Mistletoe and Mischief

minister to report to and no underlings to receive reports from. He tried to write, but whenever he sat down, he found his mind wandering.

The bleakness of Whitehall, the chill of its corridors, the darkness of the chambers contrasted sharply with the warmth of the past few days-days of frustration, it was true, but with troubles more happily resolved. And always a cozy fire, Eliza's antics to amuse him, and Louisa to stimulate him with her crazy ideas and charming laughter, her courageous stunts and her lovely face. He found that the colour of her hair, that to which he had formerly objected so strongly, was now the only shade he admired.

Charles wondered what the general had chosen for her punishment. He wanted to call, but then decided she might not like to be reminded of his part in her disgrace. Her final words to him had been clear. She had no desire to see him again.

He could not forget that in the privacy of his carriage, she had withdrawn her hands from his. Even had she not told him of her wish not to marry, it was inevitable that a distance should grow between them. Certainly they could not keep up the easy camaraderie they had come to know while travelling together. Louisa had not been presented yet; she was not to go out in Society. It would appear strange if he were to call upon her.

Charles applied himself to his work and found that Louisa's notions for reform kept intruding, to the extent that he found it more productive to make notes on how they might be accomplished than to do his own tasks. He could not fool himself that he seriously regretted Lord Liverpool's absence. Charles had a burden on his conscience which would have weighed heavily when faced with the prime minister's complacency.

* * * *

As the new year approached, a heavy fog settled on London, chilling everyone. The streets were dark and inhospitable. Charles moved through the fog to and from his home as if, though in Town, he were alone.

By New Year's Eve, his frustration and lack of spirit had grown to the point that he decided to abandon London to make a duty visit to his mother. Anything, he determined, would be preferable to being in a London so lifeless.

He gave instructions to his valet to pack for a week's stay and to precede him in the coach. He would follow in the chaise with Timothy.

Late that night, however, to put off his unpleasant task, he looked in on his club, something he had not done in months. Caught up in the management of the war on the Continent, he had not needed other stimuli. Now, with this curiously empty feeling upon him, for the first time in many years he missed the company of other men.

He had no sooner walked through the door at White's than a fellow member clapped him on the back.

“ Wroxton! I wish you joy!'

Surprised, Charles thanked him and returned the compliments of the season.

The fellow laughed.

“Cautious, eh? Can't say as I wouldn't be myself in this place. Have it your own way, my boy.'

A few steps later, another acquaintance wished him a joyous Noel, tipped his hat and winked. Charles began to be glad he had come to White's. He had not enjoyed such warm feeling from his friends in years and reckoned they had missed him in his club, after all.

“What news do you have for us, Wroxton? Eh?” Portly Lord Hamsdale, who was usually in his cups, greeted him by resting an arm about his shoulder.

Since this particular gentleman had shown little, if any, interest in the war until now, preferring to make bets with his friends about the inclinations of this or that ladybird instead, Charles was taken aback. He tried to hide his irritation and began to give a brief account of Wellington's position.

Lord Hamsdale looked blank, then gave a bark of coarse laughter. “Not about that, m'boy. What about this affair of yours?'

Charles groped blindly for a moment. He personally had been working on troop dispersals in America, but he could not believe Lord Hamsdale would have any interest in that.

Lord Hamsdale did not leave him in the dark for long. “This red-haired chit, m’ boy-do you mean to marry the gel or not?'

A cold dread spread through Charles's limbs, followed by anger. He ignored his lordship's question and asked with outward calm, “Have you seen Ned Conisbrough, perhaps?'

“O’ course, m’ boy. In the other room. He's the one who's tipped the books. Laid down a cool five hundred that you'd be leg-shackled before Easter!”

Charles shook Lord Hamsdale's arm off his shoulder and strode furiously into the next room. He saw Ned there, playing at billiards.

“By God, Ned-!'

“Wroxton, my boy!” Ned raised his cue in the air and greeted him with all the appearance of delight. “What news do you have for us, eh? I could use a boost just now.'

“Ned, this is the outside of enough! I warned you not to mention this-'

“Now, Charlie, don't take a pet.” Ned came round the table and drew him aside. “No name given,” he whispered. “Soul of discretion, just as I promised. So where's the harm?'

“The harm-! Ned, so help me God, I'm calling you out!'

Ned gave him a wide-eyed stare. “But, Charlie-” At Charles's look, he corrected himself. “Very well, Wroxton. Surely you don't take offence at this! I helped you… didn't I?'

“And landed Miss Davenport in gaol! That's how much you helped us!'

Ned sobered. To see him nonplussed was almost worth all the trouble he had caused.

“Gaol! Look, Wroxton, I didn't mean-If there is anything-'

Charles relented enough to say, “It's quite all right now. Everything has been settled. But it don't mean that I want my affairs bandied about White's by a malicious pack of scoundrels!'

“Scoundrels! Charlie… these are your friends!'

“Who? Hamsdale?'

Ned scoffed, “Hang Hamsdale! Think of the rest!'

Charles did allow himself for one brief moment to think of the other men who had greeted him. There had been no malice in their greetings, just sincere good wishes. He recalled the warm feeling they had given him.

“All right,” he admitted grudgingly. “But it doesn't matter, Ned. There's to be no wedding.'

“What's the matter, man? Won't she have you?'

Charles started to shake his head, and then stammered, “I haven't proposed marriage to her.'

Scandalized Ned raised his brows. Charles said hotly, “There was no need-and you know it!'

“Of course! No need, dear boy. But I had fancied there was something in the air. My imagination, I suppose. Though I'm often right in these matters. Have a nose for it, you might say. Around here I'm considered something of an oracle.'

He shrugged disappointedly and said, “But if you insist, I shall have to say goodbye to five hundred pounds.'

His hopeful glance only served to irritate Charles once again, though but a minute before he had been ready to forgive Ned. He wanted to curse him roundly, but such behaviour was so unlike his normal self as to give him pause. What the deuce was wrong with him?

Something Ned had said-no, something he had first said himself came back to him now. No need. He recalled that Louisa had used those words to the general. Of course there was no need, and yet, for some reason, Charles had been bothered about that phrase ever since.

There would never be, for him, a need to marry, other than to produce an heir. But that was not the problem. It was Louisa's rejection of him, as if the days they had passed together could be dismissed so easily. If he could not forget them, how could she?

He realized suddenly that Ned was still waiting for his response, had been regarding him for some minutes with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement.

“Wool-gathering, old boy?'

Charles coloured and then punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Very well, Ned. You are off the hook this time. But let one syllable of her name be uttered and you will see my seconds on your doorstep.'