Page 51 of Libby's London Merchant
Elizabeth Ames amazed herself by letting him. She clung to him with all her strength, kissed him back, and then gasped and sat up straight.
“Doctor, I can’t imagine what you must think of me,” she whispered, her eyes on the farmer’s back. Farmer Hartley’s shoulders started shaking, and she almost wished herself back with the gypsies.
Completely unrepentant, Dr. Cook loosened his grip but did not let go of her. “A year ago I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world,” he told her, his voice low. “When I finally met you, I learned that you were also intelligent. Now I suspect that you are endowed with supreme good taste in men.”
“I don’t do that every day,” was all she could think to say in the face of his own good humor, and then blushed when she remembered her trip to the orchard with Mr. Duke and that kiss only yesterday.
“I never suspected that you did,” he replied as he got off the wagon and held out his arms to her.
The rain pelted down. She let him take her properly by the arm and walk her along the road. The humor of the situation overcame her overloaded scruples, and she laughed in spite of her embarrassment.
“We look like two escapees from a lunatic asylum,” she said as he turned her way, a question in his eyes, when she laughed.
“I wouldn’t know, Miss Ames,” he said. “I think you look quite fine. A bit wet, maybe a little muddy.” He paused and took her by the shoulders. “In fact, the sight is so awe-inspiring that I am compelled to suggest that you marry me.”
She stared at him, charmed because it was her first real proposal and dismayed because she could only turn him down. “Sir, we would never suit.”
He took his hands off her shoulders and continued ambling along. “On the contrary, I think we would suit famously.”
“I think not,” Libby replied, her eyes straight ahead of her on the road: What would Lydia say? she thought as she walked in silence beside the doctor. She would laugh and laugh if I ever told her that our bumbling Dr. Cook had declared himself. This conversation will go no further. Good heavens, he must be crazy to think that I would ever marry him.
Libby held out her hand to the doctor and he took it between his own. “Sir, let us be friends. I don’t love you.”
Her words sounded dreadful, spoken out loud. She regretted them the instant she said them, but there was no remedy for that. He had to know that the whole idea was absurd.
To her acute embarrassment, the doctor regarded her thoughtfully in silence. He squeezed her hand, released it, and continued down the road, speaking more to himself than to her. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. ” He turned to her again and bowed. “We will pretend this conversation never happened and carry on as before, Miss Ames.”
“Very well, Dr. Cook,” she agreed, and wondered why she felt vaguely let down.
She became acutely aware that her sodden dress clung to her in disgraceful folds, her hair was tumbled around her shoulders and dripping rain, and her face was smudged with mud.
“Oh, dear, I am a fright,” she said, too embarrassed to look at the man beside her.
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “I suppose now I have seen you at your worst.”
The way he said it, so serious and with just that hint of a twinkle in his eyes, made her laugh. Obviously he had reconsidered his foolish proposal. “You’re not much better,” she teased.
Dr. Cook ran his long fingers through his sopping hair, and then smoothed his lapels as elegantly as if he stood in a ballroom, dressed in his best. “Miss Ames, that takes no effort at all. I’ve never been burdened with high good looks, so the contrast is less remarkable in me than in you.”
They continued in companionable silence toward the house, which appeared out of the haze and the misty rain.
“You’re a great one, Miss Ames,” he said finally. “I don’t know one woman in a hundred who would have come through like you did.”
She shook her head. “I must differ, Anthony,” she said as the image of the young girl rose before her eyes again. “I don’t suppose there is a woman alive who wouldn’t have done what I did. Poor child.” She looked up at him in confusion again. “I am so rude! Do you mind that I have called you Anthony?”
He grabbed her by the elbows, picked her up, and smacked a kiss on her muddy forehead before setting her down again. “You goose! Even if we are destined to be no more than friends, you may call your friends by their first name, Libby. I intend to. ” He patted her cheek. “I promise not to kiss you again. It seemed like a good idea in the moment.”
“You and your good ideas,” she declared.
As they neared the house, she thought of Joseph for the first time. “Did he really summon you, Anthony? I was afraid he would not. He is so afraid of your father.”
Anthony chuckled, “A most interesting reflection, now that you mention it. I was just about to lie down—I was up all night, Libby—when I happened to glance out the window. There was Joseph, pacing up and down in front of the gate, as if he could not quite decide what to do. I waved to him, and he called to me, and you can guess the rest.”
“Thank goodness,” she said, and gave his hand a squeeze. They walked in silence to Holyoke Green. Libby wondered how Candlow would receive her in all her mud. If there was a merciful providence, Aunt Crabtree would be lying down, recovering from the exhaustion of an afternoon of Patience. She was only grateful that Mama—a high stickler if ever there was one—would not be standing in the entry, tapping her foot.
Libby thought of the candy merchant then and hoped that he was involved somewhere in the house and would miss her less-than-auspicious entrance. Mr. Duke, if only you had rescued me from the gypsies, I think I would have accepted your proposal.
She glanced at the doctor and blushed. Anthony, she thought, I could never marry you.
