Mistletoe and Mischief Read Online Free Page B

he had longed for. By the time he descended to their private parlour, the bowl was waiting for him, with a warm fire and a comfortable chair pulled up to it. Looking freshened, Louisa was standing before the hearth, her hair matching the colour of the flames. She stepped aside and urged him into the chair, then served him the punch with her own hands.
    “Thank you,” he said self-consciously.
    Louisa flashed him a smile. “Remember not to be too polite to me,” she whispered. “You're supposed to be my cousin, remember?”
    “Were I your cousin,” he responded, managing a slight smile himself, “I should have been more polite than I was. You must forgive me.”
    “Not at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I could tell you had the headache. It would have been something to wonder at, indeed, had you maintained your temper this long.” She retired to another chair and said, “For now, I suggest you close your eyes and forget that I am here. That is more likely to cure you than anything else.”
    A chuckle escaped him, but he did close his eyes. Privately, he doubted whether such a flighty young lady would be capable of staying silent for long, but Miss Davenport proved him wrong.
    She sat in her chair without making a sound. The unaccustomed presence of another person should have made him tense, but instead he found her stillness vaguely comforting. The heat from the fire spread slowly through his clothing and warmed his frozen limbs, making them tingle. The innkeeper's excellent punch flowed through his veins and radiated a matching glow from inside. Warmed now, and relaxed, he managed to doze off and did not awake until the innkeeper had brought in their supper.
    The man's wife helped him to serve it, and Louisa directed them as quietly as possible, only calling Charles when everything was set upon the table. If she had not been there to discourage him, the innkeeper would certainly have asked Charles to express his preferences for this or that meat or drink and driven him to distraction, when all he cared about was rest.
    Louisa's selections appeared to be good ones: some local ham baked in a pasty, boiled potatoes and turnips, with cheese for their dessert. He complimented her on them as he joined her at table.  The innkeeper and his wife had left them alone.
    She looked up and smiled. “Telling faradiddles is not my only talent. I am quite accustomed to arranging meals, Cousin Charles.”
    Surprise at this form of address made him pause with his fork halfway to his mouth.
    “There–I've said it,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “The first jump is always the hardest. You might practise my name a time or two for when you will need it!”
    He was recovered now. Still, it had seemed odd to hear his name on her lips. No one called him Charles, not even his mother.
    “Louisa,” he ventured in kind, “I would be very much obliged if you would pass me the salt.”
    She reached for the cellar, her eyes twinkling. “I should think so indeed, Charles, if I were not under such heavy obligation to you.” She glanced at him teasingly. “As it is, however, I should think we could forget this one small favor!”
    Charles grinned, embarrassed. He knew he must seem quite the prig to her. But then anyone must seem so to a girl who had recently eloped. He found it strange and unsettling to be sitting down to a private dinner with a young lady he hardly knew. The impropriety of it tied his tongue. Confound it! What was the proper way to talk to her?
    Feeling his ill temper about to return, he changed the subject. “You said you were accustomed to arranging for meals?”
    “Yes, and for crotchety people, too.”
    He glanced at her, wondering if she included him in this category. But she explained, “My aunt Davenport is an invalid, and the general is quite hard to please. He's gouty.”
    “General Davenport?” Charles nearly dropped his fork. “You mean, General Davenport is your uncle?”
    “I'm