A chuckle escaped him, but he did close his eyes. Privately, he doubted whether such a flighty young lady would be capable of staying silent for long, but Miss Davenport proved him wrong.
She sat in her chair without making a sound. The unaccustomed presence of another person should have made him tense, but instead he found her stillness vaguely comforting. The heat from the fire spread slowly through his clothing and warmed his frozen limbs, making them tingle. The innkeeper's excellent punch flowed through his veins and radiated a matching glow from inside. Warmed now, and relaxed, he managed to doze off and did not awake until the innkeeper had brought in their supper.
The man's wife helped him to serve it, and Louisa directed them as quietly as possible, only calling Charles when everything was set upon the table. If she had not been there to discourage him, the innkeeper would certainly have asked Charles to express his preferences for this or that meat or drink and driven him to distraction, when all he cared about was rest.
Louisa's selections appeared to be good ones: some local ham baked in a pasty, boiled potatoes and turnips, with cheese for their dessert. He complimented her on them as he joined her at table. The innkeeper and his wife had left them alone.
She looked up and smiled. “Telling faradiddles is not my only talent. I am quite accustomed to arranging meals, Cousin Charles."
Surprise at this form of address made him pause with his fork halfway to his mouth.
“There-I've said it,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “The first jump is always the hardest. You might practise my name a time or two for when you will need it!"
He was recovered now. Still, it had seemed odd to hear his name on her lips. No one called him Charles, not even his mother.
“Louisa,” he ventured in kind, “I would be very much obliged if you would pass me the salt."
She reached for the cellar, her eyes twinkling. “I should think so indeed, Charles, if I were not under such heavy obligation to you.” She glanced at him teasingly. “As it is, however, I should think we could forget this one small favor!"
Charles grinned, embarrassed. He knew he must seem quite the prig to her. But then anyone must seem so to a girl who had recently eloped. He found it strange and unsettling to be sitting down to a private dinner with a young lady he hardly knew. The impropriety of it tied his tongue. Confound it! What was the proper way to talk to her?
Feeling his ill temper about to return, he changed the subject. “You said you were accustomed to arranging for meals?"
“Yes, and for crotchety people, too."
He glanced at her, wondering if she included him in this category. But she explained, “My aunt Davenport is an invalid, and the general is quite hard to please. He's gouty."
“General Davenport?” Charles nearly dropped his fork. “You mean, General Davenport is your uncle?"
“I'm afraid so. My great-uncle, to be precise."
Charles put his hand to his brow, but realized with surprise that his headache had gone. He looked up instead.
“Dare-devil Davenport?"
She nodded.
“Dreadnought Davenport?"
She smiled apologetically.
Charles concluded hopelessly, “He'll have my hide."
Louisa chuckled. “I shouldn't worry. He's mellowed considerably since his fighting days. The gout has had a beneficial effect upon his temper. He's not so daring anymore."
“Perhaps he's left that to you.” She had escaped from such a guardian, and yet she was returning to him without any particular sign of fear. Charles could not decide whether to be impressed by her courage or appalled by her foolhardiness. “How did you manage to run off without his knowing?"
“I used the drainpipe."
“Good Lord!"
Louisa arched her brows. “They are sturdier than you think. And I did not do it in broad daylight, so you needn't look so shocked!"
“But-” Charles felt the questions, which had brewed inside him all day, threaten to burst out. “But why did you do it? Did the general disapprove of this Geoffrey fellow?"
“The general does not want me to marry at all. He says I am too young."
“And are you?"
“Not at all! I am eighteen! So you see how unreasonable he is. He wasn't willing to bring me out this year, and he refuses to let me marry until I've been properly brought out."
“What's wrong with that?"
Louisa raised her eyes impatiently. “Nothing. I daresay you would agree with him."
Charles frowned in confusion. “But what a strange girl you are! Don't you wish to attend balls and assemblies?"
“Of course! I would enjoy them. But one can go to balls and assemblies just as easily after one is married, and there are many things one absolutely cannot do until one is married!"
“Good-” Charles choked on another oath. He could not truly believe that Louisa meant to imply what she seemed to be implying.
She looked at him, her eyes wide with innocence. He decided he must have misunderstood her. All the same, he judged it time to steer the conversation down a different path.
“And this Geoffrey fellow-he proved to be a fortune-hunter, did he?"
Louisa bit her lower lip and peered down at her napkin. “I'm afraid that may have been the case. You will say I was foolish, and rightly so, but I was anxious to be married, and I overlooked too much. I thought he did love me and that I should come to love him, as well. But on the first day out of London, my suspicions were aroused."
She gazed at him again, the blue of her eyes made deeper by dismay.
“Would you credit it, sir? Not once during that day did he even try to kiss me!"
Charles drew up, startled. A grin teased the corners of his mouth, but he suppressed it out of a sense of decorum. “Did it not occur to you, Louisa, that he might be demonstrating his respect for you?"
“Piffle!” said Louisa. “What respect should he show to a girl who had just eloped with him?"
Then, when he looked disapprovingly at her, she gave a little shrug. “Well, to be truthful, I did consider that at first, but it became quite clear to me that he was more interested in the horses our post boys were riding than in me. On the second day I asked him to turn back, but he would not hear of it. He said I was compromised, and we had better go through with it."
“Precisely as he should have thought."
“Yes, but by then, you see, I had come to the dreadful realization that I did not love him and never could. And far, far worse,” she added quietly, “I had decided that I did not want to marry someone I could not love."
A queer feeling rose in Charles's throat. He cleared it, but did not know what to say. Many things came to him: homilies, platitudes, the “I told you so” variety of lecture. He kept them to himself.
“Then it is fortunate you discovered this before you were married,” he said instead.
Louisa sighed. “I suppose so. But I do think passion is a necessary part of marriage. Don't you?"
Charles felt a curious heat stealing up his neck. “Well, I suppose-of course—That is-"
“I am still as determined as ever to marry,” Louisa continued, as if she had not heard him. “But now I have the greatest fear that I shall not manage it any time soon."
“Because the general is likely to turn up rough?"
“No, not that. By now, he's probably thinking good riddance, and will marry me to the first gentleman he can get to accept me.” She shook her head with a wistful look, and her red curls shimmered about her face in the firelight. “I was thinking that it might take rather a long time to fall in love."
Charles coloured. This was not the sort of conversation he should be having with a young lady alone in an inn.
He cleared his throat and put down his napkin.
“Perhaps we should retire so we can get a brisk start in the morning,” he suggested. Then, purposely ignoring the last thing she had said, he offered, “I shall think about your dilemma and see what solution
I can come up with to appease your guardians."
Louisa deserved whatever punishment they would choose to mete out, of course. Still, having heard her confession, Charles felt it would be a pity if she were made to suffer excessively. She seemed appropriately contrite, though why she was in such a hurry to marry he could not fathom.
Some foolish notion, no doubt, which he would do better not to examine too closely.
But her contrition, which had so recently moved him to sympathy, vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. She stood when he did and met him with a sunny face.
“Do not concern yourself about the general,” she said, shaking her head. “I am not at all afraid of him-he is quite impressed by rank, you see. That is one reason I approached you, in particular. I heard one of the ostlers pointing you out as a marquess, and I thought that if you took me back to London, he would be more likely to forgive me sooner than if I had lit upon someone else."
Charles pressed his lips into a stern line, but Louisa merely batted her lashes at him.
“I shall bid you good-night,” he said in an offended tone. “If you require anything to make yourself more comfortable, I hope you will avail yourself of it immediately."
“Why, thank you, Charles. That is most gracious of you. But of course I have already mentioned that I shall pay my debts on our return. As a matter of fact,” she continued, “I have made a few purchases from the innkeeper's wife. You will be pleased to know that I have acquired a toothbrush and some powder and a comb. I shall have to see what sort of nightdress she comes up with, but if it is neither too worn nor too outrageous, I just might beg it of her, also."
This catalogue of her comforts did nothing to soothe Charles's temper. He ushered her out the door with a curt good-night. Then he stayed a few minutes longer in the parlour just so they would not be seen ascending the staircase at the same time.
He fumed for a bit, then decided this would only bring back his headache, and he was too grateful to have it gone to risk bringing on another. He stepped over to the fire and looked down at it. But the burning embers only served to remind him of Louisa's hair. Irritably, he thought that he might never enjoy a fire again without recalling his intrusive companion.
Then, with his usual sense of justice, he remembered how miserable he had been all day with his headache, and how helpful Louisa had been in ridding him of it. He doubted whether a night at Lord Northridge's residence would have cured him quite so fast. He would have been obliged to stay up, drinking until all hours and playing cards out of courtesy to his host. Not the sort of quiet he needed after such a gruelling trip, but necessary for politeness’ sake.
Louisa, on the other hand, had exhorted him not to be too polite to her. A strange thing for a lady to say, but most welcome under the circumstances. Charles smiled when he thought that he was far more likely to strangle her before this trip was over. And with reason.
A curious vision suddenly came to him, in which his hands were wrapped about her slender neck. But before he could throttle her, Louisa turned her blue eyes up at him and gave him a mischievous smile, and all at once Charles imagined that he could feel the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
He found himself wondering what curves were concealed beneath the silk of her spencer. The muslin of her gown had not succeeded in hiding a pleasant roundness to her hips and a slim pair of legs underneath.
A pleasant languor stole over him as he started to conjure more alluring images....
Abruptly, Charles shook himself, recalled his earlier concerns and cursed himself for such foolish wanderings. These were precisely the kind of thoughts he must not have under the circumstances. Better to turn his mind to what would be his best course of action on the morrow.
Christmas was only four days away. They needed three of them, at least, to get back to London. He should not waste time in useless-and dangerous-distractions.
He climbed the stairs to his room, confident that with his headache gone, some good notion would come to him by morning.
Chapter Three
A plan did suggest itself to Charles during the night, and he was so eager to execute the first part of it that he took care of it before breakfast.
On his return, he was glad to see that Louisa, too, had awakened before dawn and had come downstairs for an early start. Together they sat down to coffee and chocolate, thick slices of bacon, eggs and freshly made bread.
“I have sent off a letter to General Davenport,” he told her. “The post is certain to reach London before we do, and I thought it best to advise him of our arrival. Do you think he might have sent someone after you?"
Louisa shook her head. “I don't think so. I cannot think of anyone he could prevail upon to follow me—otherwise I shouldn't have left."
Charles gazed at her curiously over his coffee cup; she smiled sideways at him. “I may not have his daring,” she said, “but I have tried to learn something of his tactics."
Charles cleared his throat, determined not to return her smile. “Have you no wish to know what I wrote in my letter?"
“But of course, Charles! If you wish to tell me, I shall be enchanted to hear it."
He purposely ignored the teasing note in her voice. “I informed your guardian,” he said, “that I came upon you in distress, that you related to me the particulars of your alarming situation and that I failed to see any other course open to me than to escort you home myself. I also informed him that I intend to find a chaperone for you, if at all possible."
“Oh, that is clever of you, Charles. That will satisfy him fully."
Charles raised his eyebrows. “Do you think so? I hardly think it will. Nevertheless, I do have hopes that it will comfort him in part."
The truth was that during the night he had realized he had to do all he could to prepare the general. This was in part to soothe the general's worry; but mostly, Charles knew, he must explain to Louisa's guardian his own role in her affairs as soon as possible. The notion that the general might misinterpret this had kept Charles up half the night. But if the general had even part of a day to reflect upon his letter before they arrived, Charles might be spared the uncomfortable experience of explaining himself on the general's doorstep.
“I wish you had consulted with me before sending your letter,” Louisa said, refilling her cup with chocolate. “However, it cannot be helped."
Charles paused in the act of chewing his bacon. “And why is that?"
“Nothing serious. It's just that I have acquired the habit of dealing with my uncle, and I might have been able to give you a few suggestions. But you did nothing seriously amiss."
Charles rolled his eyes. “You flatter me, Miss Davenport."
“Hssst!” she said. “Remember—Louisa."
Charles looked about him at the empty room and then back at her. “I doubt if anyone heard me,” he said pointedly.
Louisa agreed, but with reservations. “We humans are creatures of habit, Charles. If you persist in being so formal, you are likely to slip up when it is most important. You won't object, I hope, if I caution you."
Her air of wisdom caused the corners of his lips to tug. “I shall take it under advisement. In the meantime, perhaps you will tell me honestly what I should have said to your uncle."
Louisa grimaced. “It is not,” she said delicately, “anything you left out so much as something you put in."
At his air of enquiry, she continued, “If I were you, I shouldn't have mentioned a chaperone I could not produce. When one does not follow through with a plan, the general tends to discount one's judgment."
Charles wiped his lips with his napkin, confident that what he was about to say would finally impress her. “Perhaps it is time I made my other plans known to you."
She leaned her elbows on the table. “Have you plans? How exciting!"
“Miss—Louisa! I fail to see how you can derive so much humour from this situation!"
“I know. It is wrong in me.” She sat back and folde
d her hands primly in her lap. “You must not regard it. Go on."
Charles looked at her without much hope that this contrite spirit would last. He endeavoured not to smile. “I hope you will find my plans acceptable to you....” he said. Then he went on before she could throw any doubt on the question.
“I have an acquaintance—an old school friend, Lord Conisbrough—whose estates are near Snaithby in Yorkshire. He is seldom there, but even he ought to be home this time of year. The village is hardly out of our way. I think it would be a good idea to pass by his house and consult him."
Louisa looked at him inquisitively. “Even he, you said. Why ‘even he?"
Charles avoided her eyes. “Because he is not the sort of person—not the sort who takes much care of his estates. But, in this instance, he might be thought to have more ... shall we say ... pertinent experience than I have."
Louisa looked confused for a moment. Then, light dawning, she said, “Ahhh. You mean he is a rake and is more accustomed to hiding plaguey females!"
“Not precisely,” Charles said, though he had meant something of the kind. “But he can hardly condemn me for such an innocent escapade when I daresay the world knows less than half of his own exploits. Perhaps he can find us a suitable female to accompany you from among his household. He has a mother and a sister, if I recollect."
* * * *
Louisa seemed to have no objections to their trying Lord Conisbrough, though later that morning she was disappointed to be told she would not get a glimpse of the rake.
“Your uncle would have just cause to reproach me if I exposed you to a man of Ned's morals,” Charles told her sternly.
Their breakfast was over, Charles's bags had been loaded and he had handed her up into the carriage and taken the seat across from her. “There are times when I almost prefer not to deal with him myself."
“If you fear doing so, you certainly must not on my account,” Louisa said.
Charles's temper had just been tried by the arch looks his coachman had thrown him; so this aspersion cast on his courage annoyed him more than it might have otherwise.
Mistletoe and Mischief Page 3