Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 2
Franklin had always known one day he would come to reside in Somerset, but his brother, Harrison Barton Everly, had welcomed him at his family home, Everly Manor, and Franklin had assumed he would reside there for several more years before settling farther south—farther from his family, his friends, and all the comfort he found in familiarity. But his brother’s tender heart had changed Franklin’s plans when, on that night six months ago, Barton rescued one Miss Elizabeth Stafford and her young brother, Thomas, from a treacherous gale. She was now Mrs. Harrison Barton Everly, and while Franklin adored his sister-in-law, he knew the newlyweds were best left alone. His mother had agreed and traveled to Haskins House for a prolonged visit with his sister, Bethany, and Franklin had headed south to inspect his future home.
His claim to Ravencrest had come from his mother’s half brother. Since his uncle’s passing, Franklin had corresponded with Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, Ravencrest’s current caretakers, and been assured the estate remained in good repair. Upon his arrival the week prior, he’d found their definition of good repair veered greatly from his own. Perhaps they had meant to write that the estate was in need of a good repair. Franklin had written his brother’s solicitor, Mr. Snow, and requested a recommendation for a steward. Uncle’s previous man of business had retired after the funeral, and his barrister, Mr. Wilton, had suggested saving the expense of a steward and instead allowing Mr. Gladstone to oversee the property. Franklin had been too trusting, assuming the barrister would have the interest of Ravencrest at heart. Once he examined the estate, Franklin had quickly realized Mr. Wilton had only wished to lighten his own workload.
It was not one singular repair that would bring Ravencrest to rights but a combination of dozens of small issues Franklin had noted: a portion of a chimney missing several bricks, peeling wallpapers, chipped paint, a warped shelf in the library, several broken fence planks, leaks in one of the guestrooms and the drawing room, overgrown gardens, neglected paths, and a host of other menial concerns. The individual reparations were manageable, but when compiled together, the task was rather daunting. And the list continued to grow.
Franklin had come to the Assembly Rooms at the request of his closest neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton. The elderly couple had called at Ravencrest the day after his arrival. Their cheery dispositions had lifted Franklin’s outlook. Mrs. Clayton had insisted he join them for dinner, and after the meal, she’d blinked her blue eyes and guilted him into a promise to come to the gathering.
He had agreed for the sole purpose of familiarizing himself with some of the local gentry. He’d realized he might be called upon to dance with a lady or two, but he did not think he would find himself dancing a minuet within thirty minutes of his arrival.
He stood across from Miss Jamison as she stepped forward to circle the man standing on Franklin’s right. He could find no singular fault with the man—Franklin was known for his generous amiability—but at the moment, he felt an extreme dislike of the gentleman. The dark-haired man did not simply extend his hand to allow Miss Jamison to rest her fingers on his knuckles; he flipped his wrist around and clasped Miss Jamison’s hand in his own. And before returning Miss Jamison to her position, the man had the audacity to lean near and whisper something Franklin could not hear. The man’s behavior was far from acceptable . . . unless he was courting Miss Jamison.
Franklin considered the possibility but quickly dismissed the notion. Jamison had made a particular effort to introduce Franklin to his sister. What purpose would there be if she were previously spoken for? Franklin stepped forward and offered his hand, leading Miss Jamison clockwise through the movements.
She nodded as her hand joined Franklin’s. “You know the steps well, Mr. Everly.”
“I’ve an elder sister who mercilessly insisted I practice with her.” He released his hold and, following the paces, reversed his position.
“Do you have younger sisters as well?” Miss Jamison asked.
“I’m the youngest in the family. Bethany is the eldest, then my brother, Barton.” Franklin stepped back in line, too far away to continue conversation with Miss Jamison. He’d oft appreciated the vast space between him and his dancing partners. Tonight he wished he could close that gap. Perhaps he could convince Miss Jamison to walk with him around the room so they might converse a bit more.
They’d shared only a handful of words, but her banter and candor brought a smile to his face, a smile that had been long absent. He did not seek a match, opposite the designs of his mother, but Miss Jamison had an easy manner about her, and Franklin could admit he would like to know her better.
Watching her smile as her shoulders swayed with the music, he was grateful for Mrs. Clayton’s prodding. Miss Jamison again partnered with the black-haired gentleman for a series of steps. Franklin could not decipher their conversation, but when they parted to return to the line, Miss Jamison scowled at the man.
Curious. He thought on how to ask her about her acquaintance with the gentleman, but when it came his turn to take her hand and perform the required figures, Miss Jamison posed a question to him. “Is this your first visit to Halsham?”
“Indeed, it is,” Franklin answered.
“And you are heir to Ravencrest?”
Franklin swallowed and thought on how to respond as the dance required them to change direction. “My uncle was the previous owner.”
“Mr. Crenshaw?”
Franklin nodded. “My mother’s half brother.”
Miss Jamison seemed to consider this as she shuffled her feet forward and then back. “But he passed away nearly nine years ago. You’ve not thought on your inheritance until now?” she asked. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. She looked like a child who’d been caught mischief making.
The final notes of the minuet played, and Franklin offered the customary bow. He walked to Miss Jamison and offered his arm. She lowered her hand, and Franklin stared at her pinched lips.
“Pardon my impertinence, Mr. Everly,” she said. “Mother often chastises me for my rash words and behavior.” Miss Jamison slipped her arm into Franklin’s and covered one rosy cheek with her free hand.
“You only spoke the truth. I find no fault in that.” Franklin led her from the floor, intent to remain with her as long as possible.
“It’s my hair, you know.” Miss Jamison lifted her tiny frame straight and raised her chin. “Red hair means I’ve a fiery temperament and an impetuous tongue.”
“Is that your true demeanor or a justification of behavior?” Franklin asked. A smile played on his lips.
Miss Jamison laughed. “You’ve found me out, Mr. Everly.” She pulled her gloved hand from his arm and stood facing him.
“Your hair is a lovely shade. Allow it to be the compliment it is rather than an excuse for those looking to find fault.” Franklin did think Miss Jamison’s hair was lovely. As were her eyes, green and clear, like the empty wine bottles he used to collect as a child. He had loved to hold the bottles up to the sky and admire the way the sunlight filtered through the bubbled green glass. Then he would fill them with wildflowers or roses from the garden and deliver them to his mother.
Miss Jamison’s green eyes now fixated on him. “Thank you, Mr. Everly. I believe that to be the kindest bit of advice I’ve ever received.”
“Know I do not give it in vain, Miss Jamison.” Franklin hoped she caught his reference to her brother’s earlier play on words. He needn’t worry; Miss Jamison laughed aloud, drawing stares from those standing nearby.
He delighted in her laugh. It lit her fair features and made her presence much loftier than her five-foot-one stature. “May I return you to your mother?” he asked.
“I’ve come with my brothers this evening. My parents are on holiday in the Lake District,” Miss Jamison said.
“Miss Jamison, there you are.” The black-haired man from the dance floor interrupted Franklin’s observation of the lady. When the man touched her elbow, Franklin wanted to forcefully remove his hand. “Peter asked that I come inform you that you have lost your wager. He is with Miss Vane now and requested that you come at once.”
“And why could Peter not inform me himself?” Miss Jamison asked.
“I’m simply doing your brother’s bidding,” the man said with a tilt of his head.
Franklin swallowed and pointedly glared at where the gentleman still held Miss Jamison’s elbow.
Miss Jamison smiled mischievously. “Mr. Mason, have you been introduced to our newest neighbor, Mr. Everly?” She stepped away from Mr. Mason’s touch and motioned toward Franklin.
“William Mason.” Mr. Mason’s expression remained firm as he offered the slightest bow. “Newly arrived at Ravencrest, I hear.”
Franklin returned the gesture, only he included a smile. “Franklin Everly.”
“I understand you intend to sell the place.” Mr. Mason smirked, and Franklin noted that he would have to be cautious in his conversations with his staff. He’d only suggested to Mr. Gladstone the possibility of selling Ravencrest, and Franklin was not one to abide gossip.
Miss Jamison’s brows drew together. “You do not intend to stay?”
“I had considered selling or perhaps letting the estate. Now that I’ve come to see the place for myself, I am quite fond of it. A few repairs and Ravencrest will make a fine home.” Franklin was doing it a bit brown, but he had wondered if he could call Halsham home.
A smile returned to Miss Jamison’s face, and Franklin was glad to know he’d put it there.
“Might I inquire after your wager, Miss Jamison?” Franklin asked.
Miss Jamison clasped her hands in front of her, her white gloves a stark contrast to her vibrant purple gown. “Miss Vane is a dear friend, but she does not always manage to keep a level head. Peter insisted she would find herself in a blunder this evening.”
“And you hoped your friend would avoid such a thing?” Franklin asked.
“Yes, but alas . . .”
Mr. Mason cleared his throat, bringing Miss Jamison’s attention back to him. “Peter is expecting us, and I believe Miss Vane could use your assistance as well.”
Miss Jamison held the sides of her skirts and curtsied to Franklin. “Excuse me, Mr. Everly.”
“But of course.” He watched Mr. Mason offer his arm and lead Miss Jamison away.
Franklin had considered returning to London or perhaps joining his mother at Haskins House once he hired a steward, but Ravencrest was to be his home and he had shirked his duties for too long. Then and there, he determined he would personally oversee the repairs to the estate. And his decision to remain in Halsham had nothing to do with a particular redheaded lady.