Mistletoe and Mischief by Patricia Wynn Page A

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