Her exit, which sounded like a dismissal, left Charles standing speechless. The general, however, was not so struck.
“Hoyden!” he called after her. Charles was convinced the man would have launched his cane after her in a fit of temper if he had not been present.
He could see by the general's heightened colour that Louisa had stolen a march on him. She had wrecked her uncle's battle plan and exploded his charges. He could do nothing now but sit and stare uneasily at his guest.
If Louisa's last words had not so unsettled Charles, he might have found it hard to keep from smiling at the way she had pulled the rug out from under her uncle. But her tone had sounded so final-as if she never wanted to see him again.
The general's eyes were upon him. Charles felt an urgent need to get away, but he rallied enough to say, “I agree with Miss Davenport, sir. I see nothing to discuss. The weather prevented us from making as good time as I had originally hoped. That… and the holidays."
The memory of those days filled him with longing as he continued, “As to Miss Davenport's elopement, she has explained to me some of her circumstances. I think if you will listen to her reasons for it, you will find they were not of the usual variety. In spite of her present manner, I assure you that she heartily regrets her hasty action. And you can rest assured that nothing of the kind will ever happen again."
The general thumped his cane upon the floor. “Humph! Are you suggesting I do not know how to govern my niece? She shall live on bread and water, sir! Bread and water!"
Charles could recognize the impotent fury of an old man. Still, he felt his anger mounting.
“If I hear,” he said with terrible emphasis, “that Miss Davenport has been submitted to unjust punishment of any kind, I shall be most displeased."
He pulled his gloves from his hat and gave a curt bow. “I shall take my leave of you, General, for the time being."
He did not wait for the general's goodbye, or for any word of gratitude. Louisa's exit from the room had left him cold. A curious rage had taken hold of him, and he gave full vent to it once the carriage door had closed behind him.
Eliza leapt upon him as soon as he sat down, but that did nothing to soothe his temper. He cursed General Davenport roundly for a fool and a scoundrel, while holding the puppy off. After making several ineffectual swipes at his face with her tongue, Eliza settled down and listened glumly to his tirade.
Charles had given Timothy the order to set him down at Wroxton House, where he had left his valet. But not even the sight of that talented servant could do anything to lift his spirits. He was oblivious to the startled look the man gave him when Charles thrust Eliza into his arms and instructed him to walk her before leaving her in his room for the night-just as he failed to notice the footman's enquiring gaze and Timothy's raised eyebrows.
Neither a coal fire nor a bowl of Lamb's Wool punch, skillfully concocted from hot ale, could cure Charles's malaise. Its sugar and spices turned sour on his tongue; the roasted apples and thick cream sat heavily on his stomach. Nothing could compare to the fare he had enjoyed in the Spadgers’ house.
It was plain, besides, that he had not been expected. His rooms at Wroxton House still held a chill even though the grates had been heaped high upon his arrival.
As he sat slumped in his chair, surrounded by splendour, the flames in the hearth leapt and danced before his eyes, but the circle of heat did not reach him.
He retired to bed, wondering what the devil was wrong with him, and more specifically, why he should feel so angry with himself.
Chapter Ten
London was almost empty. Whitehall was deserted, just as Charles had told Louisa it would be.
Charles tried hard to carry on, but found there was not much reason for being in a place where there was no minister to report to and no underlings to receive reports from. He tried to write, but whenever he sat down, he found his mind wandering.
The bleakness of Whitehall, the chill of its corridors, the darkness of the chambers contrasted sharply with the warmth of the past few days-days of frustration, it was true, but with troubles more happily resolved. And always a cozy fire, Eliza's antics to amuse him, and Louisa to stimulate him with her crazy ideas and charming laughter, her courageous stunts and her lovely face. He found that the colour of her hair, that to which he had formerly objected so strongly, was now the only shade he admired.
Charles wondered what the general had chosen for her punishment. He wanted to call, but then decided she might not like to be reminded of his part in her disgrace. Her final words to him had been clear. She had no desire to see him again.
He could not forget that in the privacy of his carriage, she had withdrawn her hands from his. Even had she not told him of her wish not to marry, it was inevitable that a distance should grow between them. Certainly they could not keep up the easy camaraderie they had come to know while travelling together. Louisa had not been presented yet; she was not to go out in Society. It would appear strange if he were to call upon her.
Charles applied himself to his work and found that Louisa's notions for reform kept intruding, to the extent that he found it more productive to make notes on how they might be accomplished than to do his own tasks. He could not fool himself that he seriously regretted Lord Liverpool's absence. Charles had a burden on his conscience which would have weighed heavily when faced with the prime minister's complacency.
As the new year approached, a heavy fog settled on London, chilling everyone. The streets were dark and inhospitable. Charles moved through the fog to and from his home as if, though in Town, he were alone.
By New Year's Eve, his frustration and lack of spirit had grown to the point that he decided to abandon London to make a duty visit to his mother. Anything, he determined, would be preferable to being in a London so lifeless.
He gave instructions to his valet to pack for a week's stay and to precede him in the coach. He would follow in the chaise with Timothy.
Late that night, however, to put off his unpleasant task, he looked in on his club, something he had not done in months. Caught up in the management of the war on the Continent, he had not needed other stimuli. Now, with this curiously empty feeling upon him, for the first time in many years he missed the company of other men.
He had no sooner walked through the door at White's than a fellow member clapped him on the back.
“ Wroxton! I wish you joy!"
Surprised, Charles thanked him and returned the compliments of the season.
The fellow laughed.
“Cautious, eh? Can't say as I wouldn't be myself in this place. Have it your own way, my boy."
A few steps later, another acquaintance wished him a joyous Noël, tipped his hat and winked. Charles began to be glad he had come to White's. He had not enjoyed such warm feeling from his friends in years and reckoned they had missed him in his club, after all.
“What news do you have for us, Wroxton? Eh?” Portly Lord Hamsdale, who was usually in his cups, greeted him by resting an arm about his shoulder.
Since this particular gentleman had shown little, if any, interest in the war until now, preferring to make bets with his friends about the inclinations of this or that ladybird instead, Charles was taken aback. He tried to hide his irritation and began to give a brief account of Wellington's position.
Lord Hamsdale looked blank, then gave a bark of coarse laughter. “Not about that, m'boy. What about this affair of yours?"
Charles groped blindly for a moment. He personally had been working on troop dispersals in America, but he could not believe Lord Hamsdale would have any interest in that.
Lord Hamsdale did not leave him in the dark for long. “This red-haired chit, m’ boy-do you mean to marry the gel or not?"