“Please do.'
“And you will contrive to call me Louisa, I hope?'
“I shall do my best to fulfill whatever role I am assigned, but I warn you I am not accustomed to play- acting.'
“What a pity,” she said, and this time he thought he detected a touch of irony in her voice. “Then we shall have to confine your part to as few lines as possible. Just let me play the lead and I am sure we shall come about.'
Charles fell silent, fuming at the rebuke in her tone, but his pain was so intense that he had little mind to reflect on his lack of manners now. The few miles to Appleby, which should have passed quickly, seemed an eternity. Timothy was forced to walk the horses the last many yards.
When finally they arrived, Charles directed him to pull up at The Bull and Cock, instead of The George, where he had once stayed, however many years ago.
The sound of their wheels alerted the innkeeper, who was surprised to find anyone travelling so long after dark. The crest on Charles's coach impressed him forcibly, however, so he listened to Louisa's brief explanations without protest. His inn was empty this time of year, and he was not likely to turn away such rich travellers as a marquess and his cousin. If he wondered why the marquess had stopped at his house instead of at The George, which enjoyed almost all the aristocratic custom coming this way, he did not comment. He bustled about with the baggage, enquiring which rooms their bags should be carried to.
“Put them in my cousin's room,” Louisa said. “It is a long story-rather tedious-but I have none of my things with me just now. We hope our servants will catch up with us before tomorrow. Perhaps your wife would lend me something for the night.'
“I-I'll see, miss,” he stammered at the strange request. “She'll be reet happy to help ye, I'll warrant.'
“Very good,” Louisa said unconcernedly. “But I hope you will give your attention to my cousin first. He is suffering with the headache. A large bowl of punch will be just what he needs.'
On his way upstairs at the moment, Charles paused in surprise at her words. He had not said anything about his headache. It shamed him to think that she had noticed, pointing out as nothing else could how abominable his manners had been. But, he reflected, perhaps she had only made up a headache to deflect the innkeeper's questions. With Miss Davenport, it was impossible to know.
Whatever her motives, her suggestion of a warm punch was just what he had longed for. By the time he descended to their private parlour, the bowl was waiting for him, with a warm fire and a comfortable chair pulled up to it. Looking freshened, Louisa was standing before the hearth, her hair matching the colour of the flames. She stepped aside and urged him into the chair, then served him the punch with her own hands.
“Thank you,” he said self-consciously.
Louisa flashed him a smile. “Remember not to be too polite to me,” she whispered. “You're supposed to be my cousin, remember?'
“Were I your cousin,” he responded, managing a slight smile himself, “I should have been more polite than I was. You must forgive me.'
“Not at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I could tell you had the headache. It would have been something to wonder at, indeed, had you maintained your temper this long.” She retired to another chair and said, “For now, I suggest you close your eyes and forget that I am here. That is more likely to cure you than anything else.'
A chuckle escaped him, but he did close his eyes. Privately, he doubted whether such a flighty young lady would be capable of staying silent for long, but Miss Davenport proved him wrong.
She sat in her chair without making a sound. The unaccustomed presence of another person should have made him tense, but instead he found her stillness vaguely comforting. The heat from the fire spread slowly through his clothing and warmed his frozen limbs, making them tingle. The innkeeper's excellent punch flowed through his veins and radiated a matching glow from inside. Warmed now, and relaxed, he managed to doze off and did not awake until the innkeeper had brought in their supper.
The man's wife helped him to serve it, and Louisa directed them as quietly as possible, only calling Charles when everything was set upon the table. If she had not been there to discourage him, the innkeeper would certainly have asked Charles to express his preferences for this or that meat or drink and driven him to distraction, when all he cared about was rest.
Louisa's selections appeared to be good ones: some local ham baked in a pasty, boiled potatoes and turnips, with cheese for their dessert. He complimented her on them as he joined her at table. The innkeeper and his wife had left them alone.
She looked up and smiled. “Telling faradiddles is not my only talent. I am quite accustomed to arranging meals, Cousin Charles.'
Surprise at this form of address made him pause with his fork halfway to his mouth.
“There-I've said it,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “The first jump is always the hardest. You might practise my name a time or two for when you will need it!'
He was recovered now. Still, it had seemed odd to hear his name on her lips. No one called him Charles, not even his mother.
“Louisa,” he ventured in kind, “I would be very much obliged if you would pass me the salt.'
She reached for the cellar, her eyes twinkling. “I should think so indeed, Charles, if I were not under such heavy obligation to you.” She glanced at him teasingly. “As it is, however, I should think we could forget this one small favor!'
Charles grinned, embarrassed. He knew he must seem quite the prig to her. But then anyone must seem so to a girl who had recently eloped. He found it strange and unsettling to be sitting down to a private dinner with a young lady he hardly knew. The impropriety of it tied his tongue.
Feeling his ill temper about to return, he changed the subject. “You said you were accustomed to arranging for meals?'
“Yes, and for crotchety people, too.'
He glanced at her, wondering if she included him in this category. But she explained, “My aunt Davenport is an invalid, and the general is quite hard to please. He's gouty.'
“General Davenport?” Charles nearly dropped his fork. “You mean, General Davenport is your uncle?'
“I'm afraid so. My great-uncle, to be precise.'
Charles put his hand to his brow, but realized with surprise that his headache had gone. He looked up instead.
“Dare-devil Davenport?'
She nodded.
“Dreadnought Davenport?'
She smiled apologetically.
Charles concluded hopelessly, “He'll have my hide.'
Louisa chuckled. “I shouldn't worry. He's mellowed considerably since his fighting days. The gout has had a beneficial effect upon his temper. He's not so daring anymore.'
“Perhaps he's left that to you.” She had escaped from such a guardian, and yet she was returning to him without any particular sign of fear. Charles could not decide whether to be impressed by her courage or appalled by her foolhardiness. “How did you manage to run off without his knowing?'
“I used the drainpipe.'
“Good Lord!'
Louisa arched her brows. “They are sturdier than you think. And I did not do it in broad daylight, so you needn't look so shocked!'
“But-” Charles felt the questions, which had brewed inside him all day, threaten to burst out. “But why did you do it? Did the general disapprove of this Geoffrey fellow?'
“The general does not want me to marry at all. He says I am too young.'
“And are you?'
“Not at all! I am eighteen! So you see how unreasonable he is. He wasn't willing to bring me out this year, and he refuses to let me marry until I've been properly brought out.'
“What's wrong with that?'
