Louisa had the sensitivity not to probe any further. She said instead, “I must confess there are times, when the general is crabby and my aunt seems listless, that I find my own spirits flagging. But I refuse to let them. I double my efforts and can usually think of enough… flummery, if you will, that I can coax at least one chuckle from the general."
Charles laughed. “I imagine you do. You have certainly coaxed more than one from me."
Louisa coloured and looked away. He was surprised to see how strongly his words had affected her. A pulse began to race in his throat.
Louisa recovered and said pertly, “But you are not half so crabby as the general!” She rose quickly to her feet and picked up the bough. “Will you hand me upon the stool, please?"
Her arms were both taken with the “kissing bough."
Charles took her elbow and put one hand upon her waist to help her up. He kept it there to steady her while she reached for the ceiling and fumbled with the heavy bough. With every passing moment he became more and more conscious of her waist beneath his hands…
All at once, Louisa seemed to wobble. Her fingers struggled with the rope she had fixed to attach the bough. A warm blush suffused her face and breast. She cast a look at Charles from beneath her lashes.
“I believe this ceiling is too high for me,” she said breathlessly. “Perhaps you would be willing to affix it?"
Charles swallowed hard and took a step backwards, releasing her carefully. “Certainly,” he said.
He put out a hand to help her, and Louisa climbed down. Without meeting her gaze, Charles took the bough from her and stepped up to reach the beam.
In a minute, he had fastened it securely. He jumped down again, careful not to land beneath the mistletoe.
Hanging a “kissing bough” was certainly a common enough custom, though under the circumstances he found himself questioning Louisa's wisdom in hanging one. While they ate dinner tonight, it would be just there, hovering between them. A less honourable man might take its presence for an invitation.
But, Charles thought with a grimace, if it were not for Ned and his scheme to plant wayward thoughts in his mind, they might have hung the damned thing without embarrassment.
Striving to keep Ned and his conspiracy in mind, Charles took a step backwards to admire his work.
“There,” he said, avoiding Louisa's gaze. “You must think this is enough at last. Besides, we shall be leaving tomorrow. It is a pity all our work will go for someone else."
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."