think they’ve all eaten a sufficient amount of crow ever since, haven’t they darling?” He then raised his glass. “To Mrs. Atkinson. The finest woman in London.”
Phoebe raised her glass along with everyone else and once again she found herself ensnared by Will’s dark gaze. She forced herself to look away and hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
It promised to be a long, long meal.
Seventeen
The first several courses passed pleasantly enough as Phoebe’s mother deftly directed the conversation with the nimbleness of a well-seasoned hostess. Phoebe learned all about the Ericson’s life in New York and their business. Every now and then she asked a question to keep things moving, while Alex only spoke to Will quietly, and Freddie was too busy giggling with Hank Junior. In other words, they each played their parts to perfection.
Things didn’t take a turn until they were done with the lamb. And Will started it.
When there was a lull in the conversation, he caught Phoebe’s eye and gave her a considering look. “How is the planning for the bazaar?”
Before Phoebe could even begin to answer, her father let out a snort.
“Don’t tell meyou’vegotten dragged into that school nonsense.”
“My dear,” Phoebe’s mother said to her husband in a cordial voice the family knew was a dire warning.
Will looked genuinely surprised by the comment. “I’d hardly call the education of young ladies ‘nonsense,’ sir.”
“It is for that sort,” her father muttered, ignoring the daggers inhis wife’s eyes. “They’re better off spending their time earning coin for their families. Not dawdling the day away in a classroom.”
Phoebe set down her fork and glared at her father. She was so blasted tired of this old argument. “Or perhaps their parents should be paid a higher wage, so their children don’t need to work.”
“Don’t give me that look.Ipay my employees well,” he said, tapping a finger to his chest. “I’m only saying that if the poor are going to complain about the lack of food in their bellies, they should be doing all they can to earn more. And sending their daughters off to school is a waste. What are you even teaching them now? More Shakespeare?”
“That was last term,” Phoebe said as calmly as she could. “It’s Homer now.”
