Page 122 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
"I beg your pardon?" she asked. She still had her hand on his arm. The realization flustered her. Her hand fell awkwardly away.
"Nothing. Is the room to your liking? Mary would have it that you'd be enchanted by one of our drafty towers."
"I am! It's wonderful. It has— It has—oh, I don't know. Character, I guess you could say."
He laughed at that, a rich, warming laugh. "Character. Yes, I do believe that is apt."
Emboldened, she added, "It is quite a romantic room."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Romantic?" he asked, one eyebrow quirking upward in wry, questioning humor.
In another man the expression would have been sardonic and would have reduced Jocelyn to silence, but she sensed that while his amusement was genuine, it was not mocking.
"A room for dreaming," she clarified, blushing at what her description had implied.
"Ah, and what would Miss Maybrey dream in a tower room? Of knights and shining armor?"
She laughed with him this time. "More like castles and kings," she said.
His humor faded, and a somber mask cast his features into quite another aspect. "There are no kings in my castle. Please excuse me, Miss Maybrey. I must be off," he said pleasantly enough, though with a hint of strained crispness in his voice.
Jocelyn's jaw slackened open. She snapped it up and stared at him, bemused by his sudden change.
"Before I came up the stairs, I believe I saw my sister in the music room. That's the first door on your left at the foot of the stairs."
Numb, she thanked the marquess and edged around him to descend the stairs, her head high and her pace measured. Inwardly she quaked, for now, she saw he could be as hard as he looked. What could have caused that terrible swift change? She felt as gauche as a country-bred young woman at her first London society function. Worse, she knew he watched her until she rounded the bend in the stairs and looked up at him, standing tall and now strangely formidable at the top of the stairs, his shoulders squared, and his hands braced on lean hips as if he expected an argument. Their eyes caught and held, brown versus gray. Quickly Jocelyn tore her gaze away. She lifted her skirts and ran the rest of the way down the stairs.
When she reached the music room door, she paused in her headlong flight and forestalled the footman, who stood ready to open the door. Her hand drifted to the vicinity of her heart—as if that would still its pounding thunder.
Why should the marquess affect her in this giddy manner? Gracious, she was in an odd humor this day. Perhaps as much as a country girl felt gauche at her first city function, so she, a city girl, felt uncomfortable in the country.
How absurd!
Thoughts of absurdity brought a smile to her lips and the color back to her cheeks. Probably the long carriage ride that morning left her more tired than she knew. She should have napped before her dresser arrived. Fatigue was the villain.
She bade the footman open the door.
"There you are, Jocelyn!" Lady Mary exclaimed, jumping up from her seat on the sofa to grab Jocelyn's hand and pull her down to sit beside her. "I was hoping for a comfortable coze before dinner. Mama, I know, will not be down until near dinner. She thinks four o'clock unseemly for dinner but acquiesces for Tarkington's sake. She has been so agreeable to all he says. It quite has me wondering if fairies take away more than infants and if changelings come in all ages!"
Jocelyn laughed. "More than likely she has favors to ask. Or merely curries favor for the sake of your coming wedding."
"Oh, there would be no need for that. Tarkington suggested the wedding be here. And the Christmas betrothal house party!"
"Really? I thought—I mean, all London thought . . ." She blinked and shook her head. Why was it that everything she learned of the marquess surprised her? "Well, that will be meat for the groaning boards of the London gossip tables! All have been full of curiosity."
Lady Mary laughed. "I can well imagine. But in fairness, Mama thought of asking. She has been worried about Tarkington, you see, for he's withdrawn since Diana's death. He rarely laughs, and his smiles don't have that spark of life or that mischievous humor that lurked in his expression no matter the gravity of the discussion."
"Curious," Jocelyn murmured, remembering his expression when she met him at the top of the stairs. "But if he is still in mourning, why would he suggest this betrothal house party?"
"Tarkington is no longer in mourning, Jocelyn. That's not the problem. He has let Diana go. It was not easy, I'll agree; but he came to terms with Diana's death for Anne's sake. . . . At least, that is what he told me, and I believe him.”
“Oh, Jocelyn, Anne is the dearest child who delights in each discovery!" Lady Mary laughed, though her eyes glistened with unshed memories. "I took her with me when I had my last fitting for my gown. The seamstress let her play among the baubles." She shook her head in rueful memory. "Soon, she demanded the seamstress put all manner of odd beads and ribbons on my dress. I had a time convincing her otherwise! We had to promise to make her up a dress with a certain blue bead as part of the decoration and miles of trailing ribbon. That is to be her play ball gown, she told me."
"She sounds incorrigible."
"She is. But she has not become snide as so many children do. She merely knows her mind quite well. Tarkington is awed by her, I believe," she mockingly confided, her blue eyes dancing with humor.
"Awed? By his own daughter?"
