Ned smiled lazily. “Go ahead, then, Charlie. Don't let me interrupt. That's only my best smuggled cognac you're drinking."
Charles halted in his tracks. He had been wary of the brandy from the first, but under the circumstances had not liked to air his suspicions. To have Ned's lawlessness-nay, his treachery, considering the war-thrown at him like that was nearly the last straw. He choked on an oath.
After a long silence, during which many expressions came to his mind and were rejected, he prepared to leave. There was only so much taunting to which he would submit himself in order to spare Louisa's honour. He put down his glass and took up his gloves.
Ned stopped him before he reached the door. “Only a joke, dear boy. It's not really Boney's cognac. My father laid it by ages ago. How may I serve you?"
The repentant note in Ned's voice persuaded him to turn back. Charles took his chair again, picked up his brandy and downed it with one gulp.
Ned's brows rose. “You must be in trouble,” he said, impressed. “This stuff's too good to waste like that. Remind me to serve you the cheaper poison next time."
Charles collected himself. Then, with a deep sigh, he related his meeting with Louisa-leaving out her name, of course, and abbreviating most of his thoughts. He told Ned about the letter he had sent to her guardian.
Ned listened, most surprisingly, without interrupting, and only laughed when told of the reception they had got at The Crown and Pear when they used his name.
“Good people, the Spadgers,” he said, “but they haven't got any love for me. I put up a lady friend there once, the prettiest little ladybird you ever saw, and that put them out. Took it out on you, did they?"
“And on Miss-the young lady I am escorting,” Charles said, catching himself. “But I must say she charmed them into keeping her for the moment. What we need is-"
“Pretty is she?"
“What?"
“This friend of yours. Is she pretty?"
Charles felt himself colouring, a touch of anger mixed with his embarrassment. “I would say she is quite attractive, if you must know, though I find the colour of her hair somewhat objectionable. But what has that to say to anything? You must not have been listening to me if you think it has."
“Why, dear boy, it has everything to say! If you need a place to stay, you must bring her here and at once!"
Charles frowned at him. “Not on your life, Ned. And I will thank you to keep away from her. That is not why I've come to you for assistance."
Ned shrugged philosophically. “No harm in trying. Very well, why have you come?"
“I need a female, that's why."
“Another one, Charlie? My, you have turned wild."
Charles sighed with little control. “Someone to act as companion, Ned. Don't be so crass."
Ned rose and came over to fill his glass again. “If it were me, I'd say you had all the company you need, dear boy. But if it's respectability you want, I can provide it for you.” He raised his own cup in a toast. “I'll give you Miss Wadsdale for a Christmas present-with a ribbon round her, if you wish."
“Is she your mother's companion?"
Ned nodded, raising his eyes to the ceiling expressively, “She is,” he said. “And I'd be grateful to you if you'd take her off my hands for the holidays. It's boring enough around here with m’ mother and sister, without having to suffer from her gibble-gabble.” He lifted his glass again. “Argle-bargle, if you prefer."
Charles ignored his impudence and began to relax with relief. “Thank goodness,” he said, and allowed himself for once to enjoy his cognac. The golden liquid burned his throat and soothed him simultaneously. “I'll take her gladly. Can I have her tonight?"
Ned smiled again, but kept the joke to himself. “You could if it were up to me,” he said. “But I'll have to do some talking to wean her away from m’ mother. You're a marquess-she'll like that. But she's not very amenable to change, so I won't be able to bring her to the mark that fast."
“Tomorrow, then. At dawn."
“Hold on there, boy! You could probably have her tomorrow, but what will you do with her if she comes?"
Charles drew his brows together. “As soon as she's comfortable, we'll set out immediately for London, of course."
Ned shook his head. “Tomorrow's Sunday have you forgotten? And you in the government."
Charles closed his eyes. He had forgotten the day. Of course they could not travel on Sunday. Not unless they could do so without being caught.
He looked questioningly at his host. Ned shook his head again. “Not on your life, Charles boy. Miss Wadsdale's pious. And if the Spadgers didn't inform on you, she would do so herself. Turn herself in to the magistrate, she would, rather than break the Sabbath."
“Oh, damn,” Charles said. He leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed. “Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. I'll have to come for her on Monday."
“Right,” Ned said, downing the contents of his glass in celebration.
Charles said anxiously, “You won't forget, will you? I need you to come through for me on this."
Ned eyed him mockingly. “Don't worry, Charlie boy. I'm just drunk, not weak in the head. My memory serves me well enough.” His grin turned mischievous. “For instance, I haven't forgotten the time you had the nude portrait delivered to the English master during class. I'll never forget his face."
Taken aback for a moment, Charles realized he had almost forgotten those days. He grinned, too, and then grimaced ruefully. “That wasn't me. That was just me under your influence."
“At least you had some friends then."
Charles pursed his lips. “I have friends now, thank you. Just not much time to see them in, that's all. I'd best be going."
He put down his glass and stood. Then he remembered something. “Lou-the young lady left her baggage in Gretna Green. How should I go about finding her some clothes?"
Ned cocked an eye. “If it were me, Charlie boy, I-''
Charles nodded and sighed. “You should do better without the clothes, I know. But listen, Ned, will you stop playing these stupid games! And will you leave off with that abominable nickname!"
“Sorry, Wroxton. Old habit.” His smile was unrepentant.
Charles's lips curved. “0h-go drown yourself! What about the clothes?"
Ned put down his glass. “As it happens, you've come to the right place. Has she a good figure, this Miss Lou-?” He waited unsuccessfully for more.
Charles's cheeks grew warm. “I suppose this question is pertinent?"
“But of course it is, Charles!” Ned widened his eyes in innocence. “Can you doubt me? I need to know if my sister's clothes will fit her."
“Your sister's? But won't Miss Conisbrough mind?"
“She's not here,” Ned said. “And not due back for three days, at least."
Charles still looked doubtful, so Ned added, “I'll explain it to her myself when she gets here."
“Without embellishment, I hope. And you might leave my name out of it."
“Of course, dear boy. Soul of discretion. You can count on me. Meanwhile, I need a description of the young lady, please. From what you said about her hair, I deduce it is red."
“Quite. But what has that got to do with her size?"
“We're getting there. Be patient. But you wouldn't want the colour of her gowns to clash, would you? What about eye colour?"
“Blue.” Charles could not believe that Louisa would be too particular about the colour of her clothes under these circumstances. But Ned knew women better than he did.
Ned smiled appreciatively. “I'm getting a picture. Now about the figure. Slender or plump?"
Charles began to squirm. “Slender, I should say. Medium stature."
“Good. That sounds a bit like my sister. Unless the bosom-what would you say about her dairy?"
Charles exploded. “Really, Ned! This is a lady we're discussing!"