“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, to 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.”
Louisa's hair was flaming in the firelight. She looked anything but abashed or contrite and even winked at Charles as she spoke.
The wink provoked a smile from him. A mistake, as the general's next comment proved.
“You'd best get along! Time for his lordship and me to have a chat.”
Louisa had started for the door, but at that, she whirled round and said forcefully, “You will say nothing to shame his lordship into offering for me, please! There is no need!
“And besides–” she turned and curtsied to Charles with impeccable dignity, as if she had said nothing to startle him “–I have discovered that I have no wish to marry. Good night, and thank you again, Lord Wroxton. We shall disturb you no further.”
Her exit, which sounded like a dismissal, left Charles standing speechless. The general, however, was not so struck.
“Hoyden!” he called after her. Charles was convinced the man would have launched his cane after her in a fit of temper if he had not been present.
He could see by the general's heightened colour that Louisa had stolen a march on him. She had wrecked her uncle's battle plan and exploded his charges. He could do nothing now but sit and stare uneasily at his guest.
If Louisa's last words had not so unsettled Charles, he might have found it hard to keep from smiling at the way she had pulled the rug out from under her uncle. But her tone had sounded so final--as if she never wanted to see him again.
The general's eyes were upon him. Charles felt an urgent need to get away, but he rallied enough to say, “I agree with Miss Davenport, sir. I see nothing to discuss. The weather prevented us from making as good time as I had originally hoped. That... and the holidays.”
The memory of those days filled him with longing as he continued, “As to Miss Davenport's elopement, she has explained to me some of her circumstances. I think if you will listen to her reasons for it, you will find they were not of the usual variety. In spite of her present manner, I assure you that she heartily regrets her hasty action. And you can rest assured that nothing of the kind will ever happen again.”
The general thumped his cane upon the floor. “Humph! Are you suggesting I do not know how to govern my niece? She shall live on bread and water, sir! Bread and water! “
Charles could recognize the impotent fury of an old man. Still, he felt his anger mounting.
“If I hear,” he said with terrible emphasis, “that Miss Davenport has been submitted to unjust punishment of any kind, I shall be most displeased.”
He pulled his gloves from his hat and gave a curt bow. “I shall take my leave of you, General, for the time being.”
He did not wait for the general's goodbye, or for any word of gratitude. Louisa's exit from the room had left him cold. A curious rage had taken hold of him, and he gave full vent to it once the carriage door had closed behind him.
Eliza leapt upon him as soon as he sat down, but that did nothing to soothe his temper. He cursed General Davenport roundly for a fool and a scoundrel, while holding the puppy off. After making several ineffectual swipes at his face with her tongue, Eliza settled down and listened glumly to his tirade.
Charles had given Timothy the order to set him down at Wroxton House, where he had left his valet. But not even the sight of that talented servant could do anything to lift his spirits. He was oblivious to the startled look the man gave him when Charles thrust Eliza into his arms and instructed him to walk her before leaving her in his room for the night–just as he failed to notice the footman's enquiring gaze and Timothy's raised eyebrows.
Neither a coal fire nor a bowl of Lamb's Wool punch, skillfully concocted from hot ale, could cure Charles's malaise. Its sugar and spices turned sour on his tongue; the roasted apples and thick cream sat heavily on his stomach. Nothing could compare to the fare he had enjoyed in the Spadgers' house.
It was plain, besides, that he had not been expected. His rooms at Wroxton House still held a chill even though the grates had been heaped high upon his arrival.