Louisa somehow contrived to elicit whatever performance she wished out of Charles, something which made him question his sanity. Would anyone else he knew presume to instruct him-even with such delicacy as Louisa had displayed-to walk the dog before he retired to bed? His mother had made it a practice to discourage him from entering into any pursuit she deemed unworthy of him. He had become so accustomed to being spared such tasks that he had almost forgotten they existed. And yet, here he was, running the risk of contracting a chill, and performing a task so menial as to be insulting.
Charles had often prided himself on the fact that he did not stand upon his dignity as a marquess. Now he realized it seldom happened that anyone dared to trespass on that dignity. Perhaps that was the reason for his bizarre behaviour now.
Shock had robbed him of good sense. But he could not, he told himself firmly, let himself be continuously inveigled by a girl who had so little notion of propriety.
He resolved that, henceforth, Jim Spadger would be put in charge of taking the puppy out.
In the meantime, however, something had to come of this mission. For the tenth time in as many minutes, Charles bent to raise Eliza upon her feet and to give her a friendly pat upon the bottom. “Off you go, then,” he said, “down to business."
The puppy stumbled, then took a few tentative steps, lifting and shaking each paw as if the damp were offensive to her. Then, with something like a sigh of forlorn hope, she finally lowered her haunches and produced what was wanted.
“Good girl! Good girl!” Charles scooped her up as quickly as possible and headed back into the inn at a fast pace.
Eliza, who could not have been more surprised at her success, licked him all over the face.
Charles was highly gratified by this evidence of the dog's intelligence and of her good intentions. He muttered a wish that Louisa could be so easily governed.
It was the wound to his dignity then, provoked by Louisa, and not a lack of charity with the puppy, that caused Charles to retire in a resentful state of mind. He allowed the dog to sleep on one of his boots near the hearth, which would have scandalized his valet if he had known; but Charles had seen the wistful look she had given the bed.
“My apologies, Eliza,” he said, reaching down to give her a pat. “But the floor will be quite good enough for you!"
He awakened in the night, freezing from a lack of covers. Somehow in his sleep, the thick down quilt that covered his bed had slipped and fallen to the floor.
Charles groped for it in the dark, then as he reached it and pulled it upward, heard a small thump and a yelp.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, only now remembering Eliza. Evidently, she had taken advantage of his loss to make herself a bed. Charles reckoned he must have tossed in his sleep more than usual to cause the coverlet to fall, for as a rule he was a quiet sleeper. He settled it over him again and laid his head back on his pillow.
After a few moments, he felt a tug. Then another… and another… until the quilt began to slip off him again.
Charles sat up and reached for the flint beside his bed. After lighting the lantern, he saw just who had been responsible for his discomfort.
With the corner of the quilt gripped firmly between her teeth, Eliza was pulling on it with all her might, her tail held high in the air.
Charles watched in amazement until she had pulled the cover completely off the bed, climbed upon it and turned one… two… three circles, before curling into a ball on the nest she had made.
He knew he ought to be angry with her, but found instead that he was unaccountably proud to discover his dog's genius. At her present size-she could not weigh much over four pounds-she had conceived her plan and executed it against the physical odds.
He scooped her up in one hand and held her hanging so that her nose faced his.
“You're a prodigy,” he told her. She wagged her tail and tried to lick him in the face again, but he held her off.
“No, no more of that.” Charles reached down for the coverlet again, spread it over himself and placed Eliza on top of it near the foot of the bed.
“We'll share just this once,” he told her. “You seem to have earned the privilege."
He settled back down. Then he paused to marvel at his own behaviour, and gave a reluctant laugh. Louisa, he conceded, would have the last word even when absent. He had no doubt that this had been her wish all along.
In the morning, Charles had a strong desire to tell Louisa about Eliza's cleverness; but to do so would expose his own weakness, something he vowed he would not do.
At breakfast, however, Louisa persisted in feeding the dog from the table, and he was forced to say, “Louisa, if you must disoblige me in spoiling Eliza, please have the goodness to make her work for her food."
Louisa gave him a disparaging look.
“Charles, Eliza is far too young to train. Why, I suppose you would have me teach her to sit and beg! She couldn't begin to learn that at her age."
“Of course she could. She's quite intelligent-aren't you, Eliza? Come here, please."
At the sound of his voice, the dog turned and, seeing bacon in his hand, came running.
“Now, tell her to sit, Charles,” said Louisa, still sceptical. “I'm sure she will understand you."
He ignored her. “Eliza,” he said in a voice of authority. “Sit.” At the same time, with his hand, he cupped Eliza's chin and forced it up.
Eliza landed on her tail with a small thump.
Charles petted her, told her she was a good girl and gave her some bacon. He repeated this action several times. Then he tried it without using his hand.
At the sound of the word “Sit” Eliza hesitated only a moment before plopping her bottom down on the floor.
Charles rewarded her, and with only a glance at Louisa to see how she was taking his triumph, went back to his own meal. The sight of her eyes, round with amazement, gave him a surge of pleasure which was not diminished by the realization that the dog had taken the better portion of his breakfast.
Finally, Louisa spoke. “Why, Charles, I'm completely mortified! I thought you called the dog intelligent because she gazes at you with those adoring eyes. But she really is, isn't she?"
“Something of a genius, I'd say,” Charles replied, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “I had ample evidence last night."
Louisa eyed him curiously. “What happened last night to make you-''
Realizing he had led her towards the fact he did not mean to divulge, he interrupted with, “Suffice it to say that we made a start on her training. She's perfectly biddable, as it turns out. Now, Louisa,” he said, hastening to change the subject, “how do you mean to spend the day?"
Louisa brightened. “I had thought I might decorate Mrs. Spadger's parlour for Christmas. She and her husband will be busy decking the house outside, and it would be nice if the parlour looked festive, too."
Charles frowned. “I'm not at all certain that's appropriate. Have you nothing else you can do?"
“I had thought we might attend the service this morning."
He puzzled over that for a moment. “I don't know if it would be wise for us to be seen together outside the inn."
Louisa rolled her eyes, as if she despaired of him. “Come now, Charles! Surely, if I were your light o’ love, you would not take me to church!"
Charles choked on his coffee. “Louisa, I beg you will watch your tongue!"
With the puppy there as something neutral to focus his attention on, Charles had managed to keep other images out of his mind-images, he was resolved, that had no business invading his thoughts while Louisa was in his care. Now, with one phrase, she had managed to conjure them back.
Even now he found it hard to meet her eyes when she gazed at him so innocently. The pale green sprigged muslin gown she wore had caught his attention as soon as she had curtsied to him that morning. Miss Conisbrough, he decided, like her brother, had quite immodest notions of dress. The way the gown had been cut to hug the figure had even made him wonder if she might not be one of those ladies who dampened her petticoats.