Mistletoe and Mischief

by Patricia Wynn

  Louisa had blushed, appearing to understand at least some of his frustration. He had left her trembling, and the knowledge exhilarated him.

  “Charles,” she said shyly, casting her eyelashes down in a most provocative way, “you shouldn't swear on Christmas."

  “No, I shouldn't, but you make it damnably hard not to!"

  He might have reached for her again, but for Eliza, who jumped against his trouser leg and raked him with her claws.

  Thankful for the reminder, he bent to pet her and collected himself with difficulty. “Louisa-” he straightened “-Miss Davenport, you have placed yourself under my protection. It would be the height of dishonour for me to abuse your trust in me ... to give in to the temptation which is certain to exist between a man and such a beautiful woman...."

  While he stammered, she had been watching him with a questioning look. Now, a glint lit her eyes, and she said with false brightness, “Was that what it was? How kind of you to explain."

  She pointed to the kissing bough above her head. “I merely thought you were observing that heathen custom you referred to."

  Charles felt a flush of shame sweep through him, but he did not apologize. It would be wiser to forget their kiss, to make it a bone of contention between them. Much better that than let it lead to more liberties while she was in his charge.

  At least, he thought, Louisa was willing to excuse him-even to provide him with an excuse, when she might have made claims upon him. The mistletoe would provide his reason, even though that had been no mistletoe kiss....

  Louisa surprised him then, by standing on her tiptoes and reaching for a scroll which hung from one of the ribbons of the kissing bough. On entering the room, he had somehow missed it.

  She handed it to him. It was a simple piece of paper, tied with red ribbon.

  “A Christmas piece,” she said with emphasis. “I wrote it for you after we came in last night."

  Charles looked up at her, and then stared at the paper in his hands. For a moment, he could not speak.

  “This is what-"

  Louisa nodded. Her lips were drawn in a tight smile. “Yes. That's what I was doing under the mistletoe. Jim was giving me a hand."

  Charles took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Louisa, I should have known-I can't imagine what possessed me-"

  She laughed. “Let us forget it, shall we? We must not let it spoil our day."

  Charles answered her with a feeble smile. Perhaps, she could forget it, but how was he to forget he had made such a cake of himself? How could he forget he had kissed her, when she looked so beautiful this morning?

  Among Miss Conisbrough's dresses, she had found one in a deep green velvet, low across the bosom, which set off the fairness of her skin and the flame of her hair to perfection. He remembered the feel of the velvet beneath his fingertips, the warmth of her body underneath. Her taste still lingered on his tongue. Even now, he had to swallow to drive the memory from his mind.

  Louisa reached up again. “I could remove the mistletoe if you wish."

  Charles caught her arm. “No need,” he said. “I promise to behave myself from now on."

  She let it fall, then returned his sudden grin with a shy smile.

  “Perhaps it is not such a heathen custom, after all,” he said quietly.

  The remark seemed to please her; but true to their truce, she moved away and acted as if he had not made it.

  Grateful, Charles sighed. They would never make it through the next two days if she continued to bat her eyelashes at him....

  Charles tucked the Christmas piece she had written into his pocket. He had nothing to give her, so he judged it best to read it when he was alone.

  Louisa, it seemed, had planned their day. She called to him from the doorway, “Come along, Charles. It is time to stir the Spadgers’ pudding."

  “Whatever for?"

  “For luck, of course."

  He followed her to the kitchen, where Nan stood working at her stove. Eliza, who had leapt and scurried at their heels the whole way, fell quickly upon the meal Jim had set out for her.

  Charles said, “You must tie up her ears, Jim, before she dips them in."

  It was too late. Both her ears were already a few inches deep in food scraps. But Charles's comment had caused a grin to replace Jim's anxious look, just as he had intended.

  Bob was sitting on a stool near the hearth, eating steadily. Thanks to Louisa and to Nan Spadger's cooking, the boy seemed to have gained a few pounds already and had lost that pinched look. He promised to be a fair charge on the Spadgers’ larder.

  “It's good tha's come,” Nan said. “I be about ta put pudding in oven."

  She had already added the egg yolks, cream and brandy. A delicious smell rose from the pot.

  She handed the spoon to Louisa first, who closed her eyes tightly to make a wish. Her lashes, like pale feathers, brushed the ridge of her cheekbones. Charles watched her appreciatively until she gave the pot a stir and opened them again.

  “What did you wish?"

  She tilted her head indignantly. “I'm astonished at you, Charles. You know I mustn't tell or it won't come true.” She held out the spoon. “Now, it's your turn."

  Charles retreated. “No, let someone else."

  “Everyone's already had a turn, and Nan is waiting for us, so you must hurry!"

  She forced the spoon into his hands, and he stepped forward. Of all the foolish customs-

  Charles tried to think of a wish, but the aroma from the pudding and Louisa's warmth right next to him assailed his senses. All he could think of was how much he would love to kiss her again-and he mustn't wish for that.

  He closed his eyes to her, to try to concentrate, but still was aware of some great yearning he had yet to define. His feelings were in confusion: the delicious smells in the kitchen, the heat from the fire, the tension from knowing their eyes were upon him. And underlying all, the fearsome aftermath of kissing Louisa.

  In the end, he did the responsible thing and wished for Boney to be captured, which left him feeling deeply unsatisfied. To wish at all was childish and foolish, but as the day wore on Charles never lost the feeling that he had wasted a precious chance.

  From stirring the pudding, they went to church for Morning Prayer. Then, before their dinner was ready, they took a stroll to see the garlands in the village. The day was clear and beautiful and not so cold that he needed to hold her hand to warm it. But even bundled in his greatcoat, Charles felt a glow from Louisa at his side.

  Her cheerfulness drew him into her schemes for the day and made him smile. She entertained him through their dinner, suspending all her good works and projects during the meal so he could experience some leisure before returning to work. For the first time ever, the thought of going back to Whitehall made him sigh, but he was warmly grateful he had been spared Christmas Day there.

  Dinner was a feast. Nearly as sumptuous as he would have got at Wroxton Hall, though much more intimate. He and Louisa alone shared the goose, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, the Christmas pudding and mincemeat in pastry coffins. They no sooner finished with one delight than Sammy brought them another, until they could hold no more. There seemed nothing to do after that but sit by the fire, fold their hands over their stomachs and groan about how much they had eaten.

  Louisa's groaning, unladylike though it was, tickled Charles's funny-bone and made him want to tease her. He questioned her again about her wish, and when she was not forthcoming said, “I know what you wished for-to be married soon."

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “I may have decided not ever to be married. You don't know."

  He was strangely disappointed. And surprised.

  “But I thought you wished to be married above all things."

  Louisa's chin was in the air. “Perhaps-but I shall not tell you. I might have wished for something quite different entirely. I might have wished, for instance, for a life sufficiently long to see all my projects brought to fruition!"

&n
bsp; “That would be impossible,” Charles told her, grinning. “You would no sooner finish one than think of another, so you could never reach the end."

  She smiled wistfully. “True. But are they so terrible?"

  He stared back at her, and felt warmth invading his outstretched limbs. “No. Not so terrible at all."

  * * * *

  The evening passed, and they stayed together in the parlour, talking in this languid fashion. Charles felt drugged by the heavy meal, the Spadgers’ brandy and the heat from the fire. He sensed a tingling in his limbs that would not go away-not while they sat like this together. A movement from Louisa, a smile or a pout, and the tingle surged to a pulse and the pulse to a throb.

  Only the languor brought on by Sammy's brandy kept him firmly in his chair, and for this reason, he indulged himself far more than usual. When the time came for Louisa to withdraw, he struggled to his feet, made her a careful bow and subsided into his chair once again.

  He hardly knew whether he had touched her hand to his lips, as he had intended, or whether the taste of her still lingered from their kiss.

  Chapter Nine

  The day they were finally to set out for London saw a return of Charles's ill humour. The brandy he had imbibed contributed to his irritability, and not even the Spadgers’ offer of meals free of charge on the day after Christmas, according to their Yorkshire custom, could lift the clouds from his head.

  Louisa was the one who saw to it that all their boxes and bags were packed before breakfast and that the horses were set to the carriage before dawn. Having expended very little effort himself, Charles found that they were soon on their way, with Eliza curled up on the seat beside him.

  Nan, Sammy and Jim turned out in the yard to wish them a safe and speedy journey, and even Bob was persuaded to overcome his fear of the horses to wave them farewell. The carriage window framed them all as Timothy whipped the horses out of the yard.

  As soon as their faces vanished, Charles felt a curious melancholy steal upon him. For the sake of Louisa's entertainment, he tried his best to conceal it, but this morning he discovered a certain constraint between them, whether because of the events of the previous days or the ordeal to come, he did not know.

  Louisa confined her rather slight conversation to the weather and the sights they passed along the road. Charles had feared that she might try to take up other strays along their way, but instead, she hardly seemed to notice them. Finally, he concluded that she must be dreading the confrontation with her guardian and did his best to divert her thoughts from what lay ahead.

  That night, they stopped in another inn. Fearing their proximity to London would increase the likelihood of their being recognized, Louisa suggested that they eat alone in their separate rooms. Charles concurred, though he realized how much he had looked forward to their last dinner together, hoping for a resumption of their easy discourse.

  But it was not to be. Their adventure was nearly over. Time for Charles to think of getting back to the Regent's demands on his time. Unintentional though the delay had been, he had dallied long enough.

  The next morning found them both in a subdued humour. The closer they got to London, the quieter Louisa became. As they reached the outskirts of the city, evening fell, and with it the last of her conversation.

  It was dark outside, and dark all around them; but occasionally the light from a passing lantern cast its beam between them, lighting their faces for a moment. Each beam captured the highlights of Louisa's hair, leaving it burning in Charles's imagination like the glow from live coals. In spite of the chill outside, it was impossible to feel cold when Louisa sat across from him. Her presence warmed him better than a hearth.

  As they drew toward her uncle's house, Charles could stand no more of her reserve. He reached across the space between them and took her cold hands in his.

  “You are frightened of the general?"

  “No,” she said, “not at all.” Gently she withdrew her hands, surprising him. Louisa had never repulsed him before. Hurt, he was unsure how to interpret her reluctance.

  “I can face the general readily enough,” she said with no sign of fear. Charles was relieved to see that she was not entirely cast down, after all. “It is the thought of his plans for me that makes me contemplative."

  Charles ventured in a lighter tone, “Marriage or seclusion?"

  “Precisely. He will either forbid me to leave the house or marry me to someone out of hand."

  “You will not let him, I hope.” Charles frowned until he heard her chuckle.

  “You know me far too well to believe that I would!” He started to relax, to release the breath he had caught and held for some reason. Then she said, “I've a mind to tell him that I shall not marry at all."

  He was taken aback. “Not marry? But why?"

  By the light of a passing lantern, he saw her shrug. “I shall come in possession of my fortune at the age of twenty-five whether I marry or not. It is a long time to wait, but when I think of the things I could do with my fortune if I had no husband to hamper me, it does not seem so long."

  “What things?” Charles's mind was in confusion. For a young lady who not long ago had been so passionately—even improperly—determined on marriage, she certainly seemed indifferent to it now.

  For one mad moment, he was sure it was his own kiss that had put her off. Clearly, before it, she had experienced no other male advances. He had deceived himself that she'd enjoyed it. What else could it be?

  “My projects, Charles,” she said impatiently, breaking in on these dismal thoughts. “Have you forgotten them?"

  “Your projects ... Oh! Of course!” Her discharged soldiers and orphans and stray dogs ... and now her prisoners, too. Suddenly Charles understood.

  “Is that why you wished to marry? So you could begin your charitable work?"

  “Why, of course. Why else? What have you been thinking?"

  Charles felt blood rushing to his face. He couldn't possibly tell her that he had believed that she, an innocent girl, had been eager for sensual fulfilment.

  He stammered, “Some ... foolish nonsense. My fault entirely. Not important at all."

  “Sometimes you think my causes are foolish nonsense."

  Charles paused before answering. With this new puzzle piece to her character, everything she had said before must be re-examined. How could he brand as foolish all her generosity? Look at the good she had done in just three days: Bob was happily lodged with the Spadgers; Eliza had found a new master; and he had been persuaded to introduce her measures to the Lords.

  “No,” he said, reaching out a hand to stroke Eliza. He would rather be stroking Louisa's hand, but she had withdrawn from him already and he did not dare. “I don't think they are foolish. I did once, but that has changed."

  She made no reply. Charles found himself tongue-tied for the first time in his life. In silence, they rode the last few blocks to her uncle's house in Half-Moon Street.

  A grizzled servant with a military bearing opened the door to them and said, “The gen'ral's waitin’ up for you, miss, just like he's done ev'ry night this week."

  There was no warmth in his greeting, and Charles couldn't fail to hear the censure in his tone. He put on his most aristocratic air.

  “You may tell General Davenport that the Marquess of Wroxton is here to wait upon him."

  The man would have shown him into a small library to wait, but Charles announced that he preferred to stand in the entryway. The servant left him to do his duty. Louisa stayed back with Charles and gave him her hand.

  “I must thank you, Lord Wroxton,” she said, pale but composed. “But I cannot adequately express all the gratitude I feel."

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he said earnestly, holding on to her hand longer than was necessary.

  This drew a teasing smile from her. “Pleasure, Charles? When I was such a shocking charge? Do not tell me you have learned to tell faradiddles from me?"

  He started to protest, t
o tell her how much he had enjoyed his Christmas with her, undoubtedly the happiest of his life. But her uncle's butler interrupted him.

  “The gen'ral will see you both now, sir."

  Reluctantly, Charles released her and followed her into the drawing-room. General Davenport was seated in an armchair by the fire, both feet swathed in bandages and propped up on an ottoman.

  “So there you are, minx!"

  “Do not get up, sir,” Charles said, when the general started to struggle. “I shall not be staying long."

  “You shall stay, sir, until I understand the nature of this escapade!"

  Charles stiffened, but Louisa quickly interceded. She moved forward with a brisk step and dropped a kiss on her uncle's forehead.

  “You will leave that kind of talk for later,” she said firmly, “when you and I are alone. We shall have none of it in his lordship's presence."

  The general subsided into his chair, but his temper was still roused.

  Charles said, “You had my letter, certainly, sir."

  “I did. But that was days ago! What has taken so long, sir, I ask you? And where is this chaperone you wrote of?"

  Charles hesitated just long enough to catch his breath. He bowed most urbanely, and spoke in the reasoning voice he used with the Prince Regent when the Prince was at his most tiresome. “Miss Plunkett, sir. She asked to be let down first, due to her age and the lateness of the hour. I am afraid the journey tired her excessively, since she is given to dropsy and assorted other ailments. But I shall get her to call on you within the next day or two if you like."

  He left the offer hanging. But, as he had gambled, the general appeared alarmed at the prospect and muttered a hasty “No need, no need, sir. I shall take your word for it. Gentleman, and all that."

  Charles gave a cool bow to signify his acknowledgement. The general turned his frown on Louisa and said, “So, minx, you imposed on his lordship here! Got anything to say for yourself?"

  “Nothing at the moment, Uncle, although I am sure you will have more to say yourself. I shall retire now, if you have no objection, to spare my blushes."