Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 18
Franklin had been aware of Miss Jamison the entirety of the evening. He’d watched her leave with her eldest brother, and when the waltz had begun, he saw her return. He also knew the exact moment Miss Jamison discovered Mason had acquired another partner for the waltz. Had she sprinted to the opposite door, Franklin would not have been able to intercept her, but as she chose the side exit, he was nearby.
He did not know what he would say to her. He only knew that he hoped to divert her attention from her obvious disappointment. When she’d looked up at him with tear-soaked eyes, Franklin’s heart stuttered. Words jammed in his throat.
Miss Jamison dropped her head again, and Franklin wanted only to help her cause. “Take my arm,” he said softly.
Miss Jamison complied, and he pasted on a smile as he led her from the room. When they crossed the threshold of the double doors, Franklin looked back to see Abraham following them. In the next instant, Jamison stepped to Abraham’s side and spoke near his ear. Though Abraham stopped his advance, he cast Franklin an incontestable look of warning.
Franklin gave a small jerk of his head, sending Abraham the message that he would take care of Miss Jamison. His intentions, perhaps, were layered. He desired to court her, but he would not force Miss Jamison. And in that moment, he only wanted to spare her further pain.
She swiped at her eyes, and with his free hand, he pulled out his handkerchief and passed it to her. Franklin was grateful the corridor was well lit. He did not wish to cast any doubt on her reputation. They came upon an alcove with a large window that overlooked the garden. Franklin released Miss Jamison’s arm and stared into the night. Lanterns glowed among the hedges, and tall torches burned throughout the paths.
Miss Jamison pressed the handkerchief against her eyes. She sniffled, and Franklin resisted the urge to take her in his arms and hold her tightly. He wanted to whisper into her hair that everything would be made right. To tell her not to cry over Mason but to give her heart to him instead. He would treasure her. He would love her. He would keep every promise he made.
Eventually, Miss Jamison’s breathing slowed. “You are very brave, Mr. Everly,” she said.
“I’m not so very brave,” he said.
Miss Jamison took a deep breath. “You dared to whisk me from the ballroom, where my three brothers stand as my chaperones.”
“Yes, well . . .” Franklin did not wish to upset her and chose his words carefully. “It seemed you wished to be away.”
“I don’t deny it,” she said.
They stood in silence. Franklin looked toward the garden, but he caught Miss Jamison’s reflection in the window. She stared forward, her fair cheeks and neck speckled with patches of red. Was Mason even aware of the tumult he’d caused Miss Jamison? Franklin clenched his jaw. He wished it were his place to defend Miss Jamison. He hoped her brothers confronted the man.
“Mr. Everly.” Miss Jamison’s voice was barely a whisper. Franklin turned away from the window. He met her eyes, gleaming like mist on a field of grass. “Thank you,” she said.
Franklin dipped his head, but he did not look away. Miss Jamison fumbled with the handkerchief in her hands. She lifted it toward him.
He took the linen and tucked it back into his coat pocket. “Shall we return to your brothers?”
“I suppose we must.” She took his arm, and they began a slow walk back.
Miss Jamison placed her free hand on Franklin’s coat sleeve. “May I ask one more thing of you?”
Franklin stilled. “Of course.” He turned to face her.
Miss Jamison squared her shoulders. Determination lit her face, and a tiny smirk tugged at her lips. “When you next race, beat Mr. Mason.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Franklin bowed.
He led Miss Jamison to where her elder brother stood with Abraham and a man they introduced as Lord Landon. The two Jamison brothers could not mask their evaluation of their sister.
“Are you well, Phoebe?” Jamison asked.
“I’ve a bit of a headache.” Miss Jamison attempted a smile. She reached up and touched her brow.
Jamison touched his sister’s hand. “Shall we call for the carriage?”
“Only if you are ready to depart,” Miss Jamison said.
Her eldest brother turned to Abraham. “Have you any objection, Abraham?” he asked.
“No. I doubt Peter will either.” Abraham turned to Lord Landon and offered a short bow. “Until next time.”
Lord Landon returned the gesture.
“Everly, please wait with Phoebe while I call for the carriage. Abraham, I’ll leave you to find Peter,” Jamison said.
Franklin tucked Miss Jamison’s arm through his. Abraham left to search for Peter, and Jamison turned toward the exit as a young man burst into the ballroom. “The kidnapper has taken Miss Mathers!”
***
Details of the latest kidnapping quickly spread through the room. Eighteen-year-old Miss Mathers, from the neighboring village of Cranston, was known to be an accomplished rider and a dismal artist. She enjoyed spending time outdoors and pampering her British shorthair cat, Hettie, so when her parents had declined the invitation to the Summer Solstice Ball, fearing for their daughter’s safety, Miss Mathers had stepped outside while waiting to be called to dinner. A maid had last seen her leaning against the railing, stroking Hettie on the terrace, and from there, Miss Mathers had vanished.
Lord Granby called for the gentlemen to form groups and leave the festivities at once in order to aid in recovering the girl. Franklin returned home, changed quickly, and rode directly to Primly Park, as Jamison had asked him to join their party. As he approached the stable, the three brothers and a handful of servants exited.
“Ready?” Peter asked.
Franklin nodded. “How is your sister?”
“Safely returned home with strict instructions to remain indoors,” Jamison said.
Good. It was precisely what Franklin would have done.
“Mason and his party are heading south. Lord Granby has asked us to scout the eastern roads.” Jamison turned Monday’s Pride toward the road. “Let us be off.”
Franklin returned home well after breakfast the following morning. A rider had found their party and related the happy news that the girl had been recovered and returned home. The messenger knew only that Miss Mathers had escaped her abductor. Word also spread that Lord Granby had left for London to request the services of a private investigator with the hope that the girl could provide clues to catch the perpetrator. Franklin was grateful Miss Jamison was surrounded by four men who would do anything to protect her. Three she knew of, and the fourth was doing all he could to win her heart.
***
Four days after the Summer Solstice Ball, Miss Jamison rode with Peter to extend the invitation for another race. Franklin proudly received them in the drawing room. Having a full staff made a world of difference.
“Assuming the weather holds, we will meet in two days,” Peter said. “Ten o’clock, sharp.”
“Do you mean to accept, Mr. Everly?” Miss Jamison asked. “You did promise me you would win again.”
“Chipper and I will be there.” Eagerness to humble Mason shot through Franklin like the excited rumbling of a thunderstorm before rain.
On the assigned day, he rode directly to the stables at Primly Park and reined in Chipper. According to his pocket watch, it was precisely nine forty-seven. He waited only a moment before Miss Jamison led her horse, Sundance, into the open air. Franklin tipped his head. He’d worn his hair tied back. His hat would only fly off and be trampled, so he had left it at home.
“Good day, Mr. Everly.” Miss Jamison maneuvered Sundance toward the mounting block, but Franklin had learned his lesson.
He dismounted, leaving Chipper’s reins resting on his neck, and quickly moved to Miss Jamison’s side. “Allow me,” he said. Miss Jamison nodded, and Franklin seamlessly lifted her into the saddle.
She pulled the reins and turned her horse’s head to face Franklin. “I hope you’ve come prepared to keep your word.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Franklin gave a playful salute and retook his saddle.
Miss Jamison grinned. “I shall hold you to it.”
The three Jamison men emerged from the stables. “Everly!” Peter shouted. “Today you shall yield your title of champion.”
Abraham mounted his horse. “I plan to claim it for myself,” he said as he settled himself.
“Bah.” Jamison had mounted and reached forward to pat his horse’s neck. “Neither of you shall prevail.”
Miss Jamison lowered her reins to rest on her leg. She turned to Franklin, then looked past him. “What do you think, Mr. Mason? Will you be champion?”
“You doubt, Miss Jamison?” Mason placed a hand over his heart as if he’d been wounded. Then he dropped the charade and rode to the group and offered his greetings. Franklin did not acknowledge him beyond meeting his stare.
“Let us be off.” Jamison’s crop connected with his horse’s shoulders, and his steed sprang into a trot. The group followed his lead to the familiar hill that marked the starting point.
The men rode into starting position, and Miss Jamison rode Sundance the length of the line. She turned and doubled back to the center, then turned to face them. “I will leave Geoffrey to call the start, and I will ride ahead to the finish.”
“And what is the wager, dear sister?” Peter asked.
A wicked gleam shot through Miss Jamison’s eyes. “A kiss.”
Franklin startled, making Chipper skitter. He pulled the reins tight, on both his horse and his heart, and focused his attention on the conversation.
“From you?” Peter asked dejectedly.
Abraham laughed at Peter’s disappointment. “Obviously, she is not vying for her brothers to win.”
Geoffrey huffed in his saddle. “Phoebe, could you not give me some incentive to claim victory?”
“A kiss from Miss Vane, perhaps?” Miss Jamison asked with feigned innocence. Peter and Abraham whooped and hollered. Franklin laughed while Mason watched him.
Geoffrey sat tall in his saddle and grinned. “That will do.”
“Very well. But I cannot guarantee she will oblige.” Her horse skittered, and Miss Jamison turned the mare in a circle to settle her.
“I’ll take my chances,” Geoffrey said, winking at his sister.
“What about Abraham and me?” Peter whined.
Miss Jamison tapped a finger to her lips. “I would be happy to ask Lady Granby. You never did get your dance, after all.”
“Not for a lack of trying.” Peter held his hand up in defense. “I asked her as required.”
“Let’s get on with it,” Abraham said. “I will win simply for the right to boast. No wager is required.”
“Phoebe can determine whether or not to fulfill the wager.” Jamison pulled his horse’s head up from where it had begun to nibble on the grass. “Go on ahead, Phoebe. I shall count us off.”
Miss Jamison nodded. She held her horse at a trot, and Franklin admired her seat. She was beautiful in the saddle. At the base of the small hill, she kicked her horse into a canter.
“Ready, then?” Jamison gathered his reins. “For the right to lord over the rest of us, may the fastest man win.”
“The fastest horse, you mean?” Abraham said.
Jamison shook his head and laughed. “Yes, yes. The fastest horse.”
Franklin noted Miss Jamison’s progression across the field. She’d covered half the distance to the oak tree that marked the end of their race. Beside Franklin, Jamison began to count down. “Three, two—”
“Wait!” Franklin called, but it was too late.
“One!” On Jamison’s word, four of the five horses bolted forward.
Franklin’s hesitation lasted only a moment. He kicked his boots to Chipper’s flanks and leaned low. Two factors contributed to Franklin’s winning streak. The first was Chipper’s speed. But the second was perhaps more vital: Franklin knew when to access that speed. He would let Chipper run, watch the progression of his opponents, and then urge Chipper faster at the precise moment. Observing every aspect of a race was not a conscious effort; it was part of Franklin’s natural instinct. Yet, while this contest mirrored others, there was one vital difference—Miss Jamison.
Dirt flew from the horses’ hooves as the men quickly closed the distance to Miss Jamison. Franklin bent low on his horse but kept his eyes forward. Miss Jamison would be overtaken before she reached the giant oak. Franklin cursed.
Miss Jamison was a competent rider, but her horse was docile. There was no way of knowing how her mount would react to being overtaken by the pack of racers. The men’s horses galloped hard, drawing nearer to Miss Jamison. The men whooped and hollered to push their horses faster, oblivious to the danger they presented. But from his position behind the four men, Franklin could see it all.
Miss Jamison looked back over her shoulder, and her eyes widened in alarm. When the racing horses had narrowed the gap to only a few yards, her horse bolted. Franklin watched as Miss Jamison’s body jerked forward in the saddle. One arm flew to the side, and Franklin held his breath, fearing she would fall and be trampled by the others. Her figure swayed in the saddle, but she kept her seat. Her horse surged again, turning sharply left. Now! Now was the time for Franklin to accelerate. He gave Chipper the command and connected his boots to his horse’s hindquarters.
By this time, the other men realized their mistake. Peter and Abraham veered right and slowed. Jamison pulled his horse to a stop while Mason shot straight ahead to get clear of the pack.
Chipper charged on. Franklin cued Chipper with his right leg, and the horse turned left on the command. Sundance did not slow. Miss Jamison bounced in her saddle, and when her cries of distress reached Franklin, he pushed Chipper even faster. “Come on, man,” Franklin urged.
Chipper was the faster horse, and Franklin drew closer to Miss Jamison’s mount. “Hang on!” he called. He guided Chipper to the left side of Miss Jamison’s horse, maneuvering parallel.
Miss Jamison’s wide eyes and tear-streaked face tugged at Franklin’s heart.
He gathered his reins in his left hand and extended his right toward Miss Jamison. “Jump!” he called.
Miss Jamison shook her head.
Franklin pulled Chipper away from the runaway horse. He glanced forward. They had veered from the level meadow where they raced. Ahead lay a field speckled with gray granite ranging from the size of Franklin’s fist to the width of a carriage. Rocks covered the land. Yet, Miss Jamison’s horse did not slow.
Franklin cursed again. He pulled within two feet of the galloping mare. “You must jump,” he called.
Miss Jamison noticed the approaching danger. She clenched her reins, her knuckles turning white. Within a minute, they would be in the rocky terrain.
Chipper held steady, running beside the spooked horse. Franklin reached out again, wanting only to pull Miss Jamison into the safety of his arms. “Come,” he shouted. “I’ll catch you.”
Miss Jamison cried out yet did not move.
“Phoebe! The rocks! You must jump!” The horses galloped onward, and Franklin reached again, hoping if he could touch Miss Jamison, she might come to her senses. He extended his arm and leaned as far to the right as he could. His fingers stretched; he cued Chipper closer, yet Miss Jamison remained only inches away.
“Phoebe!” Franklin tried a final time. Her stare remained fixed, and Franklin saw a tear fall from the tip of her chin. That single tear doused all reason. As the horses crossed into the rocky terrain, Franklin released Chipper’s reins and lunged himself out of his saddle as Miss Jamison screamed. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her from her horse. In one fluid movement, he angled his back to the ground so he might take the brunt of the fall.
When Franklin’s weight lifted from Chipper’s back, the horse slowed and stopped. But Miss Jamison’s mount sprinted a few yards more before its right front leg misstepped on a rock. The horse’s knee gave way, and it cried out as its body collided with the earth.