The Rocking Horse: A Regency Novella by Holly Newman Page A

unfortunate it would be for dear Lady Mary."
    Jocelyn laughed. "Lady Mary is the liveliest of creatures. I cannot imagine her easily acquiescing to sober entertainments—especially as the Christmas Eve ball and the subsequent house party are to celebrate her betrothal to Lord Killingham. No. Whatever her elder brother's disposition, she'll run her way, as shall all the guests. Mark my words."
    Lady Maybrey took her eyes away from the manor house and leaned back against the velvet squabs. "If that is true, this may well prove the social event of the year. And prove your highlight as well if Charles should come up to scratch. . . . Wouldn't that be lovely? I can think of a few mamas whose noses would be good and tweaked," she finished with relish.
    "Oh, Mama," Jocelyn gently chided, shaking her head in loving exasperation though a faint blush of embarrassment tinted her cheeks.
    Sir Jasper and Lady Maybrey more than enjoyed the social milieu. They thrived upon it. It was their life. The Maybreys were invited everywhere. Jocelyn could recall very few times when their house wasn't filled with guests. Her parents had always been socially active and socially conscious. Consequently, they had not been surprised when Jocelyn was readily accepted into society as she made her social bow. Though her fortune was only modest and her appearance pleasant rather than beautiful, she quickly found herself with a handful of dedicated, worthy suitors.
    Her favor fell upon Mr. Charles Bayne, for she felt the most at ease with him. They became friends, and Jocelyn supposed that was adequate for a good marriage. She knew her parents smiled and nodded approval. Charles Bayne was socially active, well connected, interested in government, possessed a modest though adequate competence, and stood heir to a Marques. What more could a young woman require in a husband? And, though she may blush at her mother's verbalization, Jocelyn did expect Mr. Bayne to solicit her father for her hand in marriage during their visit at Bayneville Castle. What a suitable finale that would be to her first season. Everyone said so. She could be serene in the knowledge that her life was secure and mapped out to continue in the mold created by her parents. Hers would be a familiar and comfortable existence.
    But how could she account for the little mental gremlin who wouldn't leave her alone, the imp of mischief that searched for something else than an ordered existence? In the lonely hours of the night when she lay abed, sleepless, staring at the shadowy folds of the bed hangings, Jocelyn wrestled with a sense of deep disquiet. It felt like an itch that had no source and therefore could not be scratched.
    Something was wrong. Desperately wrong. She was not content and she did not know why. She wanted to dismiss the odd feelings as hesitancy to leave her family, to commit to marriage; but somehow that explanation was too simplistic. Nonetheless, she wouldn't—couldn't—guess at an answer. She had to know.
    She hoped this trip to Bayneville, away from familiar, everyday events in London, would help her grasp what this odd feeling might be and therefore help her discover a cure, or at least an acceptance.
    She sighed and turned her head to look at Bayneville again. The nearer the carriage came, the grander the estate's appearance seemed. It went on forever, a formidable beauty. Odd to even consider finding simple answers in such an ornate backdrop. Looking at the vast property, Jocelyn felt an odd prick of curiosity for the man who held it, the eighth Marques of Tarkington. She'd yet to meet him, even though he was the elder brother of her best friend. She did know him by sight, though, for she'd seen him from a distance at the theater and about town.
    Lady Mary's mother preferred London to the country; consequently after the requisite mourning period following her widowhood, she took up residence at the Tarkington London house, bringing Lady Mary with her. The Marques and