Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 16
Franklin could see the challenge in Mason’s eye before he’d ever spoken a word. He meant to spar for Miss Jamison’s notice. When Chipper had pulled ahead, ensuring Franklin won the race and, therefore, the bet, Mason had seemed to not care. But something had changed since that moment. Perhaps the man felt the need to defend his pride. Perhaps he wanted to remind Franklin of his long-standing relationship with the Jamison family. Or perhaps he finally recognized the treasure standing before him, dressed as a radiant blue sky with a halo of fiery sun.
Miss Jamison accepted Mason’s request to dance the waltz, and Franklin could not decipher whether the rosiness in her cheeks was remnant from his own compliment or Mason’s inquiry. Franklin’s supper dance would occur before the waltz, and he wondered if claiming her hand before Mason was a boon. Or perhaps dancing the waltz near the end of the ball would leave a more memorable impression. Then Franklin was reminded that none of it really mattered because he and Mason were not the only two vying for Miss Jamison’s attention. While he stood contemplating how best to leave a measurable impression, another man, Mr. Abbott, had come and claimed Miss Jamison’s hand for the first set.
Franklin knew mingling in Society had never been his forte. However, if he sought to win Miss Jamison’s notice, he needed to employ the one strength his mother oft boasted of—his sincerity. Franklin need not decipher Mason’s feelings, nor did he need to try to be something he was not. He only needed to be himself and to aptly present his intentions when given the opportunity.
Franklin danced only two sets prior to his commitment with Miss Jamison, retreating to the card room until the supper dance was called. Miss Young and Miss Tartell were kind and handsome and all things Society wished them to be. Yet . . . they did not boast red hair or a fiery wit, and Franklin did not have an opportunity to hear them laugh, truly laugh, as though they could not contain the emotion any longer. When Miss Jamison’s riding habit had lain scorched upon his kitchen hearth and she’d laughed unashamed, Franklin knew Miss Phoebe Jamison had captured his heart.
The supper dance was announced, and Franklin stood upon his tiptoes and searched for his partner. He found Miss Jamison, head bent close to Miss Vane, her gloved fingers resting upon Miss Vane’s arm while she whispered something into her friend’s ear.
Franklin approached and let his arms hang at his side while he bowed. “Ladies.”
“Oh.” Miss Vane covered her mouth and stood at her full height. “Is the supper dance called?”
Miss Jamison looked away from Miss Vane and acknowledged Franklin with a small curtsy.
“May I?” Franklin asked.
Miss Jamison’s lips pushed together, and she looked back at Miss Vane. “Hannah,” she began, “please consider—”
“Yes, yes.” Miss Vane waved Miss Jamison’s words away and looked over her head. “Go!” Miss Vane flipped her fingers toward the dance floor. “Enjoy the dance,” she said, still looking about.
Franklin extended his hand, and after a moment, Miss Jamison placed her fingers in his. She looked back at Miss Vane as Franklin led her to the floor, where they took their positions. The dance was to be a quadrille, which would not allow Franklin the opportunity to converse with Miss Jamison as he wished. At least he could engage her in conversation during dinner. The benefit of the quadrille was his ability to study Miss Jamison as she completed the turns with various partners. Her tiny figure, wrapped in the blue silk, seamlessly executed the steps, and her feet moved with the pace and rhythm of the music. But her thoughts were elsewhere. She constantly looked beyond her partner, turning a little too far or tilting her head when it was not required. Franklin attempted to follow her search, fearing that the subject would be one William Mason.
Peter danced only one set away with Miss Tartell, and farther down, Jamison had partnered with Miss Vane.
The dance required Franklin to take Miss Jamison’s hands and circle left. He smiled down at her, only to see her furrowed brow. The time to be sincere had come. “I hope you are not disappointed I won the race,” he said. “I should have asked for your hand for the dance rather than rely on a wager.”
Miss Jamison quickly raised her eyes and shook her head. “I set the stakes, and I’ve no regrets.”
Franklin studied her face, the delicate line of her nose, the sure outline of her lips. She looked away, as the dance required them to return to their beginning positions. They met each other and stood side-by-side, watching the couples on either side of them skip to the center of the figure to execute their patterns.
“I’m concerned for Hannah,” Miss Jamison said softly, staring straight ahead.
“How so?” Franklin looked down at her artfully arranged hair.
Miss Jamison released a long breath. “Geoffrey” came the simple reply.
Whatever did that mean? Franklin looked back down the formations of couples and watched as Jamison said something to Miss Vane, and she smiled in response. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. They appear content.”
“Precisely,” Miss Jamison agreed. She turned to look up at Franklin as he led her into another series of movements. “Geoffrey claims to have no interest in Hannah, yet he continues to elicit her smiles. He’s completely flouted the pact, and now he’s playing with Hannah’s heart.”
“The pact?” Franklin asked, returning them to their beginning marks.
Miss Jamison huffed. “Yes, the pact. Several years past, my brothers agreed to never court or flirt or otherwise pursue any of my dear friends. Their relationships were to be kept separate from mine.”
“I see.” Franklin and Miss Jamison offered their final bows, and the music ended. Applause was given, and escorts were accepted as couples began to move toward the hall where supper would be served. Miss Jamison took Franklin’s proffered arm. “And you believe your brother has violated that agreement?” he asked.
“Undoubtedly.” Miss Jamison glanced at Franklin quickly as they stepped into the line waiting to enter the dining hall. Her voice softened. “It began the night I made your acquaintance.”
“Because Jamison asked Miss Vane to dance?” Franklin filled in.
Miss Jamison’s chin lifted a notch. “Yes. That was the moment he violated the pact.”
Laughter sounded behind them, and Franklin turned to see the subjects of his and Miss Jamison’s conversation standing but a few yards away. Miss Vane held a gloved hand to her mouth, trying not to react to whatever it was Jamison had whispered near her ear. “What if he is interested in her?” Franklin asked.
“What do you mean?” Miss Jamison turned so she completely faced Franklin, her features etched with wariness.
Franklin lowered his voice. “What if your brother truly wishes to know her better?”
Miss Jamison’s jaw fell open. “That is not possible.”
“Is it not?” Franklin’s lips twitched.
Miss Jamison pondered the question, her eyes darting to various points on Franklin’s jacket. “If that were true, Geoffrey would seek her out upon her arrival.”
“As I sought you out when you were announced?” Franklin asked.
“Yes.” Miss Jamison turned to face forward again, and a footman directed them to a table. Franklin held her chair, and once he had seated himself, she leaned toward him. “If Geoffrey were interested, he would ask for her hand for the supper dance so they might spend more time together.”
“As he did and as we are now?” Franklin smiled.
“Yes.” She tapped a finger to her lip. “If he were interested in Hannah, he would compliment her new gown.”
“Have I told you how the blue of your dress turns your eyes the color of a glistening sea and your hair resembles the first rays of sunrise?” Franklin said.
“That is precisely something he would say.” Miss Jamison pulled her finger from her lips and pointed at Franklin. “Only Hannah’s gown is peach. Mine is blue.”
Franklin grinned. “A lovely shade of blue.”
“And then he would ask her for a second dance, which he has yet to do.” Phoebe moved her hand to the table.
“The night is still young,” Franklin said.
“Yes, I suppose there is time. I will have to keep an eye on him.” Miss Jamison lifted her water glass to her lips and swallowed. She set her cup down and adjusted the napkin in her lap.
Franklin watched her, wondering why she was opposed to the idea. “Would it be so bad? Your brother courting your friend?” he asked.
Miss Jamison turned to him. Her eyes were a mixture of mossy hues and emerald green. “If he is sincere, I suppose not. Geoffrey is a good man. Hannah deserves a good man.” Miss Jamison looked around the room until she spied her brother. “I suppose I shall have to watch to see if he asks her to dance again. Then I will know his intent.”
“Miss Jamison?” Franklin reached over and touched his fingertips to hers. “May I have your hand for the cotillion?”
“But we just danced the quadrille. That would be a second dance, Mr. Everly.”
“Yes, it would.”
“People would begin to talk. They might assume—”
“That I have intentions?” Franklin filled in.
“And if you don’t . . .” Her voice flitted away.
If there were ever a time to be sincere, it was now. Franklin wanted the entire crowd to know his purpose, his greatest desire. Mason especially. Franklin had known from the moment he met Miss Phoebe Jamison that her unique, fiery self was a woman he wished to know better. The passion and concern she felt for her friend, the allegiance she demonstrated for her family, and her ability to say what was on her mind while sounding both educated and unafraid—this was why Franklin had begged Jamison to allow his sister to join their rides and cheer for their races. He had told Jamison on that occasion that he wished to court Miss Phoebe Jamison. He knew the first step was gaining her regard, and thus, he’d convinced Jamison to grant him the privilege of telling Miss Jamison she could ride with her brothers. Jamison had been leery, for he knew very little of Franklin, but Franklin had taken the opportunity to tell Jamison of his plans for Ravencrest. He’d also promised that he would never force Miss Jamison into a union she did not desire. Jamison had listened to his arguments and agreed first to his request to court Miss Jamison and second to keep the matter between the two of them, insisting he would never allow his sister to be misused. Franklin had agreed to Jamison’s terms, never doubting he’d made the right decision.
“What if that is my exact intention?” Franklin asked. “To court you?”
“Oh . . .” Miss Jamison looked at her plate, and her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red. “I find myself suddenly famished.”