"No, miss, that I won't be. Until t'other guests arrive, I'm assigned to ya."
"Splendid! Can you tell me more of the estate? As I shall be left to my own devices until Lady Mary recovers, is there anything I should particularly see?"
"Oh, yes, miss!" Emmie said, her eyes gleaming. "The boxwood and yew garden. 'Tis most amazin' the shapes the gardeners cut everything. 'Tis artists they are to be sure as well as good gardeners. In their glass gardens—greenhouses they call 'em—they grow flowers and fruit in winter! And visit our chapel, beautiful it be with paintings and carvings—for all of us, my lord says. Reverend and Mrs. Stemple live in the whitewashed cottage just on the far side of the chapel. Happy they'd be to show it to ya, I'm thinking."
Jocelyn laughed. "I've met few men of the cloth who didn't want to share their church with guests. I think that is an excellent idea. Thank you, Emmie."
Emmie blushed scarlet, so she busied herself straightening the room in order to hide her pleasure.
Two hours passed before Jocelyn had an opportunity to leave her room. After Emmie removed the breakfast dishes, Miss Barnes descended upon Jocelyn like the headmistress of a boarding school upon a new midyear student whose parent was a wealthy, influential peer. Not even for London entertainments was Miss Barnes ever so exact and demanding of her mistress. When she learned of Jocelyn's plan to explore the estate, she outfitted her in a red-and-white striped moiré walking dress with a red pelisse trimmed in swans-down and insisted she wear her red kid half boots and gloves.
Jocelyn's protests that the outfit was not conducive to brisk walking fell upon deaf ears. No lady should ever walk briskly, Miss Barnes told her. Jocelyn wondered why she'd never noticed Miss Barnes's managing manner before. She did not protest, for she was not certain the woman was wrong. A relaxation of standards between city and country could, Jocelyn supposed, have detrimental effects on the impressions of others. That would not do. And she had yet to meet Mrs. Bayne, Charles's mother. She did not know why, but she was not eager to meet Mrs. Bayne. No one ever spoke badly of the woman. Then again, no one ever spoke well, either. Charles's own attitude confused Jocelyn. He rarely came to Bayneville to visit and when he came, he kept his visits brief. And she knew he had no intention to remain at Bayneville long past Christmas Day while she was to remain another week. Was his reluctance aimed at his mother or his cousin? After meeting Tarkington she could not see how he could discommode Charles.
If she were to become engaged to Charles—as everyone supposed would be a result of her visit at Bayneville—then it was best she do nothing that might give her future mother-in-law, or Tarkington as head of the family, a distaste of her. She must remain worthy of Charles; after all, he was destined for great notice and deeds in government, and he was—as her mother mentioned—Tarkington's heir.
Now, why should that last thought depress her?
Sedately she descended the house's rear terrace steps to the courtyard that separated the Bayneville outbuildings from the main house. Asking a young groom to point her in the direction of the topiary garden, she sauntered in that direction, her enthusiasm for exploring dimmed by etiquette and society rules. She felt hemmed in and constrained. While she realized her circumstances were no different than she experienced in London, she felt ill at ease. She hoped the cold, brisk December air would blow through her beleaguered mind and bring respite.
How odd, she mused, her lips curving up into a gentle smile. Even before she arrived at Bayneville she'd been looking for it to offer some medicine, some remedy for her jumbled thoughts.
The sounds of a child's laughter drew her eyes up. There, not ten feet away, crouched the marques behind an intricately molded bush resembling some exotic bird. She almost spoke, but a quick wave of his hand and conspiratorial wink silenced her. She smiled and audaciously winked in return before continuing forward, this time pretending to examine the bushes in great detail.
"I'm coming, Papa!" rang out a high, young voice from behind a baby elephant-shaped bush. The voice was followed by the appearance of a little girl with large brown eyes and thick, wavy brown hair falling free of its ribbon and threatening to hide her tiny heart-shaped face. A bonnet hanging by its neck ribbon bounced on her back as she ran.
She and Jocelyn both stopped and stared at each other, solemnly considering. The little girl popped a thumb in her mouth, her fingers curling around her nose as she stared at Jocelyn. Then the child dropped her hand to her side and smiled. "Hello. What's your name?"
Jocelyn's smile answered the child's. "Jocelyn Maybrey."
"I'm Anne," the child said forthrightly. "Have you seen Papa?"
Jocelyn squatted down by the child, pulling the bonnet back into place and retying its ribbon. "Well, I don't know. I might. What kind of animal is a papa?"
Gales of childish giggles burst out of the little girl. She fell backward on the ground, rolling from side to side.
"Oh, please. Mustn't do that or you'll get sick like your aunt Lady Mary." She pulled her up and brushed the loose grass and leaves from her dark blue coat.
"No, I won't. You're silly."
"I am? Now, why would you say that?"
"Papa's not a'mal."
"He's not! Well, tell me what he looks like, then."
"He's bigger than that," she said, pointing to the parrot-shaped bird. "And strong, and my papa knows everything! My papa's a mar-kiss!"
"Well, he certainly sounds like an interesting person. You shall have to introduce us."
The little girl nodded, her thumb disappearing again into her mouth.
"So, are you playing hide-and-seek with your papa? Shall we look for him together?"
The child nodded again, a grin breaking out from around the thumb stuck in her mouth. Shyly she offered her free hand to Jocelyn. Together they circled a bush cut to resemble a giraffe, then Jocelyn led her new companion toward the parrot-shaped bush. She encouraged Lady Anne to go before her around the bush.
"No. Not here!" Lady Anne declared, then ran back to grab Jocelyn's hand to pull her toward another bush.
"Not here? But—" She pulled away from the child to peek around the bush herself. There was no marques. In confusion she quickly looked around to see if there were other parrot-shaped bushes about. There were none.
"Come on!" encouraged Lady Anne, pulling on Jocelyn's skirt.
"I'm coming," Jocelyn told her, hurrying forward and cursing the stiffness of her skirts that made quick movements feel like running in sand.
Lady Anne scampered on toward the lion-shaped bush. "Papa! Papa! I got a new friend, Papa! Come see!"
Jocelyn followed, wondering if the child could get lost. "Lady Anne! Wait for me!"
Too quickly the child disappeared from view.
"Lady Anne! Lady Anne!" Jocelyn called, panic seeping into her voice. She lifted her skirts above her ankles to quicken her pace. "Lady Anne!" she called out again as she searched behind pyramids and circled other animals. "Lady Anne!"
"Are you looking for us?" inquired a low voice colored with laughter.
Jocelyn whirled about, her breath catching painfully in her chest. Behind her stood Tarkington with Lady Anne in his arms. The little girl had one arm looped around her father's neck, while the other was clamped over her mouth as she tried to stifle her giggles. Jocelyn sagged backward against a bush in relief, only to jerk upright at the feel of sharply cut branches piercing her back.
"Don't do that!" she admonished, frowning at them. She rubbed a spot on her shoulder that had received a particularly sharp poke from the branches.
"Do what? Don't you like playing hide-and-seek?" the marques teased, his eyes laughing.
"I do, but it's not fair to put me in the game when I don't know the playing field," she returned sharply.
Tarkington laughed, and Jocelyn was again struck by the thought that this was not the gentleman Lady Mary had described. Her fascination grew.
"Well, my lady," he said, addressing his daughter, "shall we show Miss Maybrey about our garden playground?"
Lady Anne nodded. She pushed away from her father's shoulder and squirmed. "Down. Down, please."
When she was on the ground, she trotted off on sturdy little legs to another sculpted bush and turned to wait for the adults to follow.
"You joined in the game quite readily. For my daughter's sake, I thank you."
Jocelyn glanced up at Tarkington's suddenly solemn face, surprised by his comment. "Why? I enjoyed myself. At least until Lady Anne disappeared from sight. I was afraid lest she come to harm. I haven't any experience with very young children, you see, so I do not know their capabilities, let alone what I should do or say to them. My experience has been limited to those I've seen in the London parks with their nursemaids and governesses."
Tarkington looked about to speak, but a shrill "Come on, Papa!" interrupted him.
"We're coming right now," he called out to her, then offered his arm to Jocelyn. "You surprise me, Miss Maybrey," he said as they approached Lady Anne.
"In what manner, my lord?"
"Where are your languid manners? Your ennui?"
Jocelyn laughed. "I fear it is too cold and brisk out here for that. Much more fitting for hot weather or overly warm and stuffy ballrooms. Besides, I must confess I do not have the constitution to be, nor the appearance for, a hothouse flower."
"I cannot say regarding your constitution, but I believe you do yourself a disservice regarding your appearance, Miss Maybrey," Tarkington said solemnly, then dropped her arm as thirty pounds of petticoats and little girl hurled themselves into his arms. "What's this, now?"
"You're too slow, Papa. Let's show the lady—"
"Miss Maybrey."
"Miss May-brey," Lady Anne dutifully repeated, drawing out the syllables. "Let's show her the fox and rabbit!"
"Fox and rabbit?"
Tarkington laughed. "More sculpted bushes, Miss Maybrey."
"I can see why the guidebooks say not to miss your topiary garden! What clever people you have!" she exclaimed as she walked around and examined a scene of a rabbit running for a hole in the hedge to escape the fox.
"Not me. The estate. I merely inherited them. Allow us to show you another. . . ."
The next hour was one of the most enjoyable hours Jocelyn thought she'd ever spent. She was enchanted by the vast artistry of the garden, by Lady Anne and her childish delight, and by the marques for his humor, sensitivity, and obvious love for his daughter. The last brought a tight lump in her throat, which she had to swallow hard to dispel, and surreptitiously she wiped away tears of happiness at seeing and appreciating their joy.
She never imagined a father and daughter could be so close. She had always considered her own father loving, but never in her memory had he ever taken the time to play with her when she was very young, as Tarkington did with his daughter. What astonished her was his enjoyment of his daughter. He did not begrudge her his time or find any question she asked too trivial to be answered. He almost seemed disappointed when she yawned and he realized it was time for her nap. Jocelyn accompanied them back to the house, found herself agreeing to a pony cart outing for the next morning, and parted with them at the staircase that led to the nursery wing. Tarkington even intended to see his daughter to bed!
Jocelyn wandered toward the front of the house where a footman took her outdoor garments and told her where she could find Lady Tarkington and her mother.
"Ah, Jocelyn, there you are!" exclaimed Lady Maybrey. "I was told over an hour ago that you went outside. What have you been doing all this time?"
"Lady Anne and Lord Tarkington graciously gave me a personal tour of the topiary garden. I must say, Mother, it is every bit as wonderful as the guidebook said."
"It is unusual, isn't it?" Lady Tarkington said. "We have been most fortunate in Edwin, who is in charge of that garden."
"But how is Lady Mary? The maid, Emmie, said she had a poor night last night."
"Jocelyn, do not tell me you have been gossiping with servants!" Lady Maybrey exclaimed. She grimaced at her daughter and glanced quickly in Lady Tarkington's direction.
"One may always trust a servant to know everything," Jocelyn said. "Besides, I like Emmie. She is very good."
Lady Tarkington smiled. "She is young, but she tries very hard. I hear from Mrs. Penneybacker that it is her desire to rise to the position of housekeeper. So refreshing to see aspirations and willingness to work. Or perhaps I am just jaded by the sullenness of my London servants. But as for Mary, I'm afraid Emmie was correct. She did not pass a good night, but she is sleeping now. Perhaps before dinner you may visit her. I'm sorry, my dear, that you must be so at loose ends."
"That is quite all right, Lady Tarkington. I have not been bored. I was wondering, however, if I might spend some time practicing the harpsichord. I rarely have the opportunity to play it anymore."
"Of course, my dear! And I shall see you have refreshments sent in to you."
Two hours later Jocelyn came out of the music room, tired but exhilarated. She met Lady Tarkington in the Great Hall. The dowager marchioness wore an expression of chagrin as she stood indecisively, gnawing on one fingertip.
"Is there anything the matter, Lady Tarkington? May I help?"
"No, I don't think so, my dear. It's that blasted woman. . . . Oh, dear, I did not mean that, of course. Only . . ."
"Yes?" Jocelyn prodded, intrigued. Guiltily she looked about for her mother. Lady Maybrey would frown and scold if she heard her curiosity.
"Clarice Bayne sent round a note saying she'd join us for dinner at five, only I've ordered Cook to set back dinner to seven, more in keeping with London hours, and I told Tarkington he would not be required until six-thirty. I completely forgot, what with Mary's illness and plans for our coming guests, that she would of course want to meet you! It only wants three now, so I suppose I can tell Cook of the new arrangements and still enjoy a passable dinner, but it is Tarkington I am concerned with. If he is not present, she shall take it personally, you know."