But Louisa only smiled and said, “There, you see."
She held out her hand for another branch.
Charles reached for one to avoid meeting her gaze. He found himself wondering if Louisa was willing or not. She had not said.
But then, it was just this sort of thinking he was trying to avoid. He retreated to the safety of their original topic.
“All the same, Louisa, I would prefer you not to mention Geoffrey in front of Jim again."
“As you wish, Charles."
Louisa continued with her decorating, humming a little tune as she did. After a moment, she added, “I only mentioned Geoffrey because I thought I should tell you about an idea I had and about which he was so disobliging."
“What idea?” Charles asked warily.
Louisa ignored his cautious tone and went on, “As soon as I saw how fond you are of dogs, I was certain you would wish to hear about it. On our way north, I saw a number of dogs without masters—miserably thin—one could see they were starving. And I would have stopped to pick them up, only Geoffrey forbade it. Considering the haste he wished to make, I could almost forgive him for it, but it was his reaction to my idea that first awoke me to his true character."
Charles smiled at the picture her words conjured up: an eloping couple, their carriage weighed down by a pack of starving curs; a harried bridegroom, struggling to make time; and Louisa, turning red and sneezing into the bargain.
He could almost sympathize with Geoffrey. Charles knew he should stop Louisa's confidences before she suggested another bill he should put before the Lords; but a sudden curiosity about Geoffrey and his faults prevented him.
She continued, “I had the notion of a private society which could succour homeless animals. What do you think about that, Charles?"
Charles's jaw dropped open. He stammered, “And you say this Geoffrey fellow disapproved of your notion?"
She nodded, indignant at the memory.
Charles drew a deep breath. “Then I begin to discover a common feeling with the fellow at last. Louisa, you cannot imagine how much such a thing would cost!"
“Oh, yes, I can, Charles. It would cost a great deal. That is why I think we should raise funds for it."
“But—Louisa, would you plan to go on feeding these useless animals forever? What would that serve?"
“I would hope to find homes for them. Do not forget how easily you were persuaded to take Eliza.” She gazed at him hopefully.
Charles took a breath that swelled his chest. He shook his head once, and then again more forcefully. At times like these, he found Louisa's logic astounding.
“No,” he said aloud. “Louisa, I'm afraid I must side with Geoffrey. That is an impossible notion."
Disappointment clouded her eyes. She began to finger the branch in her hands.
“I was so certain you would understand...."
Charles began stammering, “I do—of course I do understand your impulse. You are kind and generous! But it simply cannot be done!"
Louisa had perked up at his compliment. But at his final words, her face turned wistful. “If you are very certain, Charles..."
She turned her back on him and tried rather listlessly to fix the branch above a window. Charles found himself staring at her shoulders, at the gown stretched tightly across her back, at the high waist which shifted with each of her movements to cup her breasts. She stood on tiptoe and her arms rose above her head to loop a piece of rope across the curtain, the skin as smooth and white as satin.
He felt a deep desire to make her turn around and smile at him.
“Of course...” he ventured, searching his mind frantically for something to cheer her, “the other thing you mentioned about a piece of legislation to restrict cruelty to animals-I rather see the sense in that."
He spoke the truth. Now that he had taken the time to think about her proposal, he could see nothing wrong with it precisely. Good stewardship was a basic principle of good government. No reason it should not extend to animals, after all.
Louisa whirled to face him. “Charles! Do you really think so?"
The smile he had longed to see beamed down at him.
“Now, I only said that I see the sense in it,” he responded cautiously. “I cannot speak for my colleagues. Chances are, they will require time to get used to the idea, but I see no harm in mentioning it."
“Charles!” In her delight, Louisa gave him both her hands, and he held them to his lips for a moment. Her eyes shone down at him like a sunlit sky.
Then, recovering his senses, he released her hands and waved off the praise she seemed so eager to shower on him.
As she turned to her task again, Louisa concluded, “And Charles, you must never again liken yourself to Geoffrey, even in jest! I will not allow it!"
Charles felt a cloud moving to block the glow of her approval. Truth to tell, he almost felt guilty for raising her hopes. His colleagues would laugh at the idea. But Charles was a man of his word, and no matter what it cost him, he resolved to raise the issue as soon as Boney was caught.
From time to time, Louisa held her hand out for another sprig of holly, and Charles found himself in the role of first assistant. By the time Jim returned with his pint, he had decided he might as well keep it up. It would be impossible to read undisturbed with two people climbing about the room in any case, and he did not mean to be driven from the parlour. Besides, he was certain Jim had other chores to do and should not linger.
Charles dismissed him.
Louisa seemed pleased that Charles had given up his own plans in order to help her. Together they strung garlands and looped them over the doors and windows. The amount of greenery seemed excessive; it was more the custom to use it outdoors for the conduits and street standards. But when they had finished, Charles had to admit that the effect of their work was beautiful. The hanging holly and bay turned the common parlour into a wooded bower. The scent of fir perfumed the air, mingling with the smoke of the fire.
When the windows and doors were all finished, Louisa sat by the fire and got to work fashioning a “kissing bough” for the ceiling. Charles stood beside her, silently staring at the crown of green in her hands.
She had fashioned a circle, and now she was adding to it the things Mrs. Spadger had donated: rosettes and ribbons in long streamers from which to suspend gifts; red apples for more colour; and candles, which would be lighted on Christmas Day. A sprig of mistletoe lay off to one side, the last to be attached.
“I haven't done anything like this since I was a boy and got in the servants’ way at Wroxton Hall,” Charles said, almost to himself.
Louisa turned her full attention on him. “Is that where you spend Christmas?"
“No. It's been years since I went home for Christmas.” The intense look from her blue eyes made him shift. “My mother does not care for such flummery."
“It is not flummery!” Louisa asserted. Then she said with a twinkle, “But even if it is, I enjoy it. Confess now, you have been amused, have you not?"
Charles grinned in acknowledgement. The truth was he had even caught himself humming a time or two, tunes he thought he had long ago forgotten.
He hesitated, but something prompted him to admit, “But I seldom enjoy Christmas."
“And why is that?"
He wished he had not begun, but since he had, he had to answer. “London seems deserted. Whitehall empties, as if there were no war on. Just a few of us stay on until the season's over, with nothing to do. No work can be accomplished."
“Then you ought to go home."
Charles grimaced. “I doubt that would change my feelings for the holiday."
Louisa had the sensitivity not to probe any further. She said instead, “I must confess there are times, when the general is crabby and my aunt seems listless, that I find my own spirits flagging. But I refuse to let them. I double my efforts and can usually think of enough ... flummery, if you will, that I can coax at least one chuckle from the general."
Charles
laughed. “I imagine you do. You have certainly coaxed more than one from me."
Louisa coloured and looked away. He was surprised to see how strongly his words had affected her. A pulse began to race in his throat.
Louisa recovered and said pertly, “But you are not half so crabby as the general!” She rose quickly to her feet and picked up the bough. “Will you hand me upon the stool, please?"
Her arms were both taken with the “kissing bough."
Charles took her elbow and put one hand upon her waist to help her up. He kept it there to steady her while she reached for the ceiling and fumbled with the heavy bough. With every passing moment he became more and more conscious of her waist beneath his hands....
All at once, Louisa seemed to wobble. Her fingers struggled with the rope she had fixed to attach the bough. A warm blush suffused her face and breast. She cast a look at Charles from beneath her lashes.
“I believe this ceiling is too high for me,” she said breathlessly. “Perhaps you would be willing to affix it?"
Charles swallowed hard and took a step backwards, releasing her carefully. “Certainly,” he said.
He put out a hand to help her, and Louisa climbed down. Without meeting her gaze, Charles took the bough from her and stepped up to reach the beam.
In a minute, he had fastened it securely. He jumped down again, careful not to land beneath the mistletoe.
Hanging a “kissing bough” was certainly a common enough custom, though under the circumstances he found himself questioning Louisa's wisdom in hanging one. While they ate dinner tonight, it would be just there, hovering between them. A less honourable man might take its presence for an invitation.
But, Charles thought with a grimace, if it were not for Ned and his scheme to plant wayward thoughts in his mind, they might have hung the damned thing without embarrassment.
Striving to keep Ned and his conspiracy in mind, Charles took a step backwards to admire his work.
“There,” he said, avoiding Louisa's gaze. “You must think this is enough at last. Besides, we shall be leaving tomorrow. It is a pity all our work will go for someone else."
He had not meant to say anything that Louisa could misinterpret. But somehow the words had come of their own volition, and he realized he meant them.
Louisa seemed quite affected.
“I cannot regret making anything so beautiful. And it has helped to pass the day so charmingly. “Goodness!” she exclaimed, looking away. “It is almost time for dinner. You will have to excuse me while I change."
She fled from the room, and Charles was left to wonder whether her cheeks were truly flushed or whether he had just imagined it.
* * * *
That evening, Charles's determination not to be tempted was strong, so strong that he avoided casting any looks in Louisa's direction. She was wearing another of Miss Conisbrough's dresses, a wispy confection of white crepe, in which she appeared as tempting as a ripe strawberry nestled in clotted cream.
Their conversation was strained and limited quite purposely to the condition of the roads Charles expected to find on the morrow. He made a mental note to discuss their time of departure with Timothy before going to bed. He would fetch Miss Wadsdale first thing in the morning and then this improper situation would come to an end.
Louisa seemed no more inclined for conversation than Charles was. Even Eliza's antics got a lukewarm response from them both.
A knock sounded on the door, and Sammy Spadger stepped in.
“Pardon, yor lordship and miss, but t’ folks is paradin’ wi’ t'Advent Image. Would tha’ care ta see it?"
“No, thank you—” Charles began.
But Louisa said simultaneously, “Yes, of course!” She looked at Charles questioningly. “Have you some objection, Cousin?"
This form of address startled Charles anew. Staring at her, he realized how completely he had forgotten their masquerade. He stammered to cover his thoughts. “No, no objection. Let them come in."
He decided that he had begun to exaggerate the need for caution. No possible harm could come of their witnessing this custom together. Miss Wadsdale would be between them as of tomorrow, and Charles could only hope this interlude would hasten the end of an uncomfortable evening.
He and Louisa rose from their chairs and stepped to the parlour door.
A mixed crowd of villagers had assembled in the corridor, Jim Spadger among them. Several of them beamed upon seeing their interest; the shy ones bowed to hide their faces. Sammy and Nan stood off to one side, gazing proudly on their son.
In the doorway stood two men bearing a panel decked with greenery on which two dolls were perched. One doll was wrapped in swaddling like the Saviour, the other dressed to appear as Mary.
“How charming!” Louisa said, smiling at the crowd.
The leaders returned her smile and then glanced at each other nervously. A woman standing behind one of the men poked him firmly and said, “Just get on wi't’ singing, Dick! Do!"
Charles had no doubt that Jim Spadger had informed his companions of the marquess staying in his father's house, and it appeared that such an illustrious audience had tied the singers’ tongues.
He was about to suggest that they withdraw when Louisa smiled again and said, “Please do sing for us. My cousin and I were just saying how much we wished for entertainment."
This tactful falsehood prompted enormous smiles from the performers. Together, the two men in front started to sing, and the others joined in to harmonize:
“God bless the master of this house,
The mistress also,
And all the little children
That round the table go."
Jim Spadger had burst forth in a hearty baritone quite unlike his common speaking voice but commensurate with his bulk. Charles realized the boy had seldom spoken above a mutter, and he now put this down to shyness. Nan and Sammy were overcome by the sound of their son's golden tones.
Louisa had listened with her hands clasped together, and when the song had ended, she applauded enthusiastically. Charles thought she deserved an accolade herself for the way she had handled the villagers’ timidity.
One of the women passed the Vessel Cup, and Charles, feeling suddenly expansive, dipped deeply into his pocket for a coin. Since this was far larger than the halfpenny requested, the singers’ eyes opened wide and a few said, “0-o-oh!” Louisa flashed him a sunny look.
Nan Spadger said, “And now, tha’ must take a leaf from t’ Saviour, yor lordship and miss.” When Louisa hesitated, she plucked one for her and added, “It's good for t’ toothache."
Charles accepted his solemnly and, with a brief bow, dismissed them with thanks. Louisa added hers, and then they retreated inside the parlour so the door could close.
As soon as Sammy pulled it to behind them, they glanced at each other and Louisa started to giggle. Charles gave in to laughter, as well.
He held up his leaf. “I hope you mean to keep yours, in case the toothache should befall you. For myself, I intend to hide mine under my pillow."
Louisa held hers up and twisted it this way and that to examine it.
“What do you think, Charles? Is one supposed to eat it or rub it on the affected tooth? Or perhaps it is to be drunk in an infusion like tea. I would hate to waste such a useful remedy by using it improperly!"
She gave a final chuckle and then said, “But we should not laugh. What a charming custom! And not one we have in London, I believe. I particularly enjoyed the part about the children ‘that round the table go.’ I could just see a large family with a dozen or so cheerful faces clustered about their dinner."
Charles could see the table, too. And the strange thing was that he saw Louisa sitting at its head.
But before he could ponder this, Louisa chattered on. “I shall have to ask Mrs. Spadger about it tomorrow and get her to tell me how to use the leaf. I would have asked the singers, but I was afraid to frighten them."
“You were marvellous with t
hem, Louisa. With such tact, you have the makings of a good political hostess."
Louisa grimaced. “I suppose by that you mean that I am an accomplished liar."
Charles was taken aback. “Not at all. It is a useful talent to prevaricate in harmless ways to make others feel at ease. I thought you handled them magnificently."
A warm glow spread over her countenance. “Why, thank you, Charles. And I will add that you were quite generous, too."
He felt himself redden and shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh, that. It was nothing. You must know how insignificant that was to me."
“Yes, I daresay it was,” Louisa said, moving back to the table. He followed her and held her chair for her. “But it shows a willingness to give, and I am certain you must find many worthy things to do with your wealth."
On the way to his own chair, Charles halted guiltily as he realized how completely she was mistaken. He searched his mind frantically for an instance of his own charity and, aside from the vicar's needs at Wroxton, came up short. Of course, he was terribly busy, but the truth was he took his own wealth so much for granted that he seldom thought of sharing it. If he ever felt compelled to do so, more often than not he forgot the impulse before he acted upon it.
Taking his chair and avoiding her eyes, he resolved to do better in future, and for the rest of the evening, steered the conversation back to safer ground.
Chapter Six
In the morning, Charles tried to take a brisk approach to their departure, but he found that Louisa, though up, was far from ready.
“I'm afraid the packing is taking longer than I expected,” she explained at breakfast. “I want to take good care of Miss Conisbrough's gowns, but without my maid it is rather difficult. To do them justice, I should pack them myself, but if you wish, I shall ask Mrs. Spadger to help."
“Please do so,” Charles said. “If I had thought of it, we could have asked her to pack them yesterday. I don't think keeping the Sabbath would have prevented her from assisting her guests. If you had only mentioned this before, we could have been off by now. We have two long days of travel still ahead of us."
Louisa responded calmly, “I shall not keep you much longer. Why don't you fetch Miss Wadsdale and then come back for me. I am certain to be ready by then."
Mistletoe and Mischief Page 8