Mistletoe and Mischief

by Patricia Wynn

  He changed the subject and told her they must stay another day with the Spadgers because of the Sabbath. Louisa seemed not at all distressed by the news, though she did have the grace to express her concern for his inconvenience.

  As she was bidding him good-night, however, she added in a tone filled with wisdom, “Though I daresay, Charles, you will benefit from another day of rest."

  She held out her hand to him and her voice took on a delicate note. “You will remember to take Eliza outdoors, will you not? And if she sleeps in your chamber, you'll be certain to hear if she needs any such attention during the night."

  With these tactful suggestions, she left Charles standing at the bottom of the stairs, once again wishing he could throttle her.

  Chapter Five

  The night was cold and clear, promising a fine day on the morrow. If it were not for the chill, it might have been peaceful to look out upon the deserted village. As it was, Charles could only think of the warmth inside, and of Louisa, who was undoubtedly settled in bed with a warming pan and a mound of down-filled covers to make her cosy.

  He shivered resentfully and looked up at a display of stars, then down at Eliza seated in the snow at his feet.

  The puppy was trembling, too, and looking up as if to ask him why he was subjecting her to this horrid cold. She seemed perfectly willing to oblige him, if only he could explain just what was required of her.

  Charles sighed. Then, saving his anger for Louisa, he gave Eliza a friendly word of encouragement. He found himself praising her beyond what was warranted, but it wouldn't hurt, he reasoned, to let her know how to please him.

  The dog seemed willing to obey him, quite unlike her rescuer. It almost seemed, at times, to be poor strategy to let Louisa know what he wanted from her. Once she knew, she was almost bound to do the opposite. And if it were not for that contrariness, Charles reminded himself, he would not be outside, suffering from the cold this very minute.

  Louisa somehow contrived to elicit whatever performance she wished out of Charles, something which made him question his sanity. Would anyone else he knew presume to instruct him—even with such delicacy as Louisa had displayed—to walk the dog before he retired to bed? His mother had made it a practice to discourage him from entering into any pursuit she deemed unworthy of him. He had become so accustomed to being spared such tasks that he had almost forgotten they existed. And yet, here he was, running the risk of contracting a chill, and performing a task so menial as to be insulting.

  Charles had often prided himself on the fact that he did not stand upon his dignity as a marquess. Now he realized it seldom happened that anyone dared to trespass on that dignity. Perhaps that was the reason for his bizarre behaviour now.

  Shock had robbed him of good sense. But he could not, he told himself firmly, let himself be continuously inveigled by a girl who had so little notion of propriety.

  He resolved that, henceforth, Jim Spadger would be put in charge of taking the puppy out.

  In the meantime, however, something had to come of this mission. For the tenth time in as many minutes, Charles bent to raise Eliza upon her feet and to give her a friendly pat upon the bottom. “Off you go, then,” he said, “down to business."

  The puppy stumbled, then took a few tentative steps, lifting and shaking each paw as if the damp were offensive to her. Then, with something like a sigh of forlorn hope, she finally lowered her haunches and produced what was wanted.

  “Good girl! Good girl!” Charles scooped her up as quickly as possible and headed back into the inn at a fast pace.

  Eliza, who could not have been more surprised at her success, licked him all over the face.

  Charles was highly gratified by this evidence of the dog's intelligence and of her good intentions. He muttered a wish that Louisa could be so easily governed.

  It was the wound to his dignity then, provoked by Louisa, and not a lack of charity with the puppy, that caused Charles to retire in a resentful state of mind. He allowed the dog to sleep on one of his boots near the hearth, which would have scandalized his valet if he had known; but Charles had seen the wistful look she had given the bed.

  “My apologies, Eliza,” he said, reaching down to give her a pat. “But the floor will be quite good enough for you!"

  * * * *

  He awakened in the night, freezing from a lack of covers. Somehow in his sleep, the thick down quilt that covered his bed had slipped and fallen to the floor.

  Charles groped for it in the dark, then as he reached it and pulled it upward, heard a small thump and a yelp.

  “Sorry, girl,” he said, only now remembering Eliza. Evidently, she had taken advantage of his loss to make herself a bed. Charles reckoned he must have tossed in his sleep more than usual to cause the coverlet to fall, for as a rule he was a quiet sleeper. He settled it over him again and laid his head back on his pillow.

  After a few moments, he felt a tug. Then another ... and another ... until the quilt began to slip off him again.

  Charles sat up and reached for the flint beside his bed. After lighting the lantern, he saw just who had been responsible for his discomfort.

  With the corner of the quilt gripped firmly between her teeth, Eliza was pulling on it with all her might, her tail held high in the air.

  Charles watched in amazement until she had pulled the cover completely off the bed, climbed upon it and turned one ... two ... three circles, before curling into a ball on the nest she had made.

  He knew he ought to be angry with her, but found instead that he was unaccountably proud to discover his dog's genius. At her present size—she could not weigh much over four pounds—she had conceived her plan and executed it against the physical odds.

  He scooped her up in one hand and held her hanging so that her nose faced his.

  “You're a prodigy,” he told her. She wagged her tail and tried to lick him in the face again, but he held her off.

  “No, no more of that.” Charles reached down for the coverlet again, spread it over himself and placed Eliza on top of it near the foot of the bed.

  “We'll share just this once,” he told her. “You seem to have earned the privilege."

  He settled back down. Then he paused to marvel at his own behaviour, and gave a reluctant laugh. Louisa, he conceded, would have the last word even when absent. He had no doubt that this had been her wish all along.

  * * * *

  In the morning, Charles had a strong desire to tell Louisa about Eliza's cleverness; but to do so would expose his own weakness, something he vowed he would not do.

  At breakfast, however, Louisa persisted in feeding the dog from the table, and he was forced to say, “Louisa, if you must disoblige me in spoiling Eliza, please have the goodness to make her work for her food."

  Louisa gave him a disparaging look.

  “Charles, Eliza is far too young to train. Why, I suppose you would have me teach her to sit and beg! She couldn't begin to learn that at her age."

  “Of course she could. She's quite intelligent—aren't you, Eliza? Come here, please."

  At the sound of his voice, the dog turned and, seeing bacon in his hand, came running.

  “Now, tell her to sit, Charles,” said Louisa, still sceptical. “I'm sure she will understand you."

  He ignored her. “Eliza,” he said in a voice of authority. “Sit.” At the same time, with his hand, he cupped Eliza's chin and forced it up.

  Eliza landed on her tail with a small thump.

  Charles petted her, told her she was a good girl and gave her some bacon. He repeated this action several times. Then he tried it without using his hand.

  At the sound of the word “Sit” Eliza hesitated only a moment before plopping her bottom down on the floor.

  Charles rewarded her, and with only a glance at Louisa to see how she was taking his triumph, went back to his own meal. The sight of her eyes, round with amazement, gave him a surge of pleasure which was not diminished by the realization that the dog had take
n the better portion of his breakfast.

  Finally, Louisa spoke. “Why, Charles, I'm completely mortified! I thought you called the dog intelligent because she gazes at you with those adoring eyes. But she really is, isn't she?"

  “Something of a genius, I'd say,” Charles replied, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “I had ample evidence last night."

  Louisa eyed him curiously. “What happened last night to make you—''

  Realizing he had led her towards the fact he did not mean to divulge, he interrupted with, “Suffice it to say that we made a start on her training. She's perfectly biddable, as it turns out. Now, Louisa,” he said, hastening to change the subject, “how do you mean to spend the day?"

  Louisa brightened. “I had thought I might decorate Mrs. Spadger's parlour for Christmas. She and her husband will be busy decking the house outside, and it would be nice if the parlour looked festive, too."

  Charles frowned. “I'm not at all certain that's appropriate. Have you nothing else you can do?"

  “I had thought we might attend the service this morning."

  He puzzled over that for a moment. “I don't know if it would be wise for us to be seen together outside the inn."

  Louisa rolled her eyes, as if she despaired of him. “Come now, Charles! Surely, if I were your light o’ love, you would not take me to church!"

  Charles choked on his coffee. “Louisa, I beg you will watch your tongue!"

  With the puppy there as something neutral to focus his attention on, Charles had managed to keep other images out of his mind—images, he was resolved, that had no business invading his thoughts while Louisa was in his care. Now, with one phrase, she had managed to conjure them back.

  Even now he found it hard to meet her eyes when she gazed at him so innocently. The pale green sprigged muslin gown she wore had caught his attention as soon as she had curtsied to him that morning. Miss Conisbrough, he decided, like her brother, had quite immodest notions of dress. The way the gown had been cut to hug the figure had even made him wonder if she might not be one of those ladies who dampened her petticoats.

  But thoughts about Ned's sister could only be fleeting when Louisa's bright hair and fair skin confronted him over the breakfast table. When he thought of her smooth white décolletage, he reflected that whoever had first likened whiteness to purity had had a strange view of nature—not that he questioned Louisa's innocence, but this strong hint of what lay beneath her gown set his own thoughts to wandering.

  When his choking had subsided, and Louisa had modified her statement in a way that made his embarrassment only worse, he conceded that she was, at least, correct in her assumption. Going to church would be the best occupation for them. It would certainly go further toward convincing the Spadgers that their claims had been true. And Charles's first thought, that Ned might somehow see them at service and cause him some embarrassment, was patently ridiculous.

  After breakfast, then, the two of them strolled down the village to the church, leaving Eliza in Jim's care. The boy made it plain that he would be happy to do anything to serve Louisa. Charles found such puppy-like devotion in such a hulking boy mildly annoying.

  Before they entered the church, Charles cautioned Louisa to keep her spencer on throughout the service, giving the chill of the building as his reason. With Louisa better covered, he was able to keep his mind on the sermon, and, later, could leave the church convinced he had put any unsuitable notions out of his mind.

  * * * *

  On their return, they found Nan Spadger and her son in the midst of preparations for Christmas. The Spadgers were “chapel” and had seen to their own devotions earlier that morning.

  No work was allowed on Sunday, so the cooking for Christmas could not be started. However, Nan had taken the attitude that decorating the parlour for their guests and their own quarters for themselves was neither work nor a form of recreation expressly forbidden by the Sunday laws. The inn smelled of freshly cut evergreens.

  When Charles came downstairs to the parlour after freshening himself, he found a pile of greenery on the floor in the doorway. Louisa was perched on a stool above it with Jim, both silent and adoring, rooted by its side to give her assistance.

  Charles strode up to them. “Louisa, I thought I said—"

  “Oh, there you are, Charles! Isn't this delightful? And so much better than just sitting with nothing to busy my hands!” She ignored his stare. “Of course, if we had not had our accident, I should be at home doing precisely this sort of thing right now."

  Charles knew her comments were designed to forestall any criticism he might have about Louisa's working at any task inside a public inn. But there was nothing he could say in front of Jim Spadger, who was looking sheepishly at him now, that would discourage her from amusing herself in whatever way she wanted.

  Charles decided he would have to send Jim from the room before he remonstrated with her.

  Louisa bent toward Charles and pointed with one finger. “Would you be so obliging as to hand me that branch of holly, just past you there?"

  Her smile dazzled Charles. He turned and searched the boards at his feet for the desired branch. Finding a likely candidate, he turned again, thinking, as he extended it to her, how beautifully her colouring went with this Christmas greenery.

  The berries on the holly were a truer red than her hair, but not nearly so vibrant as the gold-and-copper highlights of her curls. The sprigs on her gown closely matched the forest shades of the boughs. Charles found himself stepping back to admire the picture Louisa made as she stood on tiptoe to attach the piece he had given her above the door. A glimpse of trim ankles, showing above her slippers, caused him to cast an uneasy glance Jim Spadger's way.

  Louisa's voice cut into his thoughts. “Mrs. Spadger said she has several of these branches and that I might use them in any way we choose. What do you think of this arrangement?"

  Charles, who had meant to be disapproving, could only mumble that the cluster above the entry should be enough.

  “Nonsense,” Louisa said, smiling. “I mean to deck the whole room before the day is over. You may help if you like."

  “No, thank you,” Charles said firmly. He bent to pet Eliza, who had bounded out from the kitchen to find him. She leapt in circles at his feet as if this reunion were more touching than she could quite bear, and she whimpered as if she had despaired of ever seeing him again.

  “That will do. Down, girl! Down!"

  “Isn't it wonderful, Charles, how much she loves you!” Louisa said. Then her tone turned wistful. “I'm afraid Geoffrey proved not to be fond of dogs."

  Charles swallowed an oath and made a furious gesture behind Jim's back, begging her to show a little more discretion. Louisa just winked at him, amused and unconcerned.

  She stepped down from the stool and, with Jim's assistance, moved to decorate another corner of the room.

  “Jim—” Charles heard the ominous note in his own voice “—I find myself in need of a pint of your father's best. Would you fetch it for me?"

  “Aye, yor lordship."

  Charles waited until Jim was gone before crossing to Louisa's side.

  “How could you think of mentioning Geoffrey in front of that boy?” he demanded.

  She looked up, startled. “But, Charles, Jim knows nothing about my elopement. How could he? He must presume we were just talking about a friend."

  “But what if he ... What if you said something even less discreet? He might tumble to it somehow!"

  Louisa tilted her head incredulously. “Now, Charles, you're being unreasonable.” She extended her hand to him, and he supported it without thinking while she climbed upon the stool. “Why don't you hand me another bough while we're conversing?"

  “Louisa—” Charles fumed at her back for a moment before bending to pick up a branch. “It's not so much what you said just now,” he allowed as she took it from him. “It's the fact that you will mention that man at all! I should think you would be eager to forge
t the whole incident!"

  “Of course I am, Charles. But all the same...” She sighed. “I find it hard to put the episode entirely behind me. When I think of how marriage would have changed my life—indeed, how it would change any girl's life! I can only regret that it all came to nothing."

  Charles found himself colouring again. At this proximity, and with Louisa's waist at his eye level, there was only one fact about marriage he could recall at present. The thin muslin of Miss Conisbrough's dress hugged Louisa's trim waist and revealed the way her hips sloped outward in an inviting line. He might so easily stretch out his hands and pull her towards him.

  His urge was almost overwhelming, and all of a sudden, he suspected Ned's hand in this. Who else but Ned could have chosen such bewitching gowns? It must be the clothes, Charles decided, the clothes and Ned's lewd suggestions.

  But it did not help when Louisa provoked him with statements about Geoffrey and her own shocking reflections upon marriage.

  “Louisa,” he said in a strangled voice, “I must beg you not to talk in that way. If we are to go on ... that is, if I am to behave in a proper manner toward you, you must not speak in such a remarkable fashion!"

  Louisa's eyes grew round. Charles could see he had managed to shock her and regretted his frank words, even before she said, “Whatever do you mean?"

  But then, just as suddenly, her expression relaxed. “Now, Charles, I know you are only trying to startle me. Of course you would always behave properly towards me."

  Perversely, Charles found he did not care for this assumption. “What makes you so certain?” he asked, surprising himself.

  “I am certain you would never force your attentions on an unwilling female, would you?"

  Charles struggled with the answer and then told the truth, “No. Not if she were unwilling."

  “And it is the unwillingness that makes certain behaviours improper. Do you not agree?"

  He nodded, confused as to where this reasoning was taking them.