Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton

Chapter 12

Franklin could admit he was fond of Miss Jamison before, but looking at her across the carriage, he knew he was smitten. He could not name one woman of his acquaintance who would have laughed at their dress being burned. But Miss Jamison had, and it was a sound he wished to hear again and again.

What horrid hospitality! And what was he to do about Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone? Franklin exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face. Perhaps Thurston would have some insight.

When the rain had lightened, Franklin knew it was best to return Miss Jamison home. Gladstone had tripped over himself when Franklin requested he work with Roger to ready the team and then drive them to Primly Park. Gladstone could ably complete his duties; he just often did not. And there was the rub.

The carriage came to a halt, and Franklin jumped out to assist Miss Jamison. Her small figure was lost in the large gown, but there again, she did not complain. Franklin smiled as he handed her out. She gathered the extraneous folds and marched to the front door. Windly opened the door. His lips pressed together, and his eyes widened as he took in Miss Jamison’s appearance. She pulled off her gloves and handed over her bonnet as if she’d only just returned from an afternoon stroll. “Thank you, Windly,” she said as she handed him her things.

Laughter sounded from the floor above. Miss Jamison looked at Franklin. “Shall we look in on my brothers?” She smirked, again gathered her borrowed dress in hand, and started up the stairs.

Franklin was not sure if she meant for him to follow. He had not told Gladstone to take the horses to the stables, but a bit of time in the drizzling rain might give the man cause to ponder his commitment to Ravencrest. Franklin stripped off his gloves and handed them, along with his hat, over to Windly.

He caught up to Miss Jamison as she crossed the threshold of the library. The two younger Jamison brothers sat at a table laid with a chessboard, and at the sight of their sodden, brown-clad sister, they ceased conversing. Peter stood.

“Phoebe, what happened to you?” Abraham asked.

Peter snickered and then noticed Franklin. He tried to affect a serious expression. “Everly, are you party to . . . this?” Peter waved his hand up and down Phoebe’s person.

Abraham left the chessboard he’d been evaluating. He came to stand beside Peter and crossed his arms over his chest.

“We should have sent a message,” Franklin whispered loudly to Phoebe.

“Nonsense. If my brothers were concerned about my whereabouts, they would have come looking for me. Instead, they’ve remained warm and dry while playing games in the comfort of the library.”

“Were you not with Geoffrey?” Abraham asked.

“I was not. Where is he?” Miss Jamison crossed her arms to match Abraham’s stance.

“As the storm rolled in, Paul returned and told Geoffrey that Sundance had thrown a shoe. Paul acquired a carriage in town, but when he returned to where he’d left you on the road, you were gone. Geoffrey ordered our carriage harnessed and rode to the vicarage to confirm your arrival and to convey you home. He was quite worried,” Abraham said. He looked over Miss Jamison and shuffled his feet. He cleared his throat. “Obviously, you did not cross paths.”

“Obviously.” Miss Jamison did not hide her sarcasm.

“Geoffrey asked me to remain at Primly Park, and Peter rode to Halsham to ask after you,” Abraham said. “The smithy told him Sundance was fit to ride and had been taken to the vicarage, so Peter returned home, assuming you would meet Geoffrey.” Abraham’s hard stare demanded an explanation.

“I never saw Geoffrey. Mr. Hughes offered to drive me in his cart, but it is not covered, and I assumed I could beat the storm if I rode directly home . . . but the storm worsened, and I thought it best to take refuge at Ravencrest.” Phoebe looked at the fabric puddled around her feet.

“And why are you wearing . . . that?” Peter pointed a single finger at the hem of Miss Jamison’s dress.

Franklin stepped forward, ready to accept responsibility for the ruined riding habit, but Miss Jamison’s hand shot out, blocking him. “By the time I arrived at Ravencrest, my dress was soaked. Mrs. Gladstone was kind enough to loan me one of hers,” she said.

“You know it does not flatter you in the least,” Peter said.

Abraham stared flatly at his brother. “Peter, you are missing the point. That”—he flitted his fingers at Phoebe—“is at least dry. But the larger question remains.” He fixed his stern expression on his sister. “Why were you traveling by yourself? Do you not care that we worry over your safety?”

“I do not plan to be the victim of a kidnapping.” Miss Jamison flipped her head to clear a strand of hair from her face.

Franklin’s stomach churned at the thought. “Has the magistrate found any leads?”

“No.” Abraham turned his eyes to his sister. “Which is why Phoebe should not be on her own.”

Miss Jamison clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

“If we would have known, we would have come for you. We believed you were with Geoffrey.” Abraham sighed and turned toward Franklin. “Thank you for sheltering Phoebe and seeing her home.”

“It was my pleasure,” Franklin said.

Peter sniggered again.

“I shall go change.” Miss Jamison scowled at Peter. “Though, I am of a mind to punish Peter and wear this hideous gown in his presence for the entirety of the day.” Abraham smiled. Miss Jamison turned to Franklin and curtsied. “Thank you again for your kindness.”

Franklin dipped his head in a bow, and Miss Jamison swept from the room.

Abraham returned to his seat at the chessboard. “Surely, the vicar has conveyed Phoebe’s intent to Geoffrey. Why has he not returned home?”

Peter shrugged and ambled back to his seat opposite Abraham.

Franklin stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Abraham studied the chessboard. Peter glanced at him sideways. “How did you manage to keep your wits all afternoon while Phoebe wore that dress?” Abraham moved his knight and captured one of Peter’s pawns and then sat back with a smug smile.

“There was no other option. My only thought was to get her out of her wet clothing.” Franklin said the words before realizing the implication. His cheeks burned in embarrassment.

Abraham growled. Peter laughed out loud, and with barely a glance at the chessboard, he slid his queen to take the rook Abraham had just moved. “This day has proved quite entertaining.” He grinned.

“I only meant—” Franklin hoped to clarify.

“We know what you meant.” Peter waved away his words, but Abraham turned his scowl toward Franklin and gave him an incontestable look of warning.

Thankfully, Jamison walked through the doorway. “Everly.” Franklin swallowed and gave a small nod. “Thank you for seeing Phoebe home,” Jamison said as he clapped Franklin on the shoulder. “I sent Gladstone to the stables to warm up. He looked like a drowned rat.”

Franklin pressed his eyes closed, humiliated by his thorough display of ineptitude. He gave a sigh of resignation and said, “I should be on my way.”

“Don’t you want to know where Geoffrey’s been?” Peter asked. Abraham furrowed his brow and moved his bishop. “That puts you in check,” Peter said. Abraham growled again and moved the bishop back to its starting place.

“Windly said you returned Phoebe home,” Jamison said to Franklin.

“Yes, she arrived at Ravencrest and asked to wait out the storm,” Franklin said.

“Stubborn girl, setting out on her own.” Jamison scrubbed a hand down the side of his face. “You have my thanks,” he said.

“You would not be so generous if you saw how he returned her.” Peter spoke at the board and frowned when Abraham moved a pawn forward one space. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked his brother.

Abraham narrowed his eyes and looked over the chessboard. “Yes,” he said triumphantly.

Peter placed one elbow on the table and braced his chin in his hand. “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With his free hand, he moved his queen to take Abraham’s pawn. “Check.”

“Blast,” Abraham whispered under his breath.

“What is Peter talking about?” Jamison asked.

Franklin swallowed. “When Miss Jamison arrived at Ravencrest, she was thoroughly soaked—”

“So Everly insisted she get out of her wet clothing.” Peter grinned, and Abraham cracked a smile.

Jamison crossed his arms and raised a hand to his chin. “Are you saying—?”

“Mrs. Gladstone loaned her a dry gown,” Franklin quickly explained.

“A hideous brown monstrosity,” Peter said. Then he tsked as Abraham reached toward one of his pieces.

“So she is well?” Jamison asked.

“Of course she is,” Abraham said, sitting back again to evaluate the board. “She had an ugly dress is all. She is currently in her room, changing into something more appropriate.”

Jamison smiled, dropped his hand, and tipped his head. “Then, thank you, Everly.”

Franklin deserved no gratitude. He’d provided only the barest fundamentals. “I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “I will see myself out.”

“Farewell,” Jamison said as he took a seat on the sofa.

Franklin walked to the door, and Peter’s voice sounded behind him. “Once Phoebe returned, we expected you shortly after. What kept you, dear brother?”

“I offered Miss Vane use of our carriage home,” Jamison answered.

As he turned down the corridor, Franklin heard Peter’s hoot of laughter. When he reached the first-floor landing, Miss Jamison called his name.

“Mr. Everly. Are you leaving?” She held one hand on the banister and stepped down the last several steps to where he stood. She’d changed into a rust-colored gown and tidied her hair. The color suited her.

“It’s time I return. Gladstone has been waiting in the weather and so has paid a bit of his penance.” Franklin could not pull his eyes away from her innocent face and stood unmoving, hoping his awkwardness would go unnoticed.

Miss Jamison’s mouth hinted at a laugh, and Franklin hoped to lure a smile from her lips, either with his words—or a kiss. The Jamison brothers would kill him before he could reach the door. He needed to divert his thoughts. “Jamison has returned,” he said.

“Oh?” Miss Jamison glanced over her shoulder. She turned back to Franklin.

“He came upon Miss Vane and escorted her home.”

Miss Jamison shook her head. “What a muddle.”

“Is something amiss?” Franklin asked.

“I . . .” Miss Jamison looked again toward the library. “I simply must speak with Geoffrey.”

“I will not keep you.” Franklin bowed.

“Thank you again for your assistance today.” Miss Jamison gave a hasty curtsy, then hurried down the corridor.

“The pleasure was mine,” Franklin whispered to himself.