Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 5
Phoebe was dreadfully bored. Geoffrey had refused to let her ride with them today, as they planned to race. Once upon a time, Phoebe had participated alongside her brothers. Three years ago, she’d tried to jump a log to gain an advantage, and her horse balked and tossed her off. She’d had no serious injuries and had been laid up for only a week with sore bones and bruises, but her father had banished her from racing. It seemed Geoffrey intended to keep his promise to ensure Phoebe’s safety in their father’s absence.
Normally, Phoebe’s mother would join her for morning calls, but while Mrs. Jamison was on holiday, Phoebe’s abigail had become her companion for such things. She’d planned to call upon Hannah, but Miriam felt under the weather and could not accompany her. The Jamison family had spent the majority of the Season in London. Come April, the boys had begun to feel restless, and Mrs. Jamison conceded her sons would not make a match if they dreaded every outing. The moment their mother had agreed they could return to the country, the brothers began to pack. None of them had realized their parents would not return to Primly Park with them. Mr. Jamison had sat his children down and told them he and his wife would depart for the Lake District in two weeks. They planned to spend the entirety of the summer away, first touring the lakes and then traveling farther north to Loch Lomond, where Mr. Jamison had let a small cottage for the month of August.
Entrusted to Geoffrey’s care, Phoebe had returned to the country with her brothers. She missed her mother, especially in moments like this. She could hold her own against the teasing and banter, but it was nice to have a female around to discuss more delicate topics or to join her on days when the boys left her behind. Phoebe oft enjoyed walking to town, but with the swirling rumors of a kidnapper about, Geoffrey had forbidden her from even wandering to the garden without the escort of one of her brothers or a footman.
Phoebe made another lap of the drawing room, tapping her fingers together as she considered how to pass the day. Painting? Reading? A stroll outside with an escort? She walked past the large picture window and saw four horses trotting into the stableyard. Four? She squinted but could not make out the identity of the fourth rider.
Phoebe ran to her room to retrieve a bonnet and gloves and raced back downstairs. “I shall meet my brothers at the stables,” she called to Windly as she ran out the front door. She pulled the ribbons of her green bonnet snug under her chin before realizing she should have chosen a more demure-colored bonnet. The bright green hat with blue roses and ribbons did not complement the yellow gingham day dress she wore. This was why Miriam should not be allowed to fall ill. Phoebe looked back toward the house and considered whether the men would notice her fashion faux pas. Abraham was the smartest dresser of the three, and certainly he would not call Phoebe out in front of a stranger. Laughter spilled from the stable, and Phoebe’s decision was made. The morning had been terribly dull, and she longed to participate in any entertainment available.
With a raised chin she entered the barn. Peter stood with his back to Phoebe, and the men laughed again at something he said. Another few footsteps gave her the answer to her mystery. Mr. Everly stood beside Abraham. Geoffrey sat nearby on a bench. Peter still wore his riding jacket, but the other three men had shed their coats and wore only their shirtsleeves and waistcoats. Abraham had removed his cravat as well. Phoebe had seen her brothers in various states of undress while growing up. They oft shed their jackets while fishing, fencing, or even wrestling in the drawing room when they knew their parents were away. Thus, Phoebe did not acknowledge the men’s clothing, jacket or otherwise. She only saw four men having a grand time, and she wanted to be a part of it.
When she offered a smile and friendly greeting, it became readily apparent that Mr. Everly did not share her nonchalance. His eyes darted to his jacket draped over a nearby stall. He took a step as if to retrieve it, but when Geoffrey spoke, Mr. Everly froze in place.
“I thought you were off to Miss Vane’s,” Geoffrey said to Phoebe. He sat on the bench with his right foot crossed over his left knee.
Phoebe answered her brother, but her eyes remained on Mr. Everly. “Miriam fell ill, and with Mother gone, I’ve no companion.” Without his jacket, Mr. Everly’s trim form was apparent. His hair hung free of its tie, the tangled blond strands evidence of his hard ride. He looked devilishly handsome.
“You can hardly blame Windly for not wishing to escort you,” Peter said. “I’m embarrassed by your hideous bonnet, and you’ve only worn it to visit the horses.”
Phoebe knew Abraham would not make a fuss, but Peter was never one to be left out. Phoebe stopped staring at Mr. Everly and instead glared at Peter. “Since Geoffrey forbade me from joining you, I’ve been bored to pieces. When I saw you return, I didn’t pay much attention to which hat I grabbed.” She reached up and patted one of the large roses. “It is one of Mother’s, I’ll have you know.”
“That does not mean it is not hideous,” Peter said with a teasing grin.
“You could have taken one of the housemaids.” Geoffrey returned to his task, fiddling with the sole of his boot. “It’s come off clean.” He pulled the heel of his boot away from the leather, revealing the large space between.
“Serves you right for kicking Monday’s Pride so hard,” Abraham said. Geoffrey had chosen the name of his horse after reading a book about horse pedigree. When the foal was born on a Monday, his name was sealed.
“When we hit the final stretch, I knew Everly had us all beat, but I still had to try,” Geoffrey said.
“He beat all of you?” Phoebe asked, looking at each of her brothers. As they nodded or frowned the truth of the matter, Phoebe’s smile grew. She turned to Mr. Everly. “Well done, sir! I should have liked to see that.”
Mr. Everly tipped his head, acknowledging Phoebe’s compliment. “Chipper did the hard work. I was fortunate to be along for the ride.”
Phoebe turned to Peter. “Your streak has officially ended,” she said.
“Snuffed.” Geoffrey grinned.
Abraham held a bridle in his left hand. He pointed at Peter with the other. “Everly may have bested me, but I beat you this round. And Geoffrey.”
Peter held up his hands. “I drew the short straw today.”
“No.” Geoffrey laughed and pulled the sole of his boot entirely off his shoe. He tossed it into the dirt. “You lost, fair and square.”
“Touché, touché,” Peter said. He flipped his hand in the air and bowed low to Mr. Everly. “At your service.”
“Not until tomorrow.” Geoffrey stood. “We can take the carriage to Berksley, give the horses a rest.” He called to a stablehand and requested the carriage be harnessed. He then picked his jacket up from the bench and turned to Mr. Everly. “Give me a moment to replace my boots.”
“You’re calling on Mr. Mason?” Phoebe asked, hoping to be included in the invitation.
“Everly’s in need of some servants. Thought Mason might know the whereabouts of his old butler,” Geoffrey said.
“It is to be a business meeting, then?” Phoebe’s voice fell flat.
“Peter’s coming along and, of course, Everly,” Geoffrey said. Abraham reappeared, empty-handed, from the tack room. “Are you joining us, Abraham?”
“No, I’ve some correspondence I need to see to.” Abraham grabbed his jacket from the bench. Mr. Everly retrieved his as well, though instead of carrying it, he slipped his arms back into the sleeves.
Geoffrey began an awkward walk out of the stable. His torn sole threw off his cadence, and he bobbed up and down with every step. Phoebe walked beside him, and the others followed. It took longer than she would have liked, but Geoffrey finally said, “There’s little sense in you remaining home to brood. You might as well come along.”
“I don’t brood, Geoffrey.” Phoebe felt her cheeks warm.
“I refuse to ride in the carriage with that hat.” Peter pointed at her head.
Phoebe appreciated the open conversation with her brothers, but perhaps she would suggest they temper their words when guests were present. “I will grab another and return before Geoffrey has changed his boots.” She skipped up the steps and hurried past Windly, straight to her room. She tossed the green bonnet onto her bed and quickly grabbed two others: a blue with yellow trim and a tan bonnet with white feathers. She stood in front of her bureau, considering which would best match her yellow dress and finally settled on the blue. She wished there were time to change her dress, for yellow tinted her eyes to a dull green, but Phoebe feared Geoffrey would leave her behind. She set the bonnet on her head and tied the strings as she hurried back down the stairs.
Only Windly stood in the foyer.
“Have they left me?” Phoebe asked.
Windly waved a hand toward the front door. “Mr. Peter is in the kitchen, and Mr. Jamison is not yet returned from changing his boots. Mr. Everly has chosen to wait outside.”
“Splendid.” Phoebe straightened her gloves and allowed Windly to open the door for her. Perhaps she would be able to have a reasonable conversation with Mr. Everly before her brothers returned to their teasing. “There, now,” she said as she walked down the steps to where he stood. “I’ve beat them both.”
Mr. Everly glanced at her. “My sister would require another half an hour at least.”
“I had only to select a different bonnet.” Phoebe looked skyward. A few light, puffy clouds provided the perfect canopy.
Mr. Everly watched her for a moment more before following her gaze upward. “Bethany is the eldest, and she sets the timeline. Selecting a new bonnet might require an entirely different coif. Her husband has an excessive amount of patience.”
“Is she indecisive, then?”
“Rather, she is perhaps too precise.” A smile touched Mr. Everly’s lips, and Phoebe recognized his fondness for his sister.
“And where do you fall, Mr. Everly, on the side of precision or recklessness?” Phoebe asked. She felt a bit reckless herself. Peter rarely included her when he called on Mr. Mason, but this was Geoffrey’s errand, and she meant to spend as much time in Mr. Mason’s presence as possible.
The smile fell from Mr. Everly’s mouth. His eyes moved to the trees in front of them, and he pondered a long while before he asked, “Is there no middle ground?”
Phoebe wondered how her question could provoke such a change in Mr. Everly in such a short space of time. “Of course,” she quickly said. “A vast middle ground, to be sure.”
The coach approached from the stables, and Phoebe was grateful for the distraction. Geoffrey and Peter walked out of the house together, and after the footman lowered the step, Geoffrey handed her into the equipage, then stepped in himself. They sat on the forward-facing bench while Peter and Mr. Everly sat opposite.
The men talked again of the race. Peter teased and laughed, but Phoebe knew him best. She recognized his obvious chagrin at his loss.
Soon they arrived at Berksley, and Peter extended his hand to his sister. As Phoebe stepped out of the carriage, Peter leaned close and whispered, “The blue hat suits you much better.”
Mr. Mason’s mother, a widow of nearly ten years, greeted the group with a warm welcome and had sent for tea before her son joined them in the drawing room.
“What a grand entourage,” Mr. Mason said when he walked in.
The entire party, excluding Mrs. Mason, stood. The men only nodded while Phoebe dipped into a curtsy. She offered Mr. Mason a coy smile, then ducked her head as if she were shy, though everyone in the room surely knew Phoebe was the opposite of shy. She retook her seat on the sofa, the one she’d purposely chosen, hoping Mr. Mason would sit near his mother and, by default, next to her.
Mr. Mason did move toward his mother; however, he stood near her side—the one opposite Phoebe—and never sat down. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked.
“I hope we have not come at a bad time,” Geoffrey said. “Everly here is in a bind, and we thought you might be able to help.”
Mr. Mason could not hide his surprise. “How can I be of assistance?”
Mr. Everly answered, detailing Ravencrest’s dilapidation and his need to hire a proper staff. “I understand you may have a recommendation for the position of butler.”
All attention turned to Mr. Mason. Phoebe had rarely seen him flustered. He glanced quickly at his mother, whose cheeks blossomed red. “Unfortunately, I have no recommendation to give,” Mr. Mason said, though his eyes revealed the obvious lie.
Mr. Everly looked to Geoffrey, who looked to Peter. Phoebe had heard her brothers discuss Mason’s previous butler. If she remembered correctly, Mrs. Mason, not her son, had dismissed the man. Phoebe understood the mounting tension in the room meant Mrs. Mason had no desire to discuss the old butler.
“Mr. Mason,” Phoebe called cheerily, “did Peter tell you of his race this morning?” A change of topic was certainly in order. “It seems Mr. Everly joined my brothers and bested them all.”
She thought of her conversation with Mr. Everly and realized she did not have a middle ground, not really. She was not intentionally reckless, but when an idea entered her head, she oft acted before considering the ramifications. Thankfully, in this instance, her action was warranted. The tension fell from Mr. Mason’s shoulders, and his mother’s smile returned as she poured the tea and listened to the tale of Mr. Everly’s victory. Geoffrey laughed and explained how Peter would be mucking Mr. Everly’s stall. By the time the party stood to take their leave, the only person left with a sour expression was Peter.