Page 2 of Libby's London Merchant
“You said these were desperate times,” Nez explained. “I require chocolate.”
Eustace let out a sigh that bordered between exasperation and defeat. “Can you never be serious?” he complained.
“No,” said the duke. He found a lump of chocolate among the thickened beef juices and helped himself. He rolled the chocolate around in his mouth like a connoisseur of fine wine, swallowed, and gently subsided back onto his pillow.
Eustace made a face. “How you can eat chocolate at a time like this?”
When the duke made no reply, Eustace sat down heavily in his chair. “I am desperate, man. I will run away.”
“Don’t do it,” the duke said from his soft spot on the floor. “How can you uphold the honor of our sex if you are dodging and running from what is obviously the fate of every man?”
Eustace was silent. He lowered himself to the floor and looked his good friend in the eye. “Well then, Nez, I require your help.”
The duke opened one eye, suspicion written all over his face. “I still recall our last combined effort. Eustace, doesn’t it bother you that there is one whole shire in the country where we daren’t ever show our faces again?”
“No,” Eustace said serenely. “Dorset always was a bore.” He prodded his friend. “Seriously, Nez, I think I just had a remarkable idea.”
“I don’t want to know it,” declared the duke as he pillowed his head more resolutely against his arm.
“Yes, you do,” Eustace insisted. “You told me only yesterday that you were bored and tired of the prize fillies on the marriage mart that your sister and mum keep trotting around the paddock.”
“Umm, so I did.”
Eustace Wiltmore was just warming to his subject. He pressed his fingers tight against his skull. “Suppose . . . now just suppose, Nez, and don’t look at me like that! Suppose you were to go to . . . Oh, where the devil . . .” He crawled to the fireplace, retrieved the crumpled paper, and spread it on the hearth, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Ah, here it is. To Holyoke Green in—where the deuce—in Kent. Pretend you’re a salesman of some sort—it doesn’t matter—a regular London merchant.”
The duke made a rude noise and Eustace sighed.
“I am continually amazed that you are tolerated in the best circles, Nez,” Eustace scolded.
“I don’t do that in the best circles,” his friend replied. “Been tempted, though.”
“Well, never mind. You have an accident in your carriage in front of the house, and they have to take you in, my boy. You don’t really have an accident, of course, but you pretend to.”
“Thank you,” the duke said. “You are so reassuring.”
“After you have looked over the girl of my father’s dreams, you carry a report to me in Brighton, where I will be enjoying a repairing lease. If the report is too grim, I will pack my bags and head for the Continent. I hear one can live there cheaply on bread and cheese. If the affair seems promising, I will go down in person.” Eustace gulped audibly and dabbed at his brow. “I may have to do my family duty yet, but you could ease the way considerably.”
“A London merchant? You’re daft.”
“Not at all,” Eustace argued. “Merely drunk. I will be sober in the morning, and it will still be a good idea. Consider its merits.”
The duke made another rude noise. Eustace sighed again.
“You’ve left something out, Eustace,” the duke said.
“What?” snapped Eustace.
“Why should I do this for you? Give me a good reason to do you this—or any—favor.”
Eustace sighed again, thought a moment, and pulled out his trump card. “I will remind you of the sow in the headmaster’s bed, Nez, and leave your conscience to do the rest.”
The duke opened his eyes and raised his brows. “That was breathtaking recovery indeed, Eustace,” he agreed. “You did prevent my rustication by taking the rap for that one. I suppose I owe you something.”
“You do, my dear, and I have been waiting these many years to collect,” Eustace said, his words slurred, but possessed of a certain virtuous tenor that not even a mizzled duke could mistake. “I will merely pause now and allow you to contemplate the virtues of duty and honor to one’s friends.”
He paused. The duke began to snore. Eustace observed in silence, steeling himself for the ordeal of rising, which he accomplished slowly and in stages. He crossed the room at angles and tugged on the bell pull. When the butler came, he requested his carriage and took one last look at his friend.
The duke slumbered under the table, the pillow on his face again. Eustace waved to his dear Benedict Nesbitt. “Ta, ta, friend,” he said softly as he allowed the butler to guide his arms into his coat. “Better that we not meet again for a little while.”
