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.
Chapter Six
In the morning, Charles tried to take a brisk approach to their departure, but he found that Louisa, though up, was far from ready.
“I'm afraid the packing is taking longer than I expected,” she explained at breakfast. “I want to take good care
