Page 131 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
It was delightful to watch him and the child together. He was indeed a man who deserved a large family. A houseful of children! Well, the estate certainly had space and resources. It would be tragic should he not remarry and father additional children. Perhaps that was disloyal to Charles, but quite frankly, Jocelyn could not imagine Charles as a marquess. He had not the essence—whatever that was—of a marquess. The fine spirit, the oneness with one's land and people. Tarkington possessed those qualities, but Charles was too much the city man. Bayneville needed and deserved attention, more attention than a political and social gentleman like Charles was bound to give.
But didn't Lady Mary claim that Tarkington once possessed the same attributes that Charles had? And didn't she lament their disappearance?
Jocelyn was confused. Through it all, nonetheless, one thing was becoming manifest for her. She must decide what life she preferred, for she'd just discovered there were alternatives to her parents' and Charles' life!
That idea shook her. It frightened her. It made her realize she knew nothing of life. It made her realize she had choices in life. And it made her determined to learn.
"Miss Maybrey, you look in a brown study. Is something the matter?"
Jocelyn looked up, her frown easing into a weary smile. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I was away a bit with my thoughts. Please forgive me."
Tarkington walked toward her. "There is nothing to forgive, Miss Maybrey. We are all at times given to private thought. No, I was merely concerned lest you have some fear or problem."
Jocelyn laughed. "What young woman does not? Or think she does not?"
"Touché, but I would have thought that a gentleman's line regarding a woman."
"And why is that, my lord? Do you not think a woman capable of self-examination?"
Tarkington laughed. "Acquit me, Miss Maybrey. Mine was more a cynicism against gentlemen. But there is much to say of the way a woman bursts into flames at the least crossing." They began to walk together down the hall toward the main stairs.
"I shall cry craven at that, my lord, for you have me."
"A man could only wish, Miss Maybrey."
"I beg your pardon, my lord?"
"Nothing. . . . More of my cynicism. A blight upon my being, or so Mary tells me."
Jocelyn shook her head. "Nonsense! What can be seen as wrong in plain speech?"
"Much. You have a great deal to learn, my dear, for all your grave nature."
"Grave?" Jocelyn didn't like being considered grave.
Tarkington extended his hand forward. "We had best join the others before Aunt Bayne takes it upon herself to look for us," he said, avoiding her question.
"Yes. But a moment, my lord. I have a boon to ask of you. I know you are set upon making the rocking horse entirely by yourself, but I was wondering if you would allow me to assist. I have some measure of talent with a paintbrush, I am told, and I have painted many a piece of furniture with dioramas of historical events that Father wished to preserve. I should like to make that my gift to you and Lady Anne for this Christmas visit. Despite Lady Mary's illness, I am enjoying myself."
"In what way?"
"The peace of the estate. The observation of life. The relaxation of appearance. Oh, I don't know that I can completely explain it to you, my lord. It is merely part of the warm and quite strange feelings I have experienced since being here. This morning I sat in a chair by a window in my room and looked out across your estate. I looked at the land rolling away toward the river, and I watched the people coming and going on estate business; I listened to the silence." She sighed, then self-consciously laughed. "I have not had experience with the country, my lord. Perhaps it is merely the novelty."
Tarkington looked at her thoughtfully, then a slow smile pulled on his lips and crept into his gray eyes, burnishing them to a silver gleam. "Perhaps indeed, Miss Maybrey. Perhaps indeed. And asked in that pretty fashion, how might a man refuse? Truly I should relish your talent, should you be serious. Time is short. But come," he said, taking her arm as they descended the stairs. "To your next novelty . . . Mrs. Bayne!"
CHAPTER5
"Ah, here they are. You see, Clarice? I told you they would be here momentarily," Lady Tarkington said brightly. Her expression directed toward Tarkington and Jocelyn was the antithesis of good humor, however. Frustration and anger sparked like steel on flint in her blue eyes. But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared so that the mien she turned toward her sister-in-law remained determinedly cheery.
Clarice Bayne nodded ponderously. "Tarkington, I was just telling your mother that I do not believe in gossip, and I do not care to receive it. In your case, however, I have of late seen that it is more than gossip. It is truth."
"And what is that truth?" Tarkington asked, strolling over to the burl-veneered credenza to pour himself a pre-prandial drink. He looked inquiringly at Jocelyn. She shook her head.
Mrs. Bayne pulled her wool shawl closer about her gaunt form, then puffed out her narrow chest like a bantam hen. "It is my sorrowing duty to point out to you your mental deterioration. Of late, you've lacked the proper understanding of your duties as head of the family."
"Clarice!" gasped Lady Tarkington.
"I'm sorry, Martha, but it must be said—and I hold you responsible for allowing this situation to persist. Tarkington is not the man he was before Diana's death."
