“I am certain you would never force your attentions on an unwilling female, would you?"
Charles struggled with the answer and then told the truth, “No. Not if she were unwilling."
“And it is the unwillingness that makes certain behaviours improper. Do you not agree?"
He nodded, confused as to where this reasoning was taking them.
But Louisa only smiled and said, “There, you see."
She held out her hand for another branch.
Charles reached for one to avoid meeting her gaze. He found himself wondering if Louisa was willing or not. She had not said.
But then, it was just this sort of thinking he was trying to avoid. He retreated to the safety of their original topic.
“All the same, Louisa, I would prefer you not to mention Geoffrey in front of Jim again."
“As you wish, Charles."
Louisa continued with her decorating, humming a little tune as she did. After a moment, she added, “I only mentioned Geoffrey because I thought I should tell you about an idea I had and about which he was so disobliging."
“What idea?” Charles asked warily.
Louisa ignored his cautious tone and went on, “As soon as I saw how fond you are of dogs, I was certain you would wish to hear about it. On our way north, I saw a number of dogs without masters-miserably thin-one could see they were starving. And I would have stopped to pick them up, only Geoffrey forbade it. Considering the haste he wished to make, I could almost forgive him for it, but it was his reaction to my idea that first awoke me to his true character."
Charles smiled at the picture her words conjured up: an eloping couple, their carriage weighed down by a pack of starving curs; a harried bridegroom, struggling to make time; and Louisa, turning red and sneezing into the bargain.
He could almost sympathize with Geoffrey. Charles knew he should stop Louisa's confidences before she suggested another bill he should put before the Lords; but a sudden curiosity about Geoffrey and his faults prevented him.
She continued, “I had the notion of a private society which could succour homeless animals. What do you think about that, Charles?"
Charles's jaw dropped open. He stammered, “And you say this Geoffrey fellow disapproved of your notion?"
She nodded, indignant at the memory.
Charles drew a deep breath. “Then I begin to discover a common feeling with the fellow at last. Louisa, you cannot imagine how much such a thing would cost!"
“Oh, yes, I can, Charles. It would cost a great deal. That is why I think we should raise funds for it."
“But-Louisa, would you plan to go on feeding these useless animals forever? What would that serve?"
“I would hope to find homes for them. Do not forget how easily you were persuaded to take Eliza.” She gazed at him hopefully.
Charles took a breath that swelled his chest. He shook his head once, and then again more forcefully. At times like these, he found Louisa's logic astounding.
“No,” he said aloud. “Louisa, I'm afraid I must side with Geoffrey. That is an impossible notion."
Disappointment clouded her eyes. She began to finger the branch in her hands.
“I was so certain you would understand…"
Charles began stammering, “I do-of course I do understand your impulse. You are kind and generous! But it simply cannot be done!"
Louisa had perked up at his compliment. But at his final words, her face turned wistful. “If you are very certain, Charles…"
She turned her back on him and tried rather listlessly to fix the branch above a window. Charles found himself staring at her shoulders, at the gown stretched tightly across her back, at the high waist which shifted with each of her movements to cup her breasts. She stood on tiptoe and her arms rose above her head to loop a piece of rope across the curtain, the skin as smooth and white as satin.
He felt a deep desire to make her turn around and smile at him.
“Of course…” he ventured, searching his mind frantically for something to cheer her, “the other thing you mentioned about a piece of legislation to restrict cruelty to animals-I rather see the sense in that."
He spoke the truth. Now that he had taken the time to think about her proposal, he could see nothing wrong with it precisely. Good stewardship was a basic principle of good government. No reason it should not extend to animals, after all.
Louisa whirled to face him. “Charles! Do you really think so?"
The smile he had longed to see beamed down at him.
“Now, I only said that I see the sense in it,” he responded cautiously. “I cannot speak for my colleagues. Chances are, they will require time to get used to the idea, but I see no harm in mentioning it."
“Charles!” In her delight, Louisa gave him both her hands, and he held them to his lips for a moment. Her eyes shone down at him like a sunlit sky.
Then, recovering his senses, he released her hands and waved off the praise she seemed so eager to shower on him.
As she turned to her task again, Louisa concluded, “And Charles, you must never again liken yourself to Geoffrey, even in jest! I will not allow it!"
Charles felt a cloud moving to block the glow of her approval. Truth to tell, he almost felt guilty for raising her hopes. His colleagues would laugh at the idea. But Charles was a man of his word, and no matter what it cost him, he resolved to raise the issue as soon as Boney was caught.
From time to time, Louisa held her hand out for another sprig of holly, and Charles found himself in the role of first assistant. By the time Jim returned with his pint, he had decided he might as well keep it up. It would be impossible to read undisturbed with two people climbing about the room in any case, and he did not mean to be driven from the parlour. Besides, he was certain Jim had other chores to do and should not linger.
Charles dismissed him.
Louisa seemed pleased that Charles had given up his own plans in order to help her. Together they strung garlands and looped them over the doors and windows. The amount of greenery seemed excessive; it was more the custom to use it outdoors for the conduits and street standards. But when they had finished, Charles had to admit that the effect of their work was beautiful. The hanging holly and bay turned the common parlour into a wooded bower. The scent of fir perfumed the air, mingling with the smoke of the fire.
When the windows and doors were all finished, Louisa sat by the fire and got to work fashioning a “kissing bough” for the ceiling. Charles stood beside her, silently staring at the crown of green in her hands.
She had fashioned a circle, and now she was adding to it the things Mrs. Spadger had donated: rosettes and ribbons in long streamers from which to suspend gifts; red apples for more colour; and candles, which would be lighted on Christmas Day. A sprig of mistletoe lay off to one side, the last to be attached.
“I haven't done anything like this since I was a boy and got in the servants’ way at Wroxton Hall,” Charles said, almost to himself.
Louisa turned her full attention on him. “Is that where you spend Christmas?"
“No. It's been years since I went home for Christmas.” The intense look from her blue eyes made him shift. “My mother does not care for such flummery."
“It is not flummery!” Louisa asserted. Then she said with a twinkle, “But even if it is, I enjoy it. Confess now, you have been amused, have you not?"
Charles grinned in acknowledgement. The truth was he had even caught himself humming a time or two, tunes he thought he had long ago forgotten.
He hesitated, but something prompted him to admit, “But I seldom enjoy Christmas."
“And why is that?"
He wished he had not begun, but since he had, he had to answer. “London seems deserted. Whitehall empties, as if there were no war on. Just a few of us stay on until the season's over, with nothing to do. No work can be accomplished."
“Then you ought to go home."
Charles grimaced. “I doubt that would change my feelings for the holiday."