Duchess Material

Twenty-Two

T he front hall of the Langham Place School was filled with fine ladies milling about the tables where students had put together demonstrations showcasing their academic accomplishments. Phoebe stood in the corner watching them all and bursting with pride. There was also a silent auction being run by her mother and sisters while a food and beverage area was staffed by both students and volunteers. Miss Sanderson, the music teacher, was organizing a group of students in the corner to sing a short program. They wouldn’t know until much later if they had raised enough money, but Phoebe felt certain the bazaar was a success.

“I must commend you, Miss Atkinson,” the headmistress said. “You’ve done a marvelous job here. You should be proud.”

Phoebe dipped her head at the praise. “Everyone worked very hard to put this event together.”

“But not as hard as you,” Mrs. Richardson pressed. “I know it takes strong leadership to pull off an event like this. And you’ve demonstrated that you possess the necessary qualities.”

Phoebe blushed. After her argument with Will, she had thrown herself into planning the rest of the bazaar—at the expense of nearly everything else in her life. But that had only proved just how little she had outside of the school. It was quite sobering. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The headmistress scanned the room and let out a heavy sigh. “A pity it will all be for naught.”

“Pardon?”

“I heard from the landlord yesterday. Even if we raise enough money, he will not be renewing our lease. I didn’t want to say anything until the bazaar ended.”

Phoebe gaped. “Can he do that?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Richardson said matter-of-factly. “It’s all perfectly legal.”

“But… but why ?” It felt like the room had shifted beneath her feet.

“He got a better offer,” she replied with a shrug. “Someone wants to turn this entire building into one of those ghastly department stores.” The headmistress wrinkled her nose. Not everyone was enamored of the one-stop shopping behemoths that had taken over central London.

“In this neighborhood?”

“It’s changing, and swiftly. I worry that our girls will be forced out once rents rise. And they certainly will if a department store is built.”

Phoebe shook her head in disbelief. “How can you be so calm about this?” She was boiling with anger at the gross injustice of it all.

“You don’t reach my age without being knocked down a dozen times over. But then you get up, shake the dust off, and start again. Whatever we raise today will help us find another property.”

But the thought only made Phoebe’s shoulders sag with the great weight of it all.

“It feels like every time we reach the top, the mountain grows another foot.”

Mrs. Richardson turned to her with a gentle smile. “And yet, that is how most progress is made, isn’t it? Not in great leaps and bounds, but in tiny, diligent steps. It isn’t until you look back that you see how far you’ve come. Don’t let this break you, my dear. Let it inspire you to do more.”

But Phoebe could only nod. She needed to grieve this loss first.

“You should also know that the duke of Ellis pledged to match whatever we raise today.”

The headmistress was watching her closely, but Phoebe managed to tamp down the thrill trying to burst through her. “His Grace is very generous,” she said with a bland smile.

Will had to have made the pledge long before she rejected him. And yet, she couldn’t make herself ask. Because it didn’t matter, either way. This wasn’t about her. It was about the school. The school she had now lost.

Mrs. Richardson was quiet for a moment. “Indeed. I understand you have known him since childhood. Your mother told me,” she added in answer to Phoebe’s surprised look.

“There isn’t anything going on between us,” she said quickly. Hardly subtle, but, essentially, the truth.

“Of course.” The headmistress gave her a diplomatic nod. “Not many know this, but I was engaged once. Years and years ago.”

“You were?” Phoebe couldn’t hide her shock. It was hard to imagine the headmistress as anyone other than the woman before her.

Mrs. Richardson smiled. “He was a teacher too. At the London Polytechnic. That’s where we met. But he expected me to give up my career when we married. Understandable, especially in those days, but I refused. I enjoyed my work and didn’t see the need to stop until we had children.”

“That sounds… very reasonable,” Phoebe replied as she flushed with embarrassment. She had always assumed Mrs. Richardson expected complete dedication from her teachers, but perhaps that had just been a convenient excuse for her own single-mindedness. Phoebe had given her far too little credit.

“I thought so too,” Mrs. Richardson continued. “But he disagreed. So we parted ways and he married someone else not long after. A colleague of mine, actually,” she said with a little laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I don’t regret it. But sometimes I wish we had been able to come to an understanding. Or rather that I had found someone who hadn’t asked me to choose in the first place.” Then she gestured to the tableau before them. “This school has been the work of my life, and I’m proud of it so very much. But I’m getting on in years and sometimes the nights can be lonely,” she admitted.

Phoebe worried her lip. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, ma’am,” she said.

“Because I know how much this school means to you, and all that you have given up for it.” Her brown eyes softened as she placed a gentle hand on Phoebe’s arm. “Your dedication to the students is admirable. But if you find yourself luckier in love than I was, make sure you take it. That’s all.”

Phoebe stared at her dumbfounded, but before she could respond, the headmistress tilted her head to address someone approaching them. “Inspector Holland! I’m so glad you were able to come.”

Phoebe turned to find the inspector beside her. “Mrs. Richardson, Miss Atkinson,” he said, acknowledging them both with a nod. “I can never refuse a summons from a schoolmistress.”

Mrs. Richardson let out a girlish laugh Phoebe had never heard from her before. “Have Miss Atkinson show you around. I see that Lady Beckinwith has just arrived and she’ll pout if I don’t greet her immediately.”

Once they were alone, Inspector Holland handed her an envelope. “I confess I did not only come here because of the headmistress. It’s from Maude,” he added. “She said she found what you were looking for.”

Phoebe’s head was still whirling from the headmistress’s confession, but she had to put it out of her mind for now. She pressed the envelope to her chest and met his questioning gaze. “I think we may be able to bring down Lord Fairbanks with this.”

“Good,” he said with a stern nod before he scanned the room. “But I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Phoebe smiled at his profile. He was a terribly handsome man, and yet she was not at all moved. It appeared her stupid little heart still belonged entirely to Will.

“Would you like some lemonade?”

He cracked a rare smile. “I’m not one for sweets usually, but I suppose I can make an exception for a charitable cause.”

“Very good.”

Phoebe then led him to the refreshments table and they had just taken their cups when Freddie bustled over, her sharp brown eyes decidedly fixed upon the inspector.

“Phoebe, you know it’s quite rude not to introduce your friend to your own sister.”

She huffed a laugh at Freddie’s complete lack of subtlety. “Detective Inspector Holland, this is my younger sister, Miss Winifred Atkinson.”

Freddie wrinkled her nose. “No one calls me Winifred,” she explained to the inspector. “Dreadful name, really. It sounds like someone’s aged spinster aunt.”

“Otherwise known as your namesake,” Phoebe put in. “Though I think Great-Aunt Winifred would strenuously object to being described as ‘aged.’”

“No doubt the old battle-ax would, but I still prefer Freddie,” she said with a cheery smile.

Inspector Holland raised a sober brow at their exchange but even Phoebe could see the flash of amusement in his gaze. “I like Winifred.”

“Well, we all have our faults,” Freddie quipped and the inspector let out a short, rasping laugh. Freddie then broke into the beaming smile that usually appeared only when she bested Monsieur Laurent in a fencing match. Interesting.

Phoebe left the two of them and walked over to the silent auction table where her mother was chatting with another volunteer while Alex was organizing bidding slips.

She handed her sister the envelope. “Can you make sure Will gets this today? It’s important.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you do it.”

Phoebe bit her lip. Only Marion knew what had happened with Will.

At her silence, Alex let out a resigned sigh and pocketed the envelope. “Let’s go have a chat.” She then addressed their mother. “I’m stepping out with Phoebe for a moment. Don’t touch anything until I return,” she said with an arch look.

“Yes, darling,” their mother said with a distracted wave and returned to her conversation.

Alex came around the table and hooked her arm through Phoebe’s. It was the closest they had been in months. “Everything that woman touches instantly turns to clutter.”

Phoebe laughed. “And yet somehow she knows exactly where everything is.”

“Yes, but I don’t,” Alex huffed as they turned down a quiet hallway. She then released Phoebe’s arm and faced her. “So then, what’s happened between you and Will?”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Why do I have the feeling you already know?”

Alex deftly avoided answering the question. “I want to hear it from you.”

Phoebe automatically crossed her arms, feeling like the petulant younger sister once again. “He came to my aid while you were in New York. My student was missing and he offered to help…” Phoebe then gave a shortened version of the events of the last few weeks, leaving out the more salacious details for both their benefits.

A long silence ensued as Alex mulled over the information. “So,” she said abruptly. “Despite all that occurred between the two of you, when Will did propose you turned him down.”

Phoebe’s cheeks burned. Of course Will told Alex .

“He never actually proposed,” she corrected, desperate to keep this petty jealousy at bay before it consumed her. “He just assumed I’d accept. That I’d be grateful he was willing to lower himself,” she added, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Phoebe—”

“It’s over, Alex,” she insisted. “We both agreed.”

And you are certain there is nothing left between us?

She rolled her shoulders against the wave of doubt swelling inside her.

“All right. I won’t push you to talk about it.” Alex sighed. “But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t. As it turns out, I have something more pressing to deal with at the moment anyway. The school is closing. Mrs. Richardson heard from the landlord yesterday that he won’t renew our lease. So this was all for naught,” Phoebe added, gesturing to the bazaar.

Alex frowned in concern. “I’d hardly say that. If anything, you’ve proven to a group of people with too much money how valuable a school like this is,” she said. “We’ll think of something. Don’t worry.”

At Alex’s decided nod, Phoebe felt the smallest flicker of hope in her chest. But even under the best circumstances, reestablishing the school would take time. Which meant that once the bazaar ended, Phoebe would be left with nothing.

It was a sobering prospect.

“Come.” Alex took her arm. “You could use another glass of lemonade. And we should probably check on Freddie. I saw her cornering a large mustached man.”

“That’s the inspector I told you about,” Phoebe explained. “I think he can handle her.”

But Alex shook her head at the lighthearted quip. “She’s been spending time with the younger Mr. Ericson. Father is hoping it turns into something.”

“Really?” Phoebe was shocked. “I can’t see them together at all.”

Alex kept her gaze fixed ahead. “It would be good for the company.” She parroted the line Father always used to justify, well, everything.

And what about Freddie?

But Phoebe kept that thought to herself. For now.

Later, long after the last guest left and the final chair was packed away, Phoebe made her way to her classroom. Mrs. Richardson wouldn’t make the announcement about the closure until Monday but after that they would need to be out of the building within the week. The summer holiday would have to start a few weeks early, but God willing they would find another space before the autumn term. She couldn’t think what might happen if they didn’t.

Phoebe entered her silent classroom and collapsed in the chair behind her desk. The sun had just begun to set and golden light filtered into the room. She touched the cover of her well-worn copy of The Odyssey and felt a bit like screaming at the gods for seemingly thwarting her at every turn.

Now it appeared that she was to go on a journey of her own, but without an Ithaca to guide her. For the first time in years, she didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what the future would hold. She could see nothing ahead but blankness. Phoebe waited while the golden light slowly faded from gold, to orange, to a deep dusky violet. Only when darkness threatened did she force herself to her feet and step into the unknown.