Charles caught her arm. “No need,” he said. “I promise to behave myself from now on."
She let it fall, then returned his sudden grin with a shy smile.
“Perhaps it is not such a heathen custom, after all,” he said quietly.
The remark seemed to please her; but true to their truce, she moved away and acted as if he had not made it.
Grateful, Charles sighed. They would never make it through the next two days if she continued to bat her eyelashes at him…
Charles tucked the Christmas piece she had written into his pocket. He had nothing to give her, so he judged it best to read it when he was alone.
Louisa, it seemed, had planned their day. She called to him from the doorway, “Come along, Charles. It is time to stir the Spadgers’ pudding."
“Whatever for?"
“For luck, of course."
He followed her to the kitchen, where Nan stood working at her stove. Eliza, who had leapt and scurried at their heels the whole way, fell quickly upon the meal Jim had set out for her.
Charles said, “You must tie up her ears, Jim, before she dips them in."
It was too late. Both her ears were already a few inches deep in food scraps. But Charles's comment had caused a grin to replace Jim's anxious look, just as he had intended.
Bob was sitting on a stool near the hearth, eating steadily. Thanks to Louisa and to Nan Spadger's cooking, the boy seemed to have gained a few pounds already and had lost that pinched look. He promised to be a fair charge on the Spadgers’ larder.
“It's good tha's come,” Nan said. “I be about ta put pudding in oven."
She had already added the egg yolks, cream and brandy. A delicious smell rose from the pot.
She handed the spoon to Louisa first, who closed her eyes tightly to make a wish. Her lashes, like pale feathers, brushed the ridge of her cheekbones. Charles watched her appreciatively until she gave the pot a stir and opened them again.
“What did you wish?"
She tilted her head indignantly. “I'm astonished at you, Charles. You know I mustn't tell or it won't come true.” She held out the spoon. “Now, it's your turn."
Charles retreated. “No, let someone else."
“Everyone's already had a turn, and Nan is waiting for us, so you must hurry!"
She forced the spoon into his hands, and he stepped forward. Of all the foolish customs-
Charles tried to think of a wish, but the aroma from the pudding and Louisa's warmth right next to him assailed his senses. All he could think of was how much he would love to kiss her again-and he mustn't wish for that.
He closed his eyes to her, to try to concentrate, but still was aware of some great yearning he had yet to define. His feelings were in confusion: the delicious smells in the kitchen, the heat from the fire, the tension from knowing their eyes were upon him. And underlying all, the fearsome aftermath of kissing Louisa.
In the end, he did the responsible thing and wished for Boney to be captured, which left him feeling deeply unsatisfied. To wish at all was childish and foolish, but as the day wore on Charles never lost the feeling that he had wasted a precious chance.
From stirring the pudding, they went to church for Morning Prayer. Then, before their dinner was ready, they took a stroll to see the garlands in the village. The day was clear and beautiful and not so cold that he needed to hold her hand to warm it. But even bundled in his greatcoat, Charles felt a glow from Louisa at his side.
Her cheerfulness drew him into her schemes for the day and made him smile. She entertained him through their dinner, suspending all her good works and projects during the meal so he could experience some leisure before returning to work. For the first time ever, the thought of going back to Whitehall made him sigh, but he was warmly grateful he had been spared Christmas Day there.
Dinner was a feast. Nearly as sumptuous as he would have got at Wroxton Hall, though much more intimate. He and Louisa alone shared the goose, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, the Christmas pudding and mincemeat in pastry coffins. They no sooner finished with one delight than Sammy brought them another, until they could hold no more. There seemed nothing to do after that but sit by the fire, fold their hands over their stomachs and groan about how much they had eaten.
Louisa's groaning, unladylike though it was, tickled Charles's funny-bone and made him want to tease her. He questioned her again about her wish, and when she was not forthcoming said, “I know what you wished for-to be married soon."
“Not necessarily,” she said. “I may have decided not ever to be married. You don't know."
He was strangely disappointed. And surprised.
“But I thought you wished to be married above all things."
Louisa's chin was in the air. “Perhaps-but I shall not tell you. I might have wished for something quite different entirely. I might have wished, for instance, for a life sufficiently long to see all my projects brought to fruition!"
“That would be impossible,” Charles told her, grinning. “You would no sooner finish one than think of another, so you could never reach the end."
She smiled wistfully. “True. But are they so terrible?"
He stared back at her, and felt warmth invading his outstretched limbs. “No. Not so terrible at all."
The evening passed, and they stayed together in the parlour, talking in this languid fashion. Charles felt drugged by the heavy meal, the Spadgers’ brandy and the heat from the fire. He sensed a tingling in his limbs that would not go away-not while they sat like this together. A movement from Louisa, a smile or a pout, and the tingle surged to a pulse and the pulse to a throb.
Only the languor brought on by Sammy's brandy kept him firmly in his chair, and for this reason, he indulged himself far more than usual. When the time came for Louisa to withdraw, he struggled to his feet, made her a careful bow and subsided into his chair once again.
He hardly knew whether he had touched her hand to his lips, as he had intended, or whether the taste of her still lingered from their kiss.
Chapter Nine
The day they were finally to set out for London saw a return of Charles's ill humour. The brandy he had imbibed contributed to his irritability, and not even the Spadgers’ offer of meals free of charge on the day after Christmas, according to their Yorkshire custom, could lift the clouds from his head.
Louisa was the one who saw to it that all their boxes and bags were packed before breakfast and that the horses were set to the carriage before dawn. Having expended very little effort himself, Charles found that they were soon on their way, with Eliza curled up on the seat beside him.
Nan, Sammy and Jim turned out in the yard to wish them a safe and speedy journey, and even Bob was persuaded to overcome his fear of the horses to wave them farewell. The carriage window framed them all as Timothy whipped the horses out of the yard.
As soon as their faces vanished, Charles felt a curious melancholy steal upon him. For the sake of Louisa's entertainment, he tried his best to conceal it, but this morning he discovered a certain constraint between them, whether because of the events of the previous days or the ordeal to come, he did not know.
Louisa confined her rather slight conversation to the weather and the sights they passed along the road. Charles had feared that she might try to take up other strays along their way, but instead, she hardly seemed to notice them. Finally, he concluded that she must be dreading the confrontation with her guardian and did his best to divert her thoughts from what lay ahead.
That night, they stopped in another inn. Fearing their proximity to London would increase the likelihood of their being recognized, Louisa suggested that they eat alone in their separate rooms. Charles concurred, though he realized how much he had looked forward to their last dinner together, hoping for a resumption of their easy discourse.