Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton

Chapter 9

Phoebe could not contain her excitement. She pulled her kid leather gloves snug and practically skipped to the stables. Geoffrey, Abraham, and Peter were all there, bantering and laughing as they saddled their horses.

Abraham whistled when he saw her. “I think I have a sporting chance of winning today. What do you say, Phoebe?”

“Feeling cocky, are you?” Peter asked before Phoebe could respond.

“I know I can best you and Geoffrey. And Phoebe will distract Everly and Mason.” Abraham pulled the cinch tight on his horse’s stomach. “You look comely today, dear sister.”

Phoebe knew her green riding habit flattered her small figure. Her stomach twirled with excitement. “Is Mr. Mason riding today?” she asked.

“Thought he’d want to join the fun.” Peter worked his fingers into his horse’s mouth and inserted the bit. Then he turned and winked at Phoebe. “You are the perfect distraction.” He turned to Geoffrey. “You should have agreed to let her observe last week; then Everly could not lord over me.”

Geoffrey laughed. “He won fair and square. But Monday’s Pride and I are feeling lucky today.”

Geoffrey had set a groom to saddling Phoebe’s mare, Sundance. The boy led the sorrel horse from her stall out to the yard. Phoebe left her brothers in the stable and followed the groom outside. He held the reins, and Phoebe stroked Sundance’s face along the white blaze running from the horse’s ears to her nose. “You are such a pretty girl,” she cooed to the horse.

“A compliment I’m sure you receive often.”

Phoebe looked up to see Mr. Everly astride his horse, looking down on her. His words brought a blush to her freckled cheeks. She tilted her head and tried to hide her rosy cheeks in the shadows of her bonnet. “How do you do this morning?” she asked Mr. Everly.

“I am well, thank you.” Mr. Everly’s hair was pulled neatly back, but he wore no hat. Neither did her brothers. Hats would only fall off during the race. “Yesterday I did not get to tell you how grateful I was for your assistance. I admit I feel quite scattered at how to go about setting Ravencrest to rights,” he said.

“Hannah was not able to receive us yesterday, but she will pay call this afternoon.” Phoebe stroked Sundance one more time, and then she walked to the side of the horse. “I think if we meet with Mrs. Hughes, she may be able to provide some direction.”

Astride their mounts, Phoebe’s brothers exited the barn in unison. Peter waved across the yard. “Ho there, Mason. Just in time.”

Phoebe turned and watched Mr. Mason approach on his black horse. He bowed his head in greeting. “This is bound to be a bruiser,” he said with a smile.

“Too early for you?” Peter called.

“I did find your eight o’clock timing rather convenient,” Mr. Everly said. “Seeing as how the race coincides with the exact hour you are scheduled to muck my stables.”

Peter shook his head and feigned seriousness. “I told you he lords over me,” he said to his brothers. Then a grin pulled at his mouth. “Only the one stall, Everly, and I’ll get to it. Unless the tables turn.”

“Right, then,” Abraham said. “Shall we be off?” He kicked his horse and started to ride away. Peter and Geoffrey turned their horses to follow.

Phoebe stood with her heels in the dirt and hollered at her brothers. “Do you mean to leave me behind?” Geoffrey turned his horse around and jutted his chin toward Mr. Everly. “Everly, see to Phoebe, will you?”

“Of course.” Mr. Everly gathered his reins and prepared to dismount.

“Allow me,” Mr. Mason said loudly. He had already dismounted and stood only a foot away.

Phoebe’s hand flew to her heart. “Mr. Mason?”

“You do plan to join us?” Mr. Mason asked.

Phoebe nodded and mumbled affirmation.

“Look at that,” Peter said. “It’s exactly what we hoped for.” He laughed aloud.

“Everly’s the one you need to beat, Peter,” Abraham said. “And he’s not distracted in the least.”

Mr. Everly stared at Phoebe, though he did not smile as the others did. He looked over Mr. Mason, then turned his horse to follow Abraham.

Mr. Mason wrapped his hands around Phoebe’s waist, and with one smooth, easy motion, he lifted her to her saddle. The contact was gone almost as soon as it had begun, and Phoebe felt her cheeks warm for the second time that day. She’d ridden with Mr. Mason before, but not once had he assisted her beyond offering advice on how to keep a proper seat and how best to keep control of her horse. Yet while her brothers rode away, Mr. Mason had remained to help her. Phoebe blinked to assure herself she was not in a dream.

She settled her right leg over the top pommel and situated herself. Mr. Mason had remounted, and together they trotted after the others. The day was indeed pleasant, and Phoebe nearly burst with contentment. Mr. Mason said nothing further, but her heart sped every time she thought of his hands on her waist.

They soon reached the small hill where the race would begin. Abraham wore a serious expression. “Same stakes?” he asked.

“That’s not putting our distraction to good use.” Peter swept his arm toward Phoebe and turned his horse to face the others. “I think the victor should get a kiss from the lady of the manor.” He laughed at his jest, but if Peter had been in range of Phoebe’s boot, she would have kicked him from his horse.

Abraham scoffed. “We are racing, not jousting.”

Peter offered an unrepentant shrug. “It was worth a try.”

“Maybe Peter’s idea has merit,” Geoffrey said. “Phoebe, you determine the wager.”

“You want me to decide even though you’ve prohibited me from racing with you?” Phoebe frowned at her brother.

Geoffrey’s expression turned serious. “You know I am only enforcing Father’s rule. But as you are not racing, you are impartial and best suited to set the stakes,” he said. Monday’s Pride pawed at the ground.

He was correct. Phoebe would cheer for Mr. Mason, but she really didn’t care who won, as long as it was not Peter. Geoffrey had provided Phoebe an ideal opportunity. Mr. Mason had not raced often this summer, but last year, he’d frequently won the contests with her brothers. A breeze blew a piece of orange hair across her face. She swiped it away with her gloved finger and scanned the expectant eyes awaiting her decree. She knew what she wanted, but her request tested propriety. Then she spied Peter’s haughty grin, and the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “The winner shall partner with me for the supper dance at Lady Granby’s Summer Solstice Ball. The loser secures a dance with Peter.” Four of the five men laughed, and she grinned wickedly at the youngest of her brothers.

Peter’s jaw hung open. “What if I win?” he asked. “It’s not proper for us to partner together.”

“I’d concern yourself with not losing,” Mr. Everly said with a grin.

“I’d love to see you twirling around the room, playing the part of a lady.” Mr. Mason raised his arm and swayed in his saddle as he hummed a few bars of a song.

“I can’t dance with Peter,” Abraham said. “He will stumble over my toes, and we’ll both end up with broken bones.”

Peter laid a hand across his heart. “I’m an exceptional dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Very well,” Phoebe said. “The winner shall partner with me for the supper dance. If one of my brothers win, I will muck their horse’s stall. And the loser must ask Lady Granby to dance.”

The Jamison brothers and Mr. Mason all moaned. “I think I’d prefer Peter,” Mr. Mason said.

The laughter settled. “Are we all agreed?” Geoffrey asked.

The men waved or nodded agreement and gibed Peter further as they lined up their horses.

“You’ve provided the proper motivation to win.” Abraham’s mount was nearest Phoebe. He gathered his reins and leaned low over his horse’s neck. “Or, at the very least, not to lose.”

“Count us off, Phoebe,” Geoffrey called.

The animals anxiously snorted and shifted, but the men held their horses in check. The rattle of tack mingled with the breeze, and Phoebe backed her horse up a few steps. “On three, then,” she said. The men bent low, focusing on the lone oak tree that marked the finish line. Phoebe raised one hand in the air. “One,” she called. “Two. Three—” Her hand dropped, and the horses sprang forward.

They roared down the hill like the rumbling of distant thunder, and Phoebe held her breath. Shouts cracked across the grass as the men urged their horses faster. Their formation spread farther apart, Peter and Geoffrey falling behind the others. Mr. Everly and Mr. Mason clipped close behind Abraham, who held the lead. They’d covered half the distance, shrinking specks on the horizon. From her lookout on the hill, Phoebe watched the men jostle for the lead. Geoffrey pushed past Peter and closed the space between him and Mr. Everly. Mr. Mason pulled even with Abraham.

Sundance skittered, sensing Phoebe’s excitement. “Settle,” Phoebe whispered, her eyes never leaving the contest. Mr. Mason was going to do it. He was going to win. Mr. Mason’s black horse slowly pulled ahead of Abraham’s white mount. Mr. Everly held steady at Abraham’s heels. The distance made it difficult to discern the space between the riders. Phoebe raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The men neared the oak tree, and butterflies fluttered through Phoebe’s stomach at the thought of claiming her prize. She dropped her hand and urged Sundance slowly forward, keeping an eye on the final stretch of the race.

In a single breath, the scene changed. Mr. Everly’s brown horse surged forward, gliding as smoothly as a bird drifting in the wind. He slipped between Mr. Mason and Abraham and was the first to race past the oak tree.

Phoebe sat back in shock, and Sundance came to a stop. Mr. Everly had won. He’d ruined her chance to enjoy the supper dance with Mr. Mason. Now, instead of dancing and dining with the man she’d admired for years, she would share a great majority of her evening with a gentleman she was only newly acquainted with. Granted, she had kissed Mr. Everly’s cheek the day before, though she had meant nothing by it. She’d been excited and not thinking clearly. She’d only been grateful for his help.

Phoebe huffed and clicked her tongue at Sundance. The horse obeyed the command and cantered across the empty space. The men circled their horses around and around the tree, giving the animals a chance to cool down, but Phoebe felt the opposite of cool. She was quite irate with Mr. Everly, though she could hardly tell him without causing a great deal of embarrassment to herself. She would simply have to pretend delight at the prospect of dancing with him. She found no particular fault with Mr. Everly; he simply was not William Mason.

Phoebe approached the great oak tree and spied her brothers talking with Mr. Mason. Mr. Everly stood beside his horse and rubbed Chipper’s left shoulder. He looked up as Phoebe rode near, and his gaze connected with hers. Phoebe startled a bit at the intensity in his stare. He could have easily allowed Mr. Mason or Abraham to beat him, but he’d chosen to propel his horse across the finish line. Phoebe did not know if he’d claimed the win as a matter of pride or if . . . he wanted the prize.

His face gave no clue of his thoughts, and Phoebe dared not assume. She tried to push aside his inscrutable gaze and stopped Sundance next to Chipper.

“Is your horse injured?” Phoebe asked.

“A few months back he stumbled and afterward favored his shoulder for a few weeks. I wanted to be sure it wasn’t strained again. He’s not flinching.” Mr. Everly rubbed his hand over the horse’s shoulder again, then patted Chipper. “A good rubdown is all he needs.” He walked a circle around Chipper and came to stand near Sundance’s head. He rubbed her face and looked up at Phoebe. “You are a fine rider, Miss Jamison. Far better than any woman of my acquaintance and certainly better than my own sister.”

Mr. Everly’s sincerity in the compliment touched Phoebe. She knew her brothers loved her, but amongst their quarreling and teasing, they rarely paid her accomplishments notice. Mr. Mason had certainly never given her such praise. “But you, sir, claim the prize of the day,” she said.

A knowing grin filled Mr. Everly’s face, and Phoebe had the feeling he was very aware of that fact. “I hope you are not disappointed,” he said.

Phoebe had been only moments before. But when Mr. Everly looked at her with his smile and storm-cloud gray eyes, she could admit to a growing excitement at the prospect of spending the evening with him.

Peter and Abraham rode up. “Problem, Everly?” Peter asked.

Mr. Everly grabbed the reins and lifted himself back into the saddle. “Just checking an old injury.”

“Poor beast. You practically ran him to his death,” Peter said.

“I simply let Chipper run, and he happens to be very good at it.” Mr. Everly grinned. He kicked his horse forward and spoke loud enough for the group to hear. “A lesson I thought you’d learned.”

Abraham sat with his hands crossed over his saddle horn. He chuckled low. “I believe our plan flew awry.”

Peter pointed at Phoebe. “It is your fault, you know.”

“I am not the one who lost the race,” Phoebe said. “I’ve been banned, if you recall.”

Peter harrumphed. “Rather than provide a distraction, you provided motivation.”

“’Tis true,” Abraham said. “If Everly hadn’t nicked the win, Mason had me beat.”

Mr. Mason and Geoffrey joined the group. “I simply did not wish to dance with Lady Granby,” Mr. Mason said, adding nothing about racing to claim the prize. Phoebe’s mouth fell open, and her heart pinched. Did he realize the cruelty of his words?

“Say, Peter, do you plan to claim her hand for the waltz?” Geoffrey asked, and all the men laughed.

“Lady Granby hasn’t danced a set for years. I will ask her to stand up with me, but I will also consider my duty complete when she declines.” Peter looked at Phoebe. “Does that satisfy your parameters, Phoebe?”

Phoebe nodded. “That will suffice.” Mr. Mason’s dismissal lingered like the throbbing pain of a splinter.

Abraham seemed to sense her dismay. He smiled at her. “While I would have delighted to dance with you, dear sister, I am curious . . . who were you cheering to win?”

Phoebe startled and pressed her lips together. She was sure her brothers knew of her interest in Mr. Mason, but she would never vocalize the fact.

Abraham’s subtle smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Very well. No need to reveal your champion, but it was quite obvious that Everly sought the title.”

Phoebe dared not look at the man. She pretended interest in adjusting her hold on her reins.

Geoffrey laughed. “Come,” he said, moving his horse forward, “let’s return home.”

***

Hannah arrived at Primly Park shortly after two o’clock. Windly directed Hannah’s footman to the kitchen while she settled in the drawing room. Phoebe made the request for a tea tray to be brought in, and while they waited, she presented the list of questions she had composed. “What do you think?” she asked her friend.

Hannah twisted her lips to one side of her mouth while she looked it over. “Perhaps we should get my mother’s opinion.”

“We know what is required of a maid. What more is there to it? They must be able to fulfill their duties?” Phoebe did not believe the task would be very complicated.

“I suppose you are correct. I only hope to do right by Mr. Everly. He has placed a great deal of trust in us.” Hannah lifted the list of questions and read through them again.

Geoffrey walked into the room. “Hello, Miss Vane.” He bowed his head. “I did not realize you were assisting Phoebe in this task.”

Phoebe’s brow crinkled. She had told Geoffrey of Hannah’s scheduled visit that morning before they had left the house for the race. “Do you at least remember that we are due to visit the various families on the morrow? Mr. and Mrs. Hughes plan to join us,” Phoebe said. “I’d like to ride Sundance, if you could arrange for a groom to escort me.”

“I’ll see to it.” Geoffrey sat on the sofa across from where Phoebe and Hannah sat. “The vicar’s wife will have a good idea of who is interested in working at Ravencrest, but I believe you need someone with further expertise in this area.”

“Do you plan to speak to the girls with us?” Phoebe asked.

“It might not be a bad idea.” Hannah placed a hand on Phoebe’s arm. “Mr. Jamison has more experience than you or I do in these types of matters.”

Geoffrey smiled broadly. “Thank you, Miss Vane.”

Phoebe folded her arms and gave her brother a flat stare. “We are hiring a handful of maids. Not a solicitor, a butler, or even a coachman.” Then Phoebe looked at Hannah’s blushing smile. “Oh . . .” She startled. “I’m sure Geoffrey’s expertise will be invaluable.”

Geoffrey did not take his eyes off Hannah as he spoke. “I do not plan to join you tomorrow, and I believe Mrs. Hughes will serve you well. However, I thought you might want to ask Mrs. Adler’s opinion. She has served as housekeeper at Primly Park since I was in leading strings and has experience hiring a competent staff. I’ve asked her to join us today.” Phoebe looked at her brother in shock. What was he about? “Don’t worry. I won’t interfere. I shall simply observe.”

“What a marvelous thought. You are so wise, Mr. Jamison.” Hannah demurely flashed glances at Geoffrey, and Phoebe sat wondering at the scene before her. The last time Hannah and Geoffrey had been in one another’s presence, Hannah had stepped on his toes and dissolved into a puddle of tears. From the pleased expression on Geoffrey’s face, he did not consider Hannah to be a bufflehead—in the least. Phoebe thought she might be ill.

Thankfully, Mrs. Adler presented herself. “You asked for me, Mr. Jamison?”

Geoffrey finally pulled his eyes away from Hannah and explained the task to the housekeeper. “Phoebe and Miss Vane are determined to do a thorough job. I hoped you might be willing to gently guide them with your expertise.”

Phoebe picked up her sheet of questions and held it out. “Here are the questions we thought to ask the girls.”

Mrs. Adler walked forward and perused the paper. She stared at it for a long time, and her eyes blinked so rapidly Phoebe wondered how Mrs. Adler could read the list when her eyelids fluttered so. Finally, Mrs. Adler looked up. “Miss Jamison, may I speak freely?”

“Please do,” Phoebe said.

Mrs. Adler stepped forward and returned the list to Phoebe. “While these questions are indeed . . . prudent, I think it best if we . . . simplify.”

“Simplify?” Phoebe asked.

Mrs. Adler nodded and folded her hands in front of her. “We do not need to know the girls’ preferred color of gown, nor do we need to ask how well they launder undergarments.”

Geoffrey snickered from his seat.

Phoebe shot him a look. “I only thought Mr. Everly might want to take the girls’ opinions into consideration when he orders livery. And it is vital that clothing is properly laundered.”

“Gray or black will suit for the girls’ attire. They may wear other shades when they attend Sunday worship.” Mrs. Adler obviously had strong opinions on the subject. “Your questions should focus on their skills and abilities and their determination to do good work whilst following orders. Additional skills can be taught if needed.”

“I’ve included such questions.” Phoebe held up the paper.

“You have,” Mrs. Adler acknowledged. “And may I suggest you stick with those rather than the”—she flipped her hand toward Phoebe—“other nonsense.” Phoebe lowered her list and pressed her lips into a tight line.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Adler,” Geoffrey said.

“Indeed, thank you.” Hannah smiled at the housekeeper. “Following your recommendations, I am sure we will meet with success.”

Phoebe’s frustration flared. She could concede that Mrs. Adler ran a succinct household. There was likely truth to her admonition, and she found no fault with the woman. Mrs. Adler did precisely as Geoffrey had asked. However, Geoffrey himself sat in his place, all smiles and tender eyes. Hannah’s eyelids were fluttering as fast as dragonfly wings, and her friend’s demure blushing and fidgeting made Phoebe restless.

Mrs. Adler was dismissed, yet Geoffrey remained. Phoebe wondered again what he was about.

“Shall we walk outside and finalize our plans for the morrow?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh!” Hannah appeared surprised to remember Phoebe sitting beside her. “You want to leave?”

Phoebe sucked in a deep breath. Her brother was going to hurt Hannah. Perhaps the brothers’ pact not to flirt with Phoebe’s friends had a purpose. “I thought we might enjoy a stroll. We can request lemonade and cakes upon our return.”

Hannah looked at Geoffrey, then back at Phoebe. “You want to go now?”

Phoebe turned to her brother. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a severe look of warning. She would not tolerate his buffle-brained flirting. Nor did she want him to distract Hannah when they had such an important task at hand. She would not allow her brother to hurt her friend.

“I’m sure Geoffrey has some business or other that requires his attention.” Her pinning stare willed him to agree. “Go on, Geoffrey. We shall remain in the garden and will manage without you. I will request a footman join us.”

“Are you saying I am not wanted?” Geoffrey asked with a smile. He stood and adjusted his sleeves.

“Oh no—” Hannah began, but Phoebe quickly cut her off.

“Yes.” Phoebe grabbed Hannah’s hand and stood. “We shall be on our way.” She ignored Hannah’s sputtering confusion and pulled her from the room. Phoebe recruited Hannah’s footman from the kitchen to accompany them and then marched down the path to the river.

“You didn’t even let me gather my bonnet.” Hannah yanked her hand free. “And your dismissal of Mr. Jamison was extremely rude.”

Phoebe crossed her arms. “Geoffrey is my brother. I am allowed to dismiss him however I choose.”

“But he was only trying to help us.”

“Which he did, and I am grateful.” Phoebe took a breath to calm herself. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to walk with slower steps. Hannah walked beside her. “You ought to keep your distance from Geoffrey,” Phoebe said. “He would never intentionally hurt you, but—”

“Don’t worry,” Hannah said. “I won’t swoon or melt into hysteria again.” They walked a few more steps, and Hannah’s lips pressed up in a smile. “I don’t believe he considers me a bufflehead after all.”

“That’s only because he has claimed the title for himself,” Phoebe whispered under her breath.