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 folded 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.
“I did not say I feared dealing with him,” he said irritably. “It is merely a matter of conscience. Ned and I were friends when we were younger, but somewhere along the way he became quite wild. If I hope to be effective in the House of Lords, I cannot be wasting my time with persons of questionable morals."
“Are you active in the government, Charles?” Louisa's ears pricked up at the news.
“Yes,” he said after a moment's pause. He reckoned it best that she know. Then, perhaps, she would conduct herself with his reputation in mind.
He was gratified by the respect he saw on her face.
“How wonderful!” she said. “I had not expected this good stroke of luck. Which only goes to show that my elopement was not for nothing!"
Charles looked at her warily. “Why does it matter to you that I am active in government?"
“Oh, I often have ideas that I wish someone would act upon,” she said, much to his surprise. “And now that I know you, I shall have someone to propose them to, shan't I?"
Her tone was so ingenuous that Charles had to smile.
“And what sort of ideas are these?” he said, trying to keep the condescension from his voice.
“They could be anything,” Louisa answered, gesturing airily. “I have a number of concerns. For instance-” she turned on him suddenly “-what does the government propose to do with all the men who will be returning from the war?"
Charles was taken aback, first by her look, which seemed to accuse him of something dishonourable, but also by the strange topic. “What do you mean ‘do with them'?” he said.
Louisa looked at him as if he had not much sense. “Hasn't it occurred to you, Charles, that a large number of men shall be returning to this country without any work to occupy them?"
He frowned. “Of course it has occurred to me. The government is fully aware of the problem, Louisa. We do not need a girl of eighteen years to bring such common problems to our attention."
“Then what do you propose to do about them?"
“You are not making yourself clear."
“Let me express myself differently, then. I hope you do not mean to turn them off at the shore without a feather to fly with?"
“Of course not,” he said, growing indignant. “They will be given all their back pay."
“With interest?"
“Certainly not! That would break us! We've had to finance the allies for years as it is."
Louisa frowned at him. “But what about the wounded, the ones who will be too injured to work again?"
“They shall have their wound-pension-sixpence a day."
Louisa arched her brows. “And live off strawberries and cream, I daresay."
“Louisa,” Charles protested, feeling ruffled, “you must leave such things to the men charged with running this country. They are not matters you could easily understand."
Louisa looked at him wryly. “It takes very little experience or schooling to understand what it will be like to live off sixpence a day, Charles."
He blustered, “But magnify that cost several hundred times over and you will see what a heavy toll it makes on the government. You could not possibly understand the treasury's limits, Louisa! I refuse to discuss them with you."
She put her nose in the air and turned to look out her window.
After a moment, Charles addressed her profile stiffly, “Besides… their families will shelter them."
“And the ones without families?"
He did not respond to this unanswerable query. Instead, after a pause, he asked, “Why do you concern yourself with such things?"
She gave him a look as if to say the reason should be obvious. “Do not forget that I am an heiress,” she said. “I have been raised to understand my own finances-enough, at least, that I know how much a loaf of bread and a joint of beef cost. And how quickly your six pennies shall be spent on beer."
Charles folded his arms. “They are not my six pennies."
Louisa gave her attention to the outdoors, and after a short while began to make polite conversation about the countryside.
The low stone walls of Yorkshire seemed to delight her, running as they did in all directions, seemingly without end or reason. They varied from grey to black-sometimes both, depending on the rock available-criss-crossing the wild and otherwise empty moors.
As Louisa made comments, Charles maintained a sulky silence, responding only in single syllables to her remarks.
After a few minutes, however, he found himself thinking over what she had said. If the truth be told, he had not given much thought to the demobilization of the army. He and everyone in government had been concentrating on the war for so long that they had not had time to devote to the future. But now that Boney was on the run, defeated in Russia, and with the allies in France, the war would soon be concluded.
Louisa's chatter, undiminished by his sullenness, made a comfortable background to his thoughts-computations of how much money might be squeezed from the treasury for the wounded men. He might introduce a measure in the Lords, discuss it first with the PM. Something might be managed-ought to be managed, if he were honest.
A bit ashamed to have had his attention brought to the problem by a girl, however, Charles said nothing to her of his thoughts.
The shortness of the winter day made progress difficult, but they managed to draw into Snaithby soon after sunset. Fortunately, they discovered that neither of them had cause to avoid an inn in this village. Snaithby lay off the Great North Road to the west. Louisa had had no reason to stop there on her way north, and Charles hadn't had occasion to visit his friend Ned's estate in several years.
Charles stepped down from the carriage and gave Louisa his hand to assist her. Immediately they were greeted by the proprietors-Sammy and Nan Spadger-at The Crown and Pear.
This time, Louisa gave a rather glib performance of her story. Perhaps it had worked so successfully in Appleby that she had lost all concern for its credibility, but Charles had the impression that relating it a second time merely bored her. Whatever her reason for doing such a poor job, he ended up wishing she had imbued her tale with more conviction.
At Louisa's finish, Nan Spadger, the innkeeper's wife, eyed them both with hostility, and Charles found he was no more immune to her suspicion than he had been to his coachman's. As she hesitated over giving them rooms, he felt his face growing warmer and warmer.
“Ta be certain,” Mrs. Spadger said, “seein’ as how tha folks be o’ t’ nobility, I'd not like ta think owt was amiss. But we've no got t’ custom o’ givin’ rooms ta no ladies wit'owt bags."
“It is a bore, isn't it?” Louisa said, turning her charm on the woman at last. “But my bags are not expected to catch up with us until morning. Fortunately, for my comfort, I did manage to bring away my toothbrush and comb, and perhaps you would be kind enough to press my gown for me."
Mrs. Spadger seemed to consider this, her arms folded snugly over her apron, while her husband hovered indecisively over Charles's bags. The crest on his carriage impressed them, Charles could see, but they were respectable people and they did not like the notion of their hospitality being abused. He had a notion of how to appease them.
“I shall be calling on my friend Lord Conisbrough this evening,” he said, reasoning that all they needed was a reference. “I gave my servants instructions to stop at his estate, and it is possible they shall be there when I arrive. In that case, of course, I shall be bringing my cousin's bags back to her."
Mrs. Spadger placed her hand on her hips. The light of battle lit her features. With a sinking stomach, Charles recognized the flaw in his strategy.
“Lord Conisbrough, is't? An’ tha art friends wi’ him! Then, happen it wor better that tha stays wi’ him!"
Charles cursed his own carelessness and tried to find a diplomatic solution to this development. Ned's reputation as a rake was certain to be well known in his home village. He should have thought of that. Now that she knew them to be Ned's friends, Mrs. Spadger seemed more convinced than ever of their wickedness.
But having used Ned as an excuse, Charles could not see his way to backing out of their assumed friendship now.
He started to bluster, but Louisa, flashing him a brilliant smile, began to chuckle. Then her chuckle turned into a bubbling laugh. Nan Spadger and her husband turned surprised eyes upon her.
“That would be like asking my cousin to deliver me to the wolves, as I understand it,” she explained to them. “You must forgive him if he appears offended, but perhaps you are not aware of Lord Conisbrough's reputation. My cousin takes any injury to my good repute quite seriously, and he has refused quite firmly to introduce me to such a rake, even though we might reasonably have begged lodgings from Lord Conisbrough for the night."
Seeing that Louisa's words had raised a sympathetic look on the innkeeper's face, Charles reluctantly took her story up. “You should be more discreet, Louisa,” he said looking at her sternly. “It is not for us to be telling tales."
His comment tipped the balance. Nan Spadger relaxed her arms and said, “But, indeed, yor lordship. There's nowt abowt his lordship that don't be known hereabowts. T’ lady should stay here wi’ us, til tha comes back.” She picked up two bags at last. “I remember seein’ his lordship when he wor just a young lad, fallin’ o'er a wall one neet when he wor drunk.” She shook her head and preceded them into the inn. “He had ta wear his arm in a sling for eight weeks. An’ that's not all I could tell thee, if I'd a mind. It's a wonder he's not swallow'd his coat an’ hat."
Charles grimaced at the description of Ned, which he knew to be accurate. Louisa suppressed her dimples, but her eyes twinkled. Keeping his lips pressed in a straight line, Charles gave her a wink, for Mrs. Spadger's account, given in her broad Yorkshire dialect, had sparked his sense of humour, too.
The Spadgers agreed to hold two rooms for them, and a private parlour, and to make Louisa comfortable until his return. Charles refused all refreshment except a pint of beer, and only drank a few swallows in his hurry to set off for Lord Conisbrough's residence. He felt certain he could find the way with no more than a set of directions to refresh his memory, for as a younger man he had stayed with Ned on a hunting expedition.
Before he left, he managed a few words in private with Louisa.
“I hope you will be as discreet as possible,” he said with little tact. “These people are not so easily beguiled as our last hosts."
Louisa arched her brows at him. “Yes, I promise to be quite good, Charles. But you must admit I had something to do with getting us accepted."
Charles grinned reluctantly. “Yes, I am indebted to you again, it appears. But you mustn't let your successes go to your head. You must stay on guard."
“You have my word,” she promised, nearly pushing him out the door. “I shall not give us away. Now hurry off, and don't waste another thought on me."
Charles would have liked to take her up on this suggestion, but he knew, of course, that he would not be making this visit to Ned's if Louisa's welfare did not require it. Somehow, he could not rest easily with the thought of her remaining alone. He decided to leave Timothy and the coach behind him not only to give his coachman a rest from the cold, but also in case Louisa should find some way to disgrace herself and be in immediate need of leaving The Crown and Pear.
With these concerns in mind, he went outside and mounted the hack Sammy Spadger had lent him. Taking the reins from Timothy, Charles described for him the route he would take to Lord Conisbrough's manor, in case he should be needed, and then trotted off in the dark to seek Ned's help.
Ned's manor house lay only a few miles from Snaithby; Charles arrived there within the half hour. The butler, taking his card, informed him that the family was at dinner.
Charles refused to disturb Ned's mother, but informed the butler that his mission was urgent. He directed him to take in his card, but to ask for a word with Lord Conisbrough in private.
Knowing the proper treatment due a marquess and leader of government and not a little surprised for his master to be receiving such a sober visitor, the butler showed Charles into Lord Conisbrough's library and ordered the fire to be rebuilt.
The room was comfortable, but noticeably lacking in books. Charles was just deploring this fact while he warmed his booted feet over the coals, when the door swung open and Ned appeared.
Ned paused in the doorway for a few seconds, his eyes, already blurred by drink, coming to focus slowly on Charles.
Charles was relieved to see that though Ned's vision was not what it should have been, he was not so far gone that his clothes were out of order. His neckcloth was still impeccably tied, and his boots held their shine. Even his black locks retained the style they had been given by his valet.
“Good Lord,” he said dryly. “It is you, Wroxton. Have you come to serve me a warrant?"
Charles laughed. “I am not a magistrate, Ned. I am adviser to His Royal Highness. Or don't you know the difference?"
Ned shrugged and strolled negligently through the door. “I perceive there might be a difference; but what it is doesn't interest me so long as you promise you have not come to curtail my freedoms. I cannot, otherwise, conceive of a single mission that would overcome your repugnance to visit this most unhallowed ground."
Charles shifted uncomfortably. “Don't be an idiot, Ned."
Ned raised his brows. “Ah-but have you called here and been refused? Then I must give notice to my butler this instant. I had no idea he was turning my friends away."
A flush spread across Charles's face. This was going even worse than he had expected.
“No, I haven't come to visit, and I'm sorry. But-confound it, Ned! You know I don't have time for your sort of foolishness! What if we all indulged ourselves the way you do?"
“Then Boney would be in Brighton by now and installed in the Pavilion. Yes, you're quite right.” An idea seemed to strike Ned. “Do you mean to say you've caught him? Is that why you're here?"
Charles began to fume beneath his politeness. “No, I regret to say we have not. I was on business to that effect, however, and on my way home, when something occurred to occasion this visit."
“Good Lord,” Ned said flatly again. “The call has finally come. Prinny has come to his senses and needs me. Whom am I to replace? Wellington?"
Charles had to snort at this. “Will you shut up, Ned,” he said tiredly, “and offer me a glass of brandy? I could use something to warm me up."
“I'll do better than that, my boy. I'll invite you to dinner. You should love it. My mother and her companion, Miss Wadsdale-the merriment flows in abundance. I shall give you the pleasure of entertaining them."
He reached for the bell, but Charles stopped him in time. “No dinner, Ned. Thank you. But I would have a drink. And if your own dinner calls, I can wait until you've finished."
Ned smiled wryly. “And return to Miss Wadsdale? No, thank you, Wroxton. You may be a bit of a sourpuss, but I had rather an hour of your company any day to a few seconds of that female's."
Charles screwed up his mouth. “You are too kind."
The butler was sent for, and he soon brought back a tray with two glasses and a decanter of brandy. While he was setting it down, Ned brought Charles up to date on some of their friends from Eton. The ones he tended to know about were of the same heedless group he ran with, and their fates ranged from total bankruptcy through extravagant gambling to the occasional scandalous marriage to an opera singer.
In turn, Charles informed him of their friends who had died or been wounded in Europe, which topic cast a pall over their conversation. When the butler left, however, Ned roused himself and said, “Very well, then, out with it. You might have come to see me, but you wouldn't be arriving at this hour and interrupting my dinner if you didn't have something to say. What's adrift?"
Charles was grateful for Ned's directness, but still found it hard to explain his difficulty.
He started badly. “Well… you see… I have met a young lady under rather curious circumstances-"
“Oho, Charlie boy!” Ned's face lit with a speculative glimmer, and he leaned back in his chair, its front legs raised at a tilt. “And you've come to me for instruction, is that it?” He crossed his arms behind his head.
“Not at all, you scoundrel! I-"
“You've got more experience than I think? All the better! Though where you boys up at Whitehall find the time-"
“It is nothing of the sort, and you know it!"
“Don't despair, Charlie boy. The ladies may seem to favour a dark type like me, but do you know, I've noticed they have a soft spot for you fair men, too. Especially if they have your strained, overworked look. They can tell your mind's not on them, see? Gives them a challenge."
Charles stood and took a step towards his friend. “Ned, I need your help, if you will listen. But so help me, if you go on much longer, I shall strangle you instead and go to the gallows happily! It would be worth it!"
Ned smiled lazily. “Go ahead, then, Charlie. Don't let me interrupt. That's only my best smuggled cognac you're drinking."
Charles halted in his tracks. He had been wary of the brandy from the first, but under the circumstances had not liked to air his suspicions. To have Ned's lawlessness-nay, his treachery, considering the war-thrown at him like that was nearly the last straw. He choked on an oath.
After a long silence, during which many expressions came to his mind and were rejected, he prepared to leave. There was only so much taunting to which he would submit himself in order to spare Louisa's honour. He put down his glass and took up his gloves.
Ned stopped him before he reached the door. “Only a joke, dear boy. It's not really Boney's cognac. My father laid it by ages ago. How may I serve you?"
The repentant note in Ned's voice persuaded him to turn back. Charles took his chair again, picked up his brandy and downed it with one gulp.
Ned's brows rose. “You must be in trouble,” he said, impressed. “This stuff's too good to waste like that. Remind me to serve you the cheaper poison next time."
Charles collected himself. Then, with a deep sigh, he related his meeting with Louisa-leaving out her name, of course, and abbreviating most of his thoughts. He told Ned about the letter he had sent to her guardian.
Ned listened, most surprisingly, without interrupting, and only laughed when told of the reception they had got at The Crown and Pear when they used his name.
“Good people, the Spadgers,” he said, “but they haven't got any love for me. I put up a lady friend there once, the prettiest little ladybird you ever saw, and that put them out. Took it out on you, did they?"
“And on Miss-the young lady I am escorting,” Charles said, catching himself. “But I must say she charmed them into keeping her for the moment. What we need is-"
“Pretty is she?"
“What?"
“This friend of yours. Is she pretty?"
Charles felt himself colouring, a touch of anger mixed with his embarrassment. “I would say she is quite attractive, if you must know, though I find the colour of her hair somewhat objectionable. But what has that to say to anything? You must not have been listening to me if you think it has."
“Why, dear boy, it has everything to say! If you need a place to stay, you must bring her here and at once!"
Charles frowned at him. “Not on your life, Ned. And I will thank you to keep away from her. That is not why I've come to you for assistance."
Ned shrugged philosophically. “No harm in trying. Very well, why have you come?"
“I need a female, that's why."
“Another one, Charlie? My, you have turned wild."
Charles sighed with little control. “Someone to act as companion, Ned. Don't be so crass."
Ned rose and came over to fill his glass again. “If it were me, I'd say you had all the company you need, dear boy. But if it's respectability you want, I can provide it for you.” He raised his own cup in a toast. “I'll give you Miss Wadsdale for a Christmas present-with a ribbon round her, if you wish."
“Is she your mother's companion?"
Ned nodded, raising his eyes to the ceiling expressively, “She is,” he said. “And I'd be grateful to you if you'd take her off my hands for the holidays. It's boring enough around here with m’ mother and sister, without having to suffer from her gibble-gabble.” He lifted his glass again. “Argle-bargle, if you prefer."
Charles ignored his impudence and began to relax with relief. “Thank goodness,” he said, and allowed himself for once to enjoy his cognac. The golden liquid burned his throat and soothed him simultaneously. “I'll take her gladly. Can I have her tonight?"
Ned smiled again, but kept the joke to himself. “You could if it were up to me,” he said. “But I'll have to do some talking to wean her away from m’ mother. You're a marquess-she'll like that. But she's not very amenable to change, so I won't be able to bring her to the mark that fast."
“Tomorrow, then. At dawn."
“Hold on there, boy! You could probably have her tomorrow, but what will you do with her if she comes?"
Charles drew his brows together. “As soon as she's comfortable, we'll set out immediately for London, of course."
Ned shook his head. “Tomorrow's Sunday have you forgotten? And you in the government."
Charles closed his eyes. He had forgotten the day. Of course they could not travel on Sunday. Not unless they could do so without being caught.
He looked questioningly at his host. Ned shook his head again. “Not on your life, Charles boy. Miss Wadsdale's pious. And if the Spadgers didn't inform on you, she would do so herself. Turn herself in to the magistrate, she would, rather than break the Sabbath."
“Oh, damn,” Charles said. He leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed. “Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. I'll have to come for her on Monday."
“Right,” Ned said, downing the contents of his glass in celebration.
Charles said anxiously, “You won't forget, will you? I need you to come through for me on this."
Ned eyed him mockingly. “Don't worry, Charlie boy. I'm just drunk, not weak in the head. My memory serves me well enough.” His grin turned mischievous. “For instance, I haven't forgotten the time you had the nude portrait delivered to the English master during class. I'll never forget his face."
Taken aback for a moment, Charles realized he had almost forgotten those days. He grinned, too, and then grimaced ruefully. “That wasn't me. That was just me under your influence."
“At least you had some friends then."
Charles pursed his lips. “I have friends now, thank you. Just not much time to see them in, that's all. I'd best be going."
He put down his glass and stood. Then he remembered something. “Lou-the young lady left her baggage in Gretna Green. How should I go about finding her some clothes?"
Ned cocked an eye. “If it were me, Charlie boy, I-''
Charles nodded and sighed. “You should do better without the clothes, I know. But listen, Ned, will you stop playing these stupid games! And will you leave off with that abominable nickname!"
“Sorry, Wroxton. Old habit.” His smile was unrepentant.
Charles's lips curved. “0h-go drown yourself! What about the clothes?"
Ned put down his glass. “As it happens, you've come to the right place. Has she a good figure, this Miss Lou-?” He waited unsuccessfully for more.
Charles's cheeks grew warm. “I suppose this question is pertinent?"
“But of course it is, Charles!” Ned widened his eyes in innocence. “Can you doubt me? I need to know if my sister's clothes will fit her."
“Your sister's? But won't Miss Conisbrough mind?"
“She's not here,” Ned said. “And not due back for three days, at least."
Charles still looked doubtful, so Ned added, “I'll explain it to her myself when she gets here."
“Without embellishment, I hope. And you might leave my name out of it."
“Of course, dear boy. Soul of discretion. You can count on me. Meanwhile, I need a description of the young lady, please. From what you said about her hair, I deduce it is red."
“Quite. But what has that got to do with her size?"
“We're getting there. Be patient. But you wouldn't want the colour of her gowns to clash, would you? What about eye colour?"
“Blue.” Charles could not believe that Louisa would be too particular about the colour of her clothes under these circumstances. But Ned knew women better than he did.
Ned smiled appreciatively. “I'm getting a picture. Now about the figure. Slender or plump?"
Charles began to squirm. “Slender, I should say. Medium stature."
“Good. That sounds a bit like my sister. Unless the bosom-what would you say about her dairy?"
Charles exploded. “Really, Ned! This is a lady we're discussing!"
Ned raised both hands in defense. “Remember the clothes, dear boy. You want them to fit.” He lowered them then and said in a reasonable tone, “But I can understand your reluctance to be specific… especially if the young lady's form is better left undescribed. You always were the gentleman. I'll simply take it, then, that she's rather unwieldy, shall we say-"
“Damn it, Ned! There is nothing about Miss Davenport's figure that is in the least unwieldy! In fact, I would put her up against any of those ladybirds you're so fond of talking about!"
A satisfied smile broke over Ned's countenance. When he saw it, Charles gave a groan.
“Miss Davenport,” said Ned, rolling the name on his tongue. “Miss Louisa Davenport, I believe you said."
Charles buried his face in his hands. “So help me, Ned -''
“Can't say that I know her. But that's neither here nor there, I suppose."
Charles took a deep breath. Then he managed to continue, “So help me, Ned, if I hear one word of rumour in connection with her name, I shall come after you. Career or not, I'll run you through before I'll let you start the slightest scandal about her."
“Very proper, Charles. I should feel the same way in your shoes.” Ned's tone sobered slightly. “But I'm only a bit of a rake, you know. Not a blackguard. The lady's name is safe with me.
“But-” the teasing note was back “-I'm glad you've noticed all you have noticed, though. It tells me you're not quite the dry stick I thought you'd become. My advice is, take advantage of the situation. Nothing illegal, mind, but do enjoy yourself. “Now-” Ned sprang to his feet before Charles could lodge another protest. “I'll go tell my sister's maid to pack those clothes."
He left Charles alone in the library feeling wrung out by the shifts his emotions had undergone during the past half hour. More than a moment passed before Charles could decide whether he had been wise to come. But after he reflected, he determined that Ned's intentions were basically good. It would have been remarkable indeed if he had not taken the chance to avenge himself for Charles's past snubs, and the small bit of teasing to which Charles had been subjected was as nothing compared to the assistance Ned was giving him.
He would have to remember Ned, Charles decided. Rake or not, Ned had proved to be a true friend when he needed one.
When Ned came back, he was accompanied by a maid carrying two portmanteaus. The contents would be far more than Miss Davenport could possibly need, Charles reflected. At least, he thought so. But Ned seemed to take particular joy in supplying him with the clothes. And there was little Charles could say about them in front of the maid.
“Now,” Ned said, putting his arm about her. “You've heard what I said, Mary. Not a word to anyone about this-even to my sister. We must protect Lord Wroxton's reputation."
As the maid giggled, Charles swelled with suppressed indignation.
“Yessir, your lordship. I'll not breathe a word,” she said, giving Charles a roguish look.
After this, Charles escaped as soon as he could. He was relieved to be away from Ned and his mocking laughter.
But on the way back to the inn, he reflected that the visit had not been so bad, after all. He chuckled a bit when he remembered that episode at school with the portrait. Funny that he had forgotten.
The fire from Ned's cognac, and an occasional laugh over one of Ned's outrageous remarks, warmed him as he made his way back to The Crown and Pear.