Page 30 of Libby's London Merchant
Libby let him hold her hand. “Surely there is someone, Mr. Duke. Everyone has someone.”
The merchant eyed her thoughtfully in silence, as if he were considering all those near and dear. Libby watched his face.
“There is no one too interested in me, my dear,” he said finally.
Libby sighed and looked away.
The merchant tightened his grip on her hand. “See here, Miss Ames, are you really that concerned?” he asked, his voice soft. He leaned back against the pillows and attempted a joke. “I suppose that the emporiums I supply with confections would miss me.”
Libby sobbed out loud and dabbed at her eyes. The merchant stared at her in amazement.
Candlow cleared his throat. “Miss Ames has a soft heart,” he said.
“So I gather,” Nez murmured. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You can’t imagine the compliment you have paid me,” he said.
Startled, Libby withdrew her hand from his and wiped her eyes. “Heavens, Mr. Duke, you must think I am a silly nod.”
“You certainly are,” he replied. “Now, where is my tea and toast?”
His bracing words, delivered with a wink, dried her tears and recalled her to the business at hand. Libby rose, curtsied deep, and flourished her hand toward the butler. “Very well, sir, since you are waxing imperious again, ta-dah, breakfast!”
With a flourish of his own, Candlow settled the tray across the merchant’s lap and whisked off the lid.
“Well done, indeed, Candlow,” he said.“You’re as good as any I have seen in noble houses.” He paused, cleared his throat and recovered. “Or at least, what I imagine those butlers to be like.”
“Indeed,” said the butler.
The merchant gagged on the toast and only sipped at the tea, but there was a grim, determined look in his eyes that encouraged Libby more than she would have thought possible, considering the paucity of his intake.
“That will do, Candlow,” he said finally when more toast, after a second attempt, proved insurmountable. “Just leave the tea, please.”
“As you wish, Mr. Duke.”
“I would still prefer a cordial,” he complained when the butler closed the door behind him.
‘‘You’ll not get it in this house.” Libby said. ‘‘And I shall not return your trousers, either.”
‘‘When I am old and gray, eh, madam?” he murmured. ‘‘I may be forced to wrap a sheet about my middle and set off that way to seek my fortune, if you will not oblige me with my trousers.”
Libby laughed out loud at the thought, and was rewarded with an answering smile. ‘‘Sir! Whatever would the neighbors think?” she teased.
‘‘Who cares? I am sure I do not.”
‘‘Sir, you may spout off like a duke if you choose, but here in Kent we must behave ourselves to suit the neighbors.”
‘‘What did you say?” he asked suddenly, his eyes intense.
Libby stared bade in some confusion. “Oh, I don’t know. Something about acting like a peer of the realm. Nothing that signifies. You do have that air about you, sir,” she concluded, and then rushed on. “And I have to wonder how you manage to sell much candy that way.”
“Sell much . . . Yes, yes, it is a deplorable way I have,” he agreed. “I suppose there are many far better merchants.” He paused a moment and then perjured himself without a blink. “How fortunate that I am the nephew of Charles Copley.”
Libby nodded. “Aha! That does rather explain the superiority of your suit, Mr. Duke.”
“I thought it a rather drab one, myself, Miss Ames,” he said without thinking, and then attempted a recovery. “But of course, I would bow to your superior knowledge of men’s clothing, but I don’t bend too well right now, especially in a nightshirt. Only give me a day or two.”
“So we shall,” Libby said. She blushed for no discernible reason and turned with relief at a familiar knock on the door. “Dr. Cook, do come in,” she said.
Dr. Cook, looking no less rumpled than he had the night before, came into the room, peering at them over his spectacles. He gazed at Libby in admiration for a moment and then remembered the object of his visit and turned to his patient.
