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 taken 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 forget 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.
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 them, 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.